Page 68 of Into the Isle

“What will it take for you and your ilk to stop harassing me?” I asked. When I saw Ulf inching closer to his older brother, I added, “Does your big baby brother require an apology? Is that it? He’s the one who came at me on the Gray Wraith, you know.”

“I don’t give a shit about my silly brother’s feelings,” Sven said, which made Ulf’s shoulders sink. He smiled wickedly. “It will take everything you have to offer for me to relent, Ravinica Linmyrr.”

“I don’t even know what that means.”

“Best me in single combat, perhaps, and I might let up.”

My hands bundled into fists at my sides. I wanted to lash out at this asshole, give him what he deserved. “Perhaps? Might? Sounds like a lot of maybes and uncertainties for a duel.”

He gave me an easy shrug. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to resist my urges. You make it so easy.”

If he doesn’t care about Ulf, as he says, then why all this animosity? I still don’t understand why he hates me so much. Is it simply my bloodline that offends him, like almost everyone else here?

For some reason, I felt like there was something more there; that he wasn’t telling me everything, and it would take a bit of digging to find out Sven Torfen’s motives.

Wrinkling my nose, my nostrils flared. I lifted my chin proudly. “Name the time and place, Sven, and I’ll be there for our bout.”

Sven’s dark eyes glittered with flecks of silver, growing darker. His perfect lips parted to answer, to gleefully accept—

“Not so fast,” said a new voice from the side. Astrid Dahlmyrr stepped in, her green hair bouncing on her shoulders. She looked ready to kill. “Hersir Axel said initiates have to fight each other, not second-years.”

Her eyes narrowed on me, while a cruel smile broke out on her face. “This one’s mine, Sven.”

Chapter 21

Ravinica

TURNED OUT A BUNCH of people were champing at the bit to have the honor of fucking me up and putting me in my place. Big surprise there.

My body filled with fire when Astrid Dahlmyrr challenged me. It was her snooty, knowing smirk that set me off.

I had always been quick to anger. It came with the territory of growing up with brothers—especially annoying ones like my younger sibling, Damon. In the past, Swordbaron Korvan taught me to suppress the violent urges.

Much like how Randi told me to pick my battles wisely here, Korvan showed me how stubbornness and a quick temper could easily become my downfall.

It was hard to focus when you were angry. Tactical maneuvers became sloppy. Footwork became sluggish, broadcasting my intentions to whomever I was fighting. Korvan taught me the best approach was a silent one. Watch, listen, and respond, rather than react.

Yet I was a woman in a male-dominated society. I only had my wits and nerves to serve me, with a smaller frame than most men I faced in combat. I didn’t like being told to “hide” my anger, my ferocity, because I always wondered if Korvan told his male students the same thing, or if it was a double standard.

There was no Korvan here now. No matter how much I tried to suppress my rage, seeing Astrid Dahlmyrr look at me like that, with such pitying disdain, made bloodlust claw up my spine.

Once the initiates were ready to square off, Hersir Axel had us choose a weapon from a bundle spilled out on a table. They were wooden—spears, swords, axes—so they wouldn’t kill.

A wooden spear haft across the face can do plenty of damage. I envisioned dislocating Astrid’s jaw while I picked up a tipless spear and swung it in slow arcs across my body to gauge its weight and heft.

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