Page 111 of The Serpent’s Shadow

As more students sat and opened their booklets to see what was on the itinerary, the murmurs became louder. I could hear the whispers now, the confusion pinging from one student to the next. Heads turned, brows furrowed, and before long the idle chatter inside Dorymir Hall had gained a sort of tense, stunned equanimity. Calm but confused.

As if to say, “Is this some kind of joke?”

I bent my head lower, eyes popping. After the first two pages of the booklet, flipping to the third and fourth, a slip of paper stared up at me. The single page was not stapled to the rest of the leaflet—it was off-color to the pamphlet, slightly beige and worn rather than bone-white. And it was written in blocky, expert handwriting—bold to signify importance.

Initiates of Vikingrune Academy,

This school of learning has fed you with untruths!

For months, you have been led to believe one thing.

Nay, all your lives!

But it is not so. The Ljosalfar elves of Alfheim are a peaceful race.

The shadows of this academy are what stain our camaraderie!

Turn away from the lies. Demand answers from your Hersirs.

Rise up!

My jaw dropped as I finished the missive. There was no signature, for obvious reasons. It was less of a “missive” and more of a call-to-arms, shocking me with how short and accusatory it was.

It read like full-on propaganda from the Cold War.

I felt eyes veer my direction—on my back, out the corners of my peripheral—as other students were finishing reading the handwritten note. Because of my situation, I had inadvertently become synonymous with all things “elves.”

This slip of paper was clearlynotmeant to be in here.

Turning to Magnus, I hissed, “What the fuck is this?”

He pursed his lips, seemingly unaffected by this whole debacle. “Beats me. You’d know best, Ravinica.”

My eyes bulged.

Another shrug, infuriating me. “You lived with the elves for a time, and told me essentially the same thing this note is saying. In much deeper detail.”

It was true. I had. But it almost sounded like he was accusing me of something when he said it.

“Not a woman harmed, but a woman freed,” Magnus added, repeating the words he’d said to me after seeing me kiss Corym E’tar prior to our separation.

I leaned closer, flapping the pamphlet next to my face. “You don’t thinkIhad something to do with this, do you?”

“No,” Magnus said simply. “I think someone is doing your dirty work for you, lass. Who else have you told?”

I realized our body postures, our intense whispers, looked quite suspect and conspiratorial. Worse, the Hersirs at the base of the hall were starting to recognize the hushed commotion fluttering through the students.

The whispers between initiates had turned to full-on conversations—questioning what this was, what it meant, and who had written it. It was a jumble of chatter I couldn’t fully decipher, but it gave me a ringing headache listening to the cacophony rise through the hall.

Gothi Sigmund strode forward from the base of the stage. I couldn’t hear him—reading his lips was easy enough. He asked Hersir Jorthyr, “What’s going on?”

He went to the closest student in the first row and snatched the pamphlet out of the boy’s hands. “Give me that,” he growled in frustration.

The Gothi flipped through the pages. He found the missive, quickly reading it.

The satisfaction I got from staring down at him and watching his shadowed face twist and fall with disbelief as he read the paragraph was utterly amazing. I had never spoken with Sigmund Calladan, but if he was the chief executive of thisacademy then he had the most blame to bear for the misguided messaging of the school.

The buck had to stop somewhere. And that somewhere was with the Gothi.

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