Page 157 of The Serpent’s Shadow

Or, conversely, I could damn those strangers to Hel . . . and selfishly try to hold tight to the love that even now squeezed my heart ragged.

With this choice, there was no winning.

Chapter 45

Ravinica

I STOOD IN FRONT OFthe monolithic castle, Fort Woden, defiant. Staring up at the twisting black spires, the high windows, the black shield and white dragonhead banner of the academy hanging from the second story rampart.

This was a structure that had stood the test of time, built by human hands, stone by stone, when true Vikings roamed the land in their thousands, wreaking havoc on the known European world.

The Danes, the Norsemen, and other Scandinavians assimilated to life on the greener pastures of England’s shores, and elsewhere. They integrated into the societies, after centuries of war, and would not be ousted. They becameingrainedin those societies, as much a part of the fabric and history as the landowners they had first come to pillage and destroy.

I felt like an honest Viking as I stood there, solitary, so small against the backdrop of the fortress. No less than a dozen Huscarls headed my way, toward the iron gate holding me back.

I, too, had once had pillaging and destruction on my mind. It had been ingrained inmyhead from an early age—that the only justification for past grievances was retribution by blood.

Recently, I no longer thought that way. I was trying a new approach, hoping compromise and reason could win the day. It was foolish, and I knew my dreams could see others get hurt.

People would die if I did what I was planning. If I went through with it, I very well might regret it years down the road, for the rest of my life.

Yet I could see no other answer. No easy way out of this.

If I did nothing, a man I loved would be tortured, killed, ridiculed. He would be made an example of, and the cyclic nature of war and strife would only continue to roll on as usual.

The elves were supposed to be my enemy. I had lived my whole life believing that, only to have it shattered in less than a year.

Unlike my brethren and kinsfolk who blindly hated because their elders told them to, I hadlivedwith the elves. No other mortal man or woman, that I knew of, could make that same claim.

Given my recent history with them, I liked to think I had something of an authoritative voice when it came to the nature and demeanor of Ljosalfar elves.

Dokkalfar? Their dark elf cousins? Well, I knew nothing about them. They could’ve been wicked, evil, and twisted, just as the humans thought—just as the Ljosalfar would have me believe. I couldn’t know that until I met them.

And that was my point: Blind hatred was not the answer here. I was starting to understand you couldn’t truly know a people’s motivations or beliefs until you met them, dined with them, and, yes, even slept with them. Many truths came out during pillow-talk, after all.

My rebellion no longer hinged on the lies Vikingrune Academy had instilled in the minds of its students. No, I was past that, movingbeyondthe immediate and looking toward the greater, grander issue.

My rebellion now regarded humans and elves as a whole.

If I could find a way to sever the thread that kept our people at each other’s throats like nooses around our necks—likepuppet strings commanding our every move—and could instead use that same thread to bind us together . . . well, then that was a fight worthy of having. Worthy of dying for.

The lead Huscarl, a burly man with a graying beard, a missing eye, and a flat piercing through his nose, stood in front of me on the other side of the gate. “State your business, student.”

“I have come to request a meeting with Gothi Sigmund Calladan, sir.”

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