Page 5 of The Serpent’s Shadow

No. I had to have my cake and eat it too.

I needed to save both of them.

I just couldn’t fathom how the fuck I was going to do that.

Chapter 3

Sven

I WATCHED FROM THEbushes as the scrawny, pretty-boy iceshaper exited the longhouse and stormed away with his shoulders slumped.

For a man who appreciated bombast even more than I did, I found it interesting to see him shrinking within himself, frowning, with his head and shoulders sagging. Almost like he was sorry about something.

Or perhaps that’s my own bias speaking.

I’d always found my second-year classmate strange. Slick and conniving. He didn’t carry himself with the same seriousness many cadets did at Vikingrune. He was gaudy, yet in a way that could keep him under the radar. A contradiction, this one: holding secrets on one side of his mouth, with boasts and big talk coming out the other.

I supposed he was a man I could relate to. Attractive, at least in the face—if fancy men with mischievous smiles and bright eyes was your thing. Loud, for sure, in the way he dressed and carried himself and spoke. Boastful when he wanted to be.

For me, I had to be those things to keep my people in line. I wasn’t outrageous for the sake of being ludicrous. I had a persona to keep, expectations to meet. Being the leader of the four Torfen pack members currently attending Vikingrune was tough business. There hadn’t been four of our ilk attending—from first-year initiate all the way up to fourth-year senior—in generations.

My father, Salos Torfen, would accept nothing else but perfection from me. I was molded in his image, and I carried the weight of his name and our family honor on my shoulders wherever I went.

Edda and Olaf, my fourth- and third-year siblings, undoubtedly had reservations, jealousies, and animosity toward me for being their pack leader. They were older than me. Ulf, my younger kin, well . . . I didn’t care what the pup thought.

I was losing Ulf to the joyous flaunts of that Black girl, Randi Ranttir, more and more by the day. He spent more time with her than he did his own family.

Honestly, I didn’t blame him: She was pretty, smart, and seemed fun and exciting. The Torfen shifters, well . . . we could be a bit dour, admittedly.

My focus returned to Arne Gornhodr as I watched from the peripheries of the woods where he had unknowingly led me. I could practically smell the fear and disappointment on him, even from a stone’s throw away.Is it disappointment about whatever meeting he just attended, or disappointment about something he’s done and feels guilty about?

I wanted to find out.

I was in my wolf form, staying low, keeping my growls to a minimum. Truth was, I didn’t trust Arne Gornhodr, and I hadn’t since I first met him during our initiate year. It was a gut instinct. He was too clever, talkative, and roguish. There was an ever-pervasive glint in his eyes that made me want to scoop them out with an ice cream spoon.

Now, I was surer than ever he was hiding something.

Every other day for two weeks now—ever since Ravinica’s disappearance—he had marched to this longhouse in thenorthwest district near Fort Woden, to speak with someone. He never stayed more than thirty minutes.

There were plenty of offices for Hersirs and faculty scattered near the monolithic black fortress, yet I knew this specific one because I’d been inside there too.

He was speaking with Hersir Kelvar the Whisperer. I was sure of it.Certainly no coincidence he’s doing it after my little menace was kidnapped and the elves made themselves known.

I wasn’t even sure I could trust Arne about his fearful announcement that elves had returned to Midgard. He was too tricky.Surely, if elves are truly outside these walls, pounding on our doorstep, the academy would go into lockdown mode, no? More soldiers and Huscarls would be walking the perimeter, more guards would man the ramparts on the wall and watchtowers surrounding Academy Hill.

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