Page 110 of The Serpent’s Shadow

In all, out of the fifty-odd initiates of this year’s class, around forty of them would rise to the next stage of their Vikingrunecareers. The ones who failed would be held back and forced to train during the first brutal winter month before the next term began. It was their final chance to reclaim victory, or else they’d be exiled from Vikingrune and deemed a failure in the eyes of everyone.

On the way to Dorymir Hall, Randi told me she suspected the final “loser” tally would equal about five students or so—around half of those sticking around for after-term winter study. She based this figure on what had happened when her older brother attended years ago.

It seemed Randi’s elder sibling was a font of knowledge.Must be nice, considering my elder brother hasn’t shown up for any of my bouts and doesn’t seem to give two shits if I sink or swim here.

“That number doesn’t seem too bad,” I told her as we walked up the cobbled road toward Dorymir, following the line of students headed there. I shrugged, adding, “Five out of fifty?”

“Right. Can you imagine being one of those five, though?” She cringed, baring her teeth.

It was funny, because she’d beenthis closeto being one of those five.

Randi managed to put her hurt pride aside and wallop the initiate competitors she was forced to face after losing to Grim. Two of those students failed after losing to her, and were being held back. The third student redeemed himself by winning his next two bouts after losing to Randi.

Sighing, I said, “This is Vikingrune Academy, Ran. Prestigious, legendary. TheWraithsonly bring the best of the best here, like the Gothi told us during orientation. I’m sure everyone is expected to succeed, so I’m not surprised failures are rather rare.”

“Amen, sister. Still must suck when you do.”

I chuckled. “Yeah.”

We shuffled our way through the wide-open double doors of Dorymir Hall, and stopped at the top of the stadium seats, peering down into the crowd.

The Hersirs were chatting near the stage, dressed in their black ceremonial robes. I had come to know Hersirs Axel Osfen, Thorvi Kardeen, and Greta Selken much better over the past six months. Even Kelvar the Whisperer, as elusive and creepy as he was.

Hersir Ingvus Jorthyr, the warden of Vikingrune, stood next to Gothi Sigmund, the tall, gray-bearded leader of the academy. I hardly knew them at all, and had only spoken to Jorthyr once, during my first day here when he threatened me with banishment after Eirik took me directly to him.

It still chapped my ass my own brother had yanked me to him my first day here.Damned brownnoser.

I caught sight of shoulder-length crimson hair, which stood out among the buzzcuts, braids, and shorn sides of many Vikingrune students.

Pointing down to the fourth row, I tapped Randi’s arm. “There’s Magnus. Want to go sit by him? Keep the apprentice trio intact and all?”

Randi glanced over, but her eyes were elsewhere. I saw her peeking at Ulf Torfen and smiling shyly at him, also on the fourth row but on the other side of the room. “Um . . .”

She was torn, knowing I wasn’t a fan of the youngest Torfen, and she didn’t want to offend me by not joining me.

I laughed and shouldered her. “Never mind, Ran. Don’t worry about it. Don’t have too much fun with your boy during celebration, you hear?”

She grinned, all roguish charm. “Same to you, babe.”

We split up and made our way down the side stairs, left and right. I cut into the aisle where Magnus sat. He was reading an open pamphlet on his lap. Each seat had an identical pamphletsitting on it, down the rows. I figured it was the itinerary for tonight’s speeches.

“Ugh,” I said as I sat down and swooped up the thin leaflet in my hands. “How long is this supposed to last? I’m so ready for the celebration tomorrow.”

Magnus clicked his tongue, eyes not moving from the opened booklet, which he apparently found fascinating. “Hello to you as well, silvermoon.”

I blushed. “Sorry. Hi. I don’t mean to bitch. I’m just ready for this term to beover.”

“Bitch away,” he said, and then crossed one leg over his knee. “Though you might find this more interesting than you think . . .”

My brow scrunched. “What do you mean?”

He made a pouty face, shrugging.

I opened the pamphlet, staring down at the string of words. As suspected, the first panel was all about the speakers, the congratulators, the Hersirs. Gothi Sigmund would give the “closing address,” which I imagined was a pep talk to prepare us for the harsh winter on the Isle and for our second year here.

Then I flipped the page, expecting another block of text from one of the Hersirs, writing to tell us how proud of us they were, yadda yadda yadda.

Before I even started reading, I heard the murmurs. They rose up around me like a fog, starting thin.

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