Page 13 of The Serpent’s Shadow

I understood the history of my upbringing because of my secret studies in Mimir Tomes alongside Ravinica. I had discovered much, though there were still pieces missing—piecesblocked behind amnesia that must have been cast on me as a whelp, through magical means.

I knew what Vikingrune Academy wanted with me.

“Grim Kollbjorn did not kill Astrid Dahlmyrr or Corta Gamdeen.”

The Warden of Vikingrune gritted his teeth, baring them. “What’s your proof?” he spit out.

“Me. I killed them,” I said simply, emotionlessly. “And I’m willing to confess to that, with some stipulations.”

“Huscarls!” Ingvus called out, and boots were already pounding on the floor outside.

I had precious seconds.

“Though most of the students do not know, I suspect you and the other Hersirs at this academy know what I am, Hersir Ingvus. I am also aware of what you want with me. Or, rather . . . what’s inside me.”

The door burst open. Two armed guards stood behind me, hands on their weapons.

Ingvus held up his palm to stay them before they could arrest me. Slowly, he said, “What is it you’re trying to do, whelp? What do you want?”

“A guarantee you will not prosecute Grim for this crime falsely alleged to him. And, more importantly, a vow that Ravinica Linmyrr will not be harmed or pestered once she returns to Vikingrune Academy. If you can make these two oaths, sir, then I will voluntarily give myself over to the academy to test my blood, as you people attempted to do so many years ago.”

Chapter 6

Ravinica

A FEW DAYS LATER, Ifound myself back in a clearing in the northern region of Delaveer Forest.

Though I was still in the dark about most things involving my captors, I had gleaned a few interesting tidbits. After hearing Corym talk with his Ljosalfar brethren in their graceful, angelic language, I learned they had different names for things than we did.

Delaveer, to them, was called Delf’avernin. It was an ancient phrase to the elves, who claimed to have inhabited the Isle long before humans arrived.

I didn’t doubt it. Humans had a tendency throughout history to take things that didn’t belong to them. My sea-faring ancestors from Scandinavia and other parts of the world were some of the worst offenders.

There was a romanticized version of my ancestral past, the Vikings, yet in truth it was a gritty, unglamorous history. One riddled with conflict, war, strife, and conquest. Pillaging. Religious animosity and betrayal.

It wasn’t all bad. Many parts of the world owed at least some portion of their heritage and bloodline to my Viking ancestors. Whether that blood-mixing had come willingly and peacefully, well . . . that was a point of much contention for historians and people smarter than I.

The elves had their own history in Alfheim, with some of it spilling over into Midgard. They had been the human’s allies for many years—at least for many years in the human sense. Elves lived much longer than us. The time they spent during the Taldan Wars with King Dannon and the humans as allies was a short blip on their historical journey.

What my kinfolk considered a pivotal, treacherous, and huge moment in our history was merely a passing blink for the elves. I was somewhat offended when I learned from Corym that, quite frankly, the three Taldan Wars were not such a big deal to elves.

What was more concerning to the Ljosalfar were the extraplanar wars with other realmfolk, such as the kobolds, giants or jotnar, goblins, trolls, sometimes the dwarves, and, of course, the Dokkalfar elves.

I supposed when you had been warring with countless creatures and monsters of legend for generations, endlessly, then, yes, the few years humans and elves mingled together was not such a huge chunk of time.

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