Page 33 of Blood of Ancients

Grim’s eyes were vacant, staring down at his wood pile. Then they narrowed when he looked up. “I hadn’t yet fortified the model, sir.”

“Doesn’t matter. It was shit. Start again, Kollbjorn.”

I watched helplessly as Grim’s muscles flexed. The Hersir wandered off, showing us his back. Quickly, students bowed their heads and went back to hammering.

I was two seconds away from yelling at Ingvus in my typical impulsive nature, when Grim caught my eye and gave me a small headshake.

Shoulders sagging, I flared my nostrils and started hammering twice as hard as I had been.That asshole!

Fifteen minutes later, the Hersir was zigzagging through class, inspecting everyone’s work with a pissed-off expression on his face.

I wanted to ask Inguvs who had shit in his Cheerios, but I knew that wouldn’t go off well, so I stayed quiet.

He came to mine, stared over the beak of his nose at me, and frowned. “Serviceable, Linmyrr.”

You know I prefer Lindeen, asshat.But no, Hersir Jorthyr had to make special notice of my bog-blood upbringing, using the suffix of “myrr.” Just as he had the first day I arrived here.

I recalled my very first conversation with this man, sweating as I stood over his desk and he scribbled on a page that would decide my fate. I’d tried to tell him my name was Ravinica Lindeen, after my mother Lindi. His response was to shrug it aside as unimportant, and misidentify me.

“Your wicked father, who you don’t know, passed down his name to you. Shame that is how you’re represented, but you can’t escape those ears and hair. So, Linmyrr it is.”

He’d checked off a box like he was filling out a gods-damned crossword puzzle, not the sheet that would decide what I would be calledforeverat Vikingrune Academy.

My blood boiled at the thought, anger rising higher, getting harder to tamp down.

He was gone before I could react, which helped to lessen my sudden rage.

Until he opened his mouth next. “I expected you to be better than this, Kollbjorn. See me after class.”

With a scoff of derision, the Hersir wandered away from Grim’s desk, leaving my mate fuming.

Gods, seems we both have it bad with this man.Though, for the life of me, I couldn’t tell why he had it out for Grim.Grim’s work looks perfectly reasonable and on par with the other shitheads in this class.

Shaking my head, I tried not to dive too deep into my frustration.

It was going to be a long, long term if this kept up.

Class let out. I walked slowly through the archway in front of Grim, making sure we were the last two to leave.

Hersir Jorthyr, seated at his desk, called Grim over with a throat clearing.

I decided to eavesdrop. Wandering past the door without looking back at Grim or Ingvus, I slightly shut it—keeping it ajar—and spun around at the wall just outside.

I put my ear close, biting my lip nervously.

Their voices were low. At least to start.

Grim said, “I take it that was about more than my carpentry skills, Hersir Jorthyr.”

“Watch your tone with me, boy. And don’t assume. The craftsmanship was lazy.”

“Been a few years since I built anything with my bare hands. You’ll have to forgive my clumsy—”

“Idon’tforgive, shifter.”

Silence. I held in a gasp. Tension slipped out the cracked door, so thick in there it could be cut with a blade.

Grim stayed calm, stoic as usual. “What is your issue with me then, sir?”

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