Page 47 of Blood of Ancients

It seemed, then, that the Runesphere was the root of all our problems. It was the catalyst propelling us into a millennium of hate, and the anchor holding our peoples back from reasonable discussions or negotiations.

Talasin and Dannon were long dead.

But notallfrom that time had perished. There were others, wiser than me, considered the keys to resolving this conflict. There was a reason I had come to Midgard with my vanguard unit.

It was not for holiday, or to hole up in this dark, dank, stinking place under Vikingrune Academy, so far removed from the natural habitat of my world.

This was why mymindwas trapped all these weeks, and not just my body. I could numb myself to the physical boredom of being constantly guarded. But I could not turn my mind off, as much as I wanted to.

Well, there isoneway, I thought, glancing over at the small nightstand where my tincture sat in a clay bowl.

I walked over to the corner of my bench, went to my knees, and peered under it. I picked at the patch of dimly luminescent fungi sitting in the darkness of my cell.

I took the scraps of the undergrowth and deposited it into my bowl. The water I had resisted drinking had helped turn the fungi into a sludge with a sickly green pallor and horrid stench.

My plan was to use the tincture on myself, to numb my brain and turn everything off for a while. Three weeks of picking at the fungi growing in my room had given me this amount, and every day I told myself would be the day I ingested it.

Yet something had made me resist the temptation. Perhaps my trepidation stemmed from fear—that if my mind was quieted, I would forget my silver-haired goddess and all we’d done together in such a short time.

Alas, it turned out to be something else entirely that stayed my hand, as a sure sign from the spirits.

That sign went streaming past my dwelling, large and lumbering and chaotic as a typhoon. Students moseying the halls outside my gate murmured as the huge form barreled past, streaking by in a blur.

In that blur, with a quaking of heavy footsteps following in its wake, I saw a glint of silver shining radiant against the dark stone walls. Silver draped over the behemoth’s arms, carried as he ran past.

My heart lodged in my throat as I recognized Ravinica in the arms of her largest mate, Grim Kollbjorn. In that moment, I knew the tincture I’d made was not meant for me.

Shooting up, I ran to the gate and wrapped my hands around the iron, leaning my face forward. “Guards! You must let me leave to follow those two rabid students!”

The Huscarls, who always faced outward two steps from the gate, glanced over their shoulders at me. One of them had hate in his eyes and spat on the ground, not answering my plight. The other yawned, showing sheer indifference.

Gritting my teeth, I squeezed the bars so hard my pale knuckles turned even paler. “Please, I have not had my second walk today. I am owed—”

“You aren’t owed shit,” growled the guard on the right.

“I beg of you—”

“Keep begging, pointy-ear. We’re not letting you out.”

The other guard said, “Who knows what kind of madness you’d cause, frolicking through the tunnels?”

They stared ahead, their stances firm.

I glanced over my shoulder at the bowl on the nightstand, sighing.Then you leave me no choice.

Quickly, I went to the bowl. I gathered the muck in both hands, feeling the slime drip through my fingers, grimacing.

Then I went back to the gate and called out, “Guards, Iamsorry.”

That got both of their attention, as planned. The Huscarls turned as one, heads slowly glancing over their shoulders again—

Just as my hands lashed out from between the bars, slapping the muck onto their faces, across their mouths and noses.

As they stumbled back with curses, reaching for their weapons, I quickly cast a binding spell, gluing the concoction andpushingit.

The fungi interacted instantly. Before they could wipe the muck away and return their eyes to me, it was seeping into their pores, down their throats, even into their eyes and nostrils.

With staggering steps toward the bars, clumsy hands trying to free their swords, the Huscarls shared looks of fear. Their eyes rolled and drooped, a ghostly pallor taking home in their faces.

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