Chapter 1 | Ravinica

Chapter 1

Ravinica

IT WAS GOING TO BE difficult to stage a revolution underground, without being seen. And I didn’t mean “underground” in the symbolic sense, but literally.

I was trapped living in the subterranean tunnels and caverns of Academy Hill, nuts-to-butts with students, faculty, and people who preferred living rather than freezing their tits off aboveground.

The last three weeks had been an . . . experience , to say the least . Certainly something new since coming to Vikingrune Academy nearly a year ago.

I appreciated the closeness this wintry season granted me with my friends and mates. The forced proximity also required me to get chummy with people I’d rather not get chummy with. Namely, my half-brother Damon and a few remaining holdouts from Astrid Dahlmyrr’s minion crew who wanted me buried even deeper than the tunnels.

The heavy snowfall blasting the land above me was a constant thudding sound, layering feet upon feet of snow across the campus grounds I called home.

I missed the sunlight dappling my skin. The brisk mountain breeze skittering across my face high up in the Isle, atop Academy Hill where we watched the goings-on around us like a lord surveying its fiefdom.

Times had changed dramatically since I first showed up at the academy, an uninvited scoundrel who all but forced my way in. I felt I’d been here for years, even though I had just finally reached my second term, moving from the “initiate” class to the “cadet” class.

Soon, I would be given field duties, like all second-term students. If I was lucky, I would be placed somewhere on campus grounds, doing boring administrative work like stacking books in Mimir Tomes or patching up sprained ankles in Eir Wing.

That was what most people considered “lucky.” Me? I wanted to explore and get out . My Viking spirit made me a habitual adventurer, eager to leave the gates surrounding the academy to find something interesting in the Isle.

I wouldn’t be able to do any of that if I suffocated from a blanket of ice-cold snow first.

Gods, I thought, listening to the weighty slamming of the snowfall piling up overhead. It’s really coming down. I hope he’s safe.

I wasn’t much of a worry-wart, typically, but things had changed since coming to Vikingrune Academy and meeting the amazing men I called mates.

Back in Selby Village, my home, I had been all sharp edges and narrowed eyes. Here, I had somehow morphed into a softer version of myself, though I was stronger than I’d ever been. Hel, I could even Shape runes and do magic now.

I was softer, more empathetic, and burgeoned by a sense of justice. Some might say I had a savior complex. I would simply say I had learned to care about people—especially the ones closest to me.

There was Grim Kollbjorn, the giant bear shifter. A silent, hulking, protective man who called me his “little sneak” and had a heart that probably needed to be seen by a doctor because it was so big. Every part of him was so big, and I had come to love every delectable inch of that mountainous man.

He was also an uncontrollable berserker who could be set off by any minor thing happening to me, and I was the only one who could calm his cursed, enraged state.

Then there was Magnus Feldraug, the mysterious trench-coat-wearing “dead man,” or draug, who had the genetic ability of bloodrending. He could control his and other people’s lifeblood. It was insanely powerful, giving him the means to enhance his own runeshaping. We didn’t even know the full extent of his powers. Which meant everyone wanted a piece of him. He only wanted his “silvermoon,” the shining, silver-haired lighthouse in his dark ocean. Me.

Magnus was also a sociopath, allegedly, though he had always seemed perfectly emotional to me and me only. He had no qualms about killing people—even peers—to protect me. For Hel’s sake, he’d already done it twice, offing Astrid Dahlmyrr and her friend Corta Gamdeen in one fell night, after they ambushed me and put me in the hospital.

Arne Gornhodr was a complicated one. Oftentimes effeminate, always cunning, Arne never fit into a specific mold in Vikingrune culture. The beautiful ice elementalist was a specialized mage, who had alternatively been the first person I met here, my closest friend and confidant, my gut-wrenching betrayer, and a redeemed ally and lover. He called me his “little fox,” but there was no one foxier or more slippery than him.

Arne was infuriating, because I couldn’t hate him, even when he deserved it. Perhaps it was his disarming smile, his glittering sky-blue eyes. I had been this close to killing him once—presented with the opportunity multiple times. The iceshaper had done a first-rate groveling job, making amends and swearing himself to me, and now he was as close to me as my other mates.

Speaking of infuriating, Sven Torfen becoming my fourth mate still baffled me. He had been my worst bully and tormentor when I first showed up here, leaving me with a scar of his claws down the back of my calf to remember him by. The wolf shifter was the leader of the famed Torfen pack, a family who hated bog-bloods—half-breeds like me.

Then, almost inexplicably, Sven changed his tune. He saw what I could do, saw the loyalty I inadvertently commanded, and noticed how I calmed those closest to me. If any man needed calm , even more than berserk-rager Grim Kollbjorn, it was Sven.

Undeniably handsome, almost offensively so, Sven grew on me. I was his “little menace,” which I felt was a projection of his own threatening tendencies. He wasn’t afraid to anger me or anyone else with his harsh rhetoric. He didn’t worship the ground I walked on—at least not yet—and it was useful having a man like that on my side. He would tell it to me straight, never pussyfooting around an issue.

He was also an animal in more ways than one, on the battlefield, in the bedroom, and in the way he saw life. If Vikingrune Academy was a “survival of the fittest” type of world, Sven had a leg up on the competition. Grim was incredibly strong, Magnus was perpetually underestimated, and Arne was brilliantly cunning. But Sven Torfen was ferocious, a natural leader, and respected. More than anyone, I felt Sven encapsulated the Viking spirit.

If my revolution was ever going to grow legs, I’d need him at my side.

At one point, all four of these men were on my shit-list. That is, the list of people who descended from families that destroyed my own family name. My ulterior motive when first arriving to Vikingrune Academy was to find out who tarnished the Lindeen name, after my mother Lindi, and kill them. Simple as that.

At least it should have been simple.

Then I had to be a dumbass and fall hard for each of these guys, which threw a wrench in my plans. I transitioned from a hardened would-be assassin into an understanding, loving warrioress.

I had never considered myself a vigilante or rabble-rouser or rebel leader, yet that was exactly how my focus had shifted over the past few months. I learned about the dark secrets and underbelly of Vikingrune Academy. Namely, that the entire school had been founded on a mountain of lies, and its leaders shamelessly perpetuated those lies. With that learning came a new perspective, much more important than me and my family name.

Assassinating my family’s enemies, to give atonement and justice to my people, was the furthest thing on my to-do list these days.

Now, I was more worried about said “family” exacting their own revenge on me. My younger half-brother Damon Halldan showed up a few weeks ago. He presented a problem, because it was Damon I’d betrayed to earn my place here.

I knew the skirt-chasing, alcoholic asshole would carry that shame and anger with him to the grave. Or until he buried me .

More important than my inconsequential half-brother was the fact my second term at Vikingrune began tomorrow. Down in the depths under the school, advanced classes would be held for cadets until the snows ceased.

Luckily, hopefully, that would be in a matter of weeks. I’d heard only the first half of winter was torrential aboveground, and then we’d be able to get out of these stuffy corridors and stretch our arms in the brisk second half of winter.

I sat on a carved stone bench affixed to the side of a small empty dwelling—a waiting hall—with my eyes glancing over at the ladder at the front of the room every few seconds.

Shrugging my fur coat tighter around my shoulders, I staved off the chill, which which haunted us even down here below the snowfall. I stared down at the small slip of paper in my hands, wishing Vikingrune Academy had central heating and electricity.

Alas, this thousand-year-old school had never been anything if not firmly off the grid.

In my hand was my cadet schedule. Some classes with the word “advanced” next to them, which both thrilled and scared me. The lessons would be taught by familiar names—Hersirs, or professors—with the addition of a new one.

There was “Herbs & Elixirs” with Hersir Kelvar, “Advanced Runeshaping & Wards” with Hersir Selken, “Advanced Team Tactics” with Hersir Osfen, “Races & Realms” with Hersir Kardeen. And the newest addition, “Shipbuilding,” with Hersir Ingvus Jorthyr.

Ingvus was the stern academy Warden, or the steward who manned the prisons and security of Vikingrune. I was surprised to find his name teaching a second-year class.

My eyes darted over to the ladder and the heavy capstone above it hewn into the ceiling. The thudding of snowfall continued, worrying me.

I returned my gaze to the schedule, blinking, my mind pulled in a million directions. I was still thinking about my mates, how far we’d come, and how we all had things going on that made life here harder than it needed to be.

There was a fifth member of my group who had more to worry about than any of us. Because he wasn’t one of us . To everyone else, he was a novelty, a marvel, and a feared enemy.

My poor, misunderstood captor-turned-teacher-turned-lover-turned-prisoner—

The capstone shook, flakes of ice fluttering down from the ceiling, whipping my attention over to the ladder.

I shot to my feet, stuffing the schedule away, worrying my lip with my teeth. A loud, muffled grunt came from outside, above. Seconds later, the stone slid aside with a groan, and a heap of snow crashed down into the room, joined by a frigid-white beam of sunlight.

A snow-ridden face appeared in the opening of the ceiling. The figure submerged into the room with the snow on his back, the ladder trembling from his weight.

He grunted and slid the capstone back into place, silencing the underground from the flurrying surface.

With a hop and a sigh, the man landed hard on the ground, shaking white flakes from his body. He turned, eyes flashing wider when he noticed me standing in the corner.

I smiled at Sven Torfen, my maddening mate who was probably more toxic than I gave him credit for. I lived on the edge with this man, and the shock on his face at seeing me there was all I needed.

“Little menace,” he growled in a gravelly voice, pulling back the hood of his oversized coat. His face bristled with frozen whiskers and tiny icicles. His perfect eyebrows were caterpillars of white snow, yet he was still stupidly attractive beneath it all. With a shake of his head, rustling his shaggy black hair free, he tilted his head. “What are you doing here?” A wicked smirk curved his lips. “Come to welcome back your hero from war?”

I rolled my eyes. “A little dramatic, no? Braving a winter snowstorm is one thing. But war?”

He snorted and stepped toward me, snow dripping off him with every step. “It’s Hel out there.”

“You look chilly.”

“Chilly? My balls have been sucked into my stomach, girl.”

He stood over me, a few inches taller, chin dipping as his voice lowered. Puffs of warm mist blew in my face. I wanted to suck on his full lips and bring some color back to them.

When he slid his gloves off, I took his frigid hands in mine. Moving closer, I rubbed our fingers between our chests, staring up at him with a smirk dancing in my eyes. “Maybe I can help warm you up. Help bring your balls down to their rightful place.”

I bobbed my eyebrows, my smirk turning into a devious, crooked grin.

His dark orbs flashed with heat. A wave of fire pulsed from his body, his physique growing hard in an instant.

I never wavered from speaking my mind to my mates. It was always a pleasant surprise when my words caught them off-guard.

I was a woman who knew what she wanted. There was a reason I’d come to this faraway corner of the tunnels, to welcome the return of my wolfish mate from his field duty scouting aboveground.

That reason was not to simply spar snarky words with the leader of the Torfen pack.

“Two seconds returned and you already want to jump my bones? You really are a menace, woman.”

I didn’t enjoy when other people called me “girl” or “woman,” rather than my name. It was othering. But Sven? He could call me whatever he wanted. I had learned to live with it, love it, and now his words made me shudder, his eyes never leaving my face.

Playing coy, I pouted and started to step away. “Sorry. I could go. I’m sure Magnus or Grim aren’t too—”

He yanked me back, hard, slamming my chest against his. A smile crept up his lips. “Get your sexy ass back here. Don’t you know you have to finish what you started, girl?”