Chapter 13 | Ravinica

Chapter 13

Ravinica

NEXT TO ME, GRIM HAD a shadow across his face, ready to scold.

I cut him off before he could begin, raising a finger. “Don’t.”

His frown softened. “. . . Will you use the spear, axe, or sword?”

I blinked, surprised by his quick about-face. I shouldn’t have been, since I knew Grim would always cape for me. There was no denying I’d foolishly been goaded into this brawl. It needed to happen, in my mind, to hopefully settle the “bad blood” once and for all.

“The spear, of course,” I said softly, taking his hand. “It’s what I’m most skilled with.”

Damon, Talmont, and Gertrude were walking out of the cafeteria, speaking in hushed tones. Eirik was torn between our two groups, eyeing both of us, worrying his lip.

“Then your brother is fucked,” Grim answered, wrapping an arm around me.

I was pleased he wasn’t going to try and talk me out of this. He might not have known what sibling rivalries could be like, but it didn’t matter to him. The only thing that mattered was me, and Grim was the perfect vigilant sentinel.

It was decided we’d use a nearby cave dwelling big enough to house our party. Many of the nooks and crannies under Vikingrune were vacant, suited perfectly for duels.

What had not been decided were the rules of the engagement. Will this be to the death? I wondered. Hel, we’ve both got classes in less than an hour.

It was the first day of the term. Things had already reached a boiling point between me and my half-brother. Holmgang needed to happen so I could get him out of my mind.

Here, there was no one to protect Damon. His stepfather couldn’t step in and claim the bout was over before it actually was. I could make mincemeat of him and put him in his place once and for all.

“Magnus, Sven, and Arne won’t be happy about this,” Grim said as we wandered out of the cafeteria, feeling the eyes of the other students following us.

“Good thing they’re not here to try and dissuade me then.”

“You misunderstand me, love.” A roguish smile curled his lips. “They’ll be sad to miss it.”

I had my spear on my back, ready. Ever since getting ambushed by Sven and his pack during my first term, and Astrid later on, I vowed to never leave home without it. Vikingrune was too cutthroat and merciless to walk around weaponless, hoping no one would try to take your head off.

The small dueling spot near the cafeteria was sparse, with a high ceiling. Perfect for my spear to maneuver, even if the spear was typically not the best single-combat tool for close quarters.

Luckily, I could use my weapon in ways others couldn’t. Damon would learn how much I’d learned from Hersir Axel, Grim, and Corym E’tar, in my time since leaving Selby.

I was filled with ruthless anticipation as Damon’s friends set up the Sticks—the square shaping of our dueling grounds. A few long, crooked lengths of tree limbs had already been perched against a wall in this room. That was my first clue Damon had always meant for this to happen, despite his sweet words and crooning over lunch.

Part of me was racked with guilt as the Sticks were set down. I was brought back to my duel with Damon nearly a year ago in Selby Village—the fateful fight that decided the trajectory of our futures.

I had beaten him then, soundly, and I would do it again. I would show him no quarter.

Deep down, some part of me resented the fact it had come to this. We weren’t dueling out of competitive spirit, to see who would become Vikingrune’s next initiate. We were fighting out of sheer loathing, which was never healthy.

I only wished once Damon learned he was outmatched, and that I truly meant no ill will toward him—despite all his grievances against me—we could work to start mending our relationship.

But first, this.

Damon swung a blade at one end of the Sticks, testing its weight. He strapped a shield onto his other arm, looking every part a medieval Viking warrior ready to join a shield wall. His face had lost its sneer, now wholly focused on the battle ahead. His lips pursed, a knot between his brow.

I threw my fur coat off, showing my strong biceps, my sleeveless shirt, and my trusty spear as I pulled it from my back.

We stood twenty paces away.

Before the duel began, Eirik walked in with his three allies. His face was serious, chin down-tilted as Damon and I glanced at him in surprise.

“Someone has to officiate,” he muttered, though I knew that wasn’t the only reason he’d shown up. Sighing, shaking his head, he added, “I decided it’s best to see the outcome rather than hear about it.”

We nodded to our elder sibling, then faced one another.

“I won’t let you two kill each other,” Eirik said, raising a palm as he stepped into the middle of the Sticks between us.

“Neither will I,” Grim grunted behind me.

“The duel will be to first blood, with no magic,” Eirik continued. “You have no need to go waylaying into each other, breaking each other’s bodies. Got it? I want a clean—”

“We understand, brother,” Damon grunted. Then, moving his gaze past Eirik, “Don’t we, dear sister?”

I gave them a simple nod, not finding any need for words. Damon’s snide attitude was overwhelming. A pulse built in my skull, blood singing in my ears as the anticipation bubbled to an explosion needing to get out.

Eirik stepped aside, out of the Sticks, and fanned his hand down. “Begin.”

Damon took up a typical bent-knee defensive stance. His eyes peeked over the rim of his lifted shield as he stepped forward hesitantly.

I closed the gap much more confidently, taking one, two, three strides—

And then faltering.

My brow furrowed as my foot hit a rough patch in the gravelly cave floor. I glanced down, to see what I’d stepped on, and was shocked to find the ground flat.

Lifting my gaze, the world wobbled around me, blurriness setting in before I could blink it away—

Just as Damon charged, noticing my misstep.

My brother let out a growl as he came at me shield-first, hoping to batter my spear aside so he could skewer me.

I backpedaled, trying to compose myself, wondering where the haze in my mind had come from.

And then the ache in my temples began. Something’s not right.

Fuckery was afoot.

Damon’s shield shoved forward like a weapon. I spun aside, teetering on unsteady legs, to smack his blade aside with the haft of my spear.

My palms were slick on the weapon, sliding, which was completely unusual. I always had a firm grip on my spear, because I understood it better than anything. It was an extension of my being.

Despite my sloppy form—which Swordbaron Korvan would have chastised—my instincts took over. I engaged my senses to fall into a deadly rhythm.

An overhand thrust of my spear forced Damon down to a knee. Before he could rise I was sweeping the backend of my weapon with my off-hand, directly at his feet.

He tripped, stumbling back, barely maintaining his footing and avoiding the sweep.

My eyes went wild as the ache in my temple built, pressure seizing my mind and setting me off-rhythm.

I stumbled forward as if drunk—

And realization hit me like a sword in the gut.

My body has been tampered with.

Every one of my stabs and parries was sluggish and ill-timed. It was more than coincidence that it happened now, and I could only think one thing: Poison.

Letting Damon set my food at the table. Stealing me from that recognition with kind words meant to disarm me and make me uncomfortable—knowing I would focus on the one thing in front of me to avoid his incessant chatter.

The food.

No . . . t he orange juice!

Damon came again, barreling with a battle cry. His sword lashed out, and I lifted my steel-fortified haft with both hands, parrying left and right, sliding on my back foot.

As we spun around in a dance of violence, my eyes briefly met Grim’s over Damon’s shoulder.

My protector looked concerned.

Even more concerned when he noticed the wild-eyed, confused look I sported.

Damon had timed it perfectly, engaging in small talk and coaxing banter as the poison had been working through my veins. Just enough time so it would affect me only once we were in the Sticks and it was too late to turn back.

I couldn’t cry foul now—couldn’t call the fight off—or I’d never live it down. I would be seen as a coward. All the clout I’d built up over my first term would be dashed in a single day.

The day my younger brother got the better of me.

My pride wouldn’t let me do it.

The academy would think I was scared of him, when it couldn’t have been further from the truth.

I knew how the rumor mill worked in this damned place.

Trying to spin out of range so I could better use my spear, my wandering thoughts damned me.

Damon caught me in the side with his shield.

I grunted, staggering, and he charged again.

“Ravinica!” Grim yelled, even as the other voyeurs in the room murmured in hushed whispers—surprised by this turn of events.

Gritting my teeth, I ignored all the things stacked against me, and I pushed on.

Sparks flew as my spearhead met Damon’s sword. He slashed wildly, uncoordinatedly, which actually worked to his advantage because he didn’t have much of a battle stance I could predict and counter.

It was made worse by my sluggish footsteps, my pained head. I felt drool drip out the corner of my mouth, embarrassingly, and Damon flashed me a wicked smirk over the rim of his shield.

Anger rippled through me.

I turned his blade aside, wiping the smirk off his face and replacing it with bulging eyes—

And then I attacked in an onslaught of high stabs, low sweeps, and spinning strikes.

I lunged fluidly, showing grace—even in my current disheveled state—he simply couldn’t compete with. He was forced on his heels, desperately defending against my assault.

Wood chips flew from his shield, my spear thudding and notching deep marks and grooves in the surface.

He pushed back. But I was stronger, angrier, and kept my legs moving and my spear whirling. My voice ripped past my lips in a raspy, furious growl.

Damon tried to hack at me some more.

I looped my spear around his sword and batted it aside.

I was determined to win this thing soon, before whatever darkness coursing through my veins incapacitated me completely.

My vision was starting to swim, the edges shutting down. My muscles twitched, seizing, and I wondered if Damon would be dastardly enough to feed me a deadly poison, or if this was just par for the course.

It felt like my nervous system was shutting down. At the same time, my mind was overheating, thoughts spinning as quickly as my spear, unable to hold onto a single one.

Damon’s shield lunged out.

I caught him on the wrist with the haft and sent it flying like a saucer through the air, whistling as it spun.

My brother let out a squeal—

And I wheeled round, ready to ram the spearhead into his defenseless right side—somewhere that wouldn’t kill, but that would keep him on a gurney for a few days.

But Damon surprised me. His look of despair and desperation shifted into something menacing as I drew closer to finish the job.

He easily sidestepped my all-or-nothing lunge—

And that was when I realized he had let me take his shield away on purpose, so I would get cocky and close the gap between us.

Pain laced up my left side. I let out a grunt, stilling as my body smashed into Damon’s. He held me in an embrace that kept me upright, one arm over my shoulder.

It happened so fast. Everything melted into a slow, dreamlike sequence.

Staggering, I stared down and saw Damon’s short sword lodged in my side, under my ribs, past the seams of my hide armor. At least two inches of blade was shoved inside me, and Damon did the job of slightly twisting the blade to inflict the most damage, while his embrace kept him covered.

I wailed in pain, somehow keeping my spear in my hand and using it as a staff to stay on my feet.

Our crowd gasped.

Damon pulled back. The evidence of our embrace became clear as blood spilled out of me, slashing across the ground.

My half-brother smiled that devilish smile as I went to one knee, the darkness at the edges of my vision rushing to take hold. I stuttered to speak something, anything, as Eirik began to walk into the Sticks—

But a wall-shaking roar quieted Damon and froze Eirik’s feet to the ground. Even in my drifting state, I could sense Grim Kollbjorn’s presence behind me. Terrifying and furious.

Damon gawked. His friends stood back as Grim tore into the Sticks like a lightning bolt. A seven-fucking-foot lightning bolt.

He charged in front of me, shocking everyone when he barreled directly into Damon with his shoulder and sent him flying across the room.

Damon screamed as he flew ten feet and rolled on the ground.

Eirik put a hand up for peace, his other hand roaming close to the sword at his hip.

My enraged mate reached behind him and pulled two axes from their cross-sheaths. They were battle-axes—two-handed weapons for most people—which he held in one hand each, such was his size.

“Peace, Grim!” Eirik cried out.

Grim looked every bit a monster in that moment, teeth bared, knees bent, muscles flexing like the fucking Hulk. He sniffed the air, seconds away from shifting.

Eirik, Tyrus, Gryphon, Ayla, Damon, Talmont, Gertrude . . . they all looked frightened, glancing at one another as if wondering what to do.

Grim made the decision for them, spinning on his heels while sliding his axes away. He enveloped me in a swaddle of warmth and hoisted me off my feet like I weighed nothing.

Grim dashed out of the room sprinting, the lumbering giant showing speed and calculation most people didn’t expect.

My mind was fuzzy, dazed. Inside, I wasn’t sure if the battle was over or not. It all seemed like a dream, and I knew I was in a bad way.

“Hold on, Ravinica!” His voice echoed off the walls above me, as my eyes closed.

Grim bridal-carried me through the halls, my head tucked against his bicep and shoulder.

I wasn’t sure where he was taking me. I drifted into a numb sleep before I could find out.