Chapter 32 | Ravinica

Chapter 32

Ravinica

A COMMENCEMENT SPEECH was designated that Thursday evening in Dorymir Hall. The same place where orientation had been held at the beginning of the term, and where I'd attended my History & Tomes class.

Every initiate at Vikingrune Academy filed into the hall as the sun set and the day ended its stressful festivities. I'd heard in passing that nearly seventy percent of students had passed their Combat & Strategy final, which was a good ratio.

Some of the younger students were just as adept with weapons as their tutors. Others, like me, had to contend with people like Grim Kollbjorn and Sven Torfen, both of whom were renowned for their fighting capabilities.

So, at the end of the day, it was sort of a crapshoot, and entirely dependent on who you dueled. A further eighty percent of the failed thirty managed to claim victory via the loser's bracket. Randi was one of them, and I was infinitely proud of her for concentrating and getting her revenge for losing against Grim all three bouts.

In Runeshaping Basics, the passing rate was ninety percent, and the same in History & Tomes. Eighty percent for Stealth & Interrogation, whose final seemed like it relied less on "stealth" or "interrogation," and more on memory, smarts, and cunning.

In all, out of the fifty-odd initiates of this year's class, around forty of them would rise to the next stage of their Vikingrune careers. The ones who failed would be held back and forced to train during the first brutal winter month before the next term began. It was their final chance to reclaim victory, or else they'd be exiled from Vikingrune and deemed a failure in the eyes of everyone.

On the way to Dorymir Hall, Randi told me she suspected the final "loser" tally would equal about five students or so—around half of those sticking around for after-term winter study. She based this figure on what had happened when her older brother attended years ago.

It seemed Randi's elder sibling was a font of knowledge. Must be nice, considering my elder brother hasn't shown up for any of my bouts and doesn't seem to give two shits if I sink or swim here.

"That number doesn't seem too bad," I told her as we walked up the cobbled road toward Dorymir, following the line of students headed there. I shrugged, adding, "Five out of fifty?"

"Right. Can you imagine being one of those five, though?" She cringed, baring her teeth.

It was funny, because she'd been this close to being one of those five.

Randi managed to put her hurt pride aside and wallop the initiate competitors she was forced to face after losing to Grim. Two of those students failed after losing to her, and were being held back. The third student redeemed himself by winning his next two bouts after losing to Randi.

Sighing, I said, "This is Vikingrune Academy, Ran. Prestigious, legendary. The Wraiths only bring the best of the best here, like the Gothi told us during orientation. I'm sure everyone is expected to succeed, so I'm not surprised failures are rather rare."

"Amen, sister. Still must suck when you do."

I chuckled. "Yeah."

We shuffled our way through the wide-open double doors of Dorymir Hall, and stopped at the top of the stadium seats, peering down into the crowd.

The Hersirs were chatting near the stage, dressed in their black ceremonial robes. I had come to know Hersirs Axel Osfen, Thorvi Kardeen, and Greta Selken much better over the past six months. Even Kelvar the Whisperer, as elusive and creepy as he was.

Hersir Ingvus Jorthyr, the warden of Vikingrune, stood next to Gothi Sigmund, the tall, gray-bearded leader of the academy. I hardly knew them at all, and had only spoken to Jorthyr once, during my first day here when he threatened me with banishment after Eirik took me directly to him.

It still chapped my ass my own brother had yanked me to him my first day here. Damned brownnoser.

I caught sight of shoulder-length crimson hair, which stood out among the buzzcuts, braids, and shorn sides of many Vikingrune students.

Pointing down to the fourth row, I tapped Randi's arm. "There's Magnus. Want to go sit by him? Keep the apprentice trio intact and all?"

Randi glanced over, but her eyes were elsewhere. I saw her peeking at Ulf Torfen and smiling shyly at him, also on the fourth row but on the other side of the room. "Um . . ."

She was torn, knowing I wasn't a fan of the youngest Torfen, and she didn't want to offend me by not joining me.

I laughed and shouldered her. "Never mind, Ran. Don't worry about it. Don't have too much fun with your boy during celebration, you hear?"

She grinned, all roguish charm. "Same to you, babe."

We split up and made our way down the side stairs, left and right. I cut into the aisle where Magnus sat. He was reading an open pamphlet on his lap. Each seat had an identical pamphlet sitting on it, down the rows. I figured it was the itinerary for tonight's speeches.

"Ugh," I said as I sat down and swooped up the thin leaflet in my hands. "How long is this supposed to last? I'm so ready for the celebration tomorrow."

Magnus clicked his tongue, eyes not moving from the opened booklet, which he apparently found fascinating. "Hello to you as well, silvermoon."

I blushed. "Sorry. Hi. I don't mean to bitch. I'm just ready for this term to be over ."

"Bitch away," he said, and then crossed one leg over his knee. "Though you might find this more interesting than you think . . ."

My brow scrunched. "What do you mean?"

He made a pouty face, shrugging.

I opened the pamphlet, staring down at the string of words. As suspected, the first panel was all about the speakers, the congratulators, the Hersirs. Gothi Sigmund would give the "closing address," which I imagined was a pep talk to prepare us for the harsh winter on the Isle and for our second year here.

Then I flipped the page, expecting another block of text from one of the Hersirs, writing to tell us how proud of us they were, yadda yadda yadda.

Before I even started reading, I heard the murmurs. They rose up around me like a fog, starting thin.

As more students sat and opened their booklets to see what was on the itinerary, the murmurs became louder. I could hear the whispers now, the confusion pinging from one student to the next. Heads turned, brows furrowed, and before long the idle chatter inside Dorymir Hall had gained a sort of tense, stunned equanimity. Calm but confused.

As if to say, "Is this some kind of joke?"

I bent my head lower, eyes popping. After the first two pages of the booklet, flipping to the third and fourth, a slip of paper stared up at me. The single page was not stapled to the rest of the leaflet—it was off-color to the pamphlet, slightly beige and worn rather than bone-white. And it was written in blocky, expert handwriting—bold to signify importance.

Initiates of Vikingrune Academy,

This school of learning has fed you with untruths!

For months, you have been led to believe one thing.

Nay, all your lives!

But it is not so. The Ljosalfar elves of Alfheim are a peaceful race.

The shadows of this academy are what stain our camaraderie!

Turn away from the lies. Demand answers from your Hersirs.

Rise up!

My jaw dropped as I finished the missive. There was no signature, for obvious reasons. It was less of a "missive" and more of a call-to-arms, shocking me with how short and accusatory it was.

It read like full-on propaganda from the Cold War.

I felt eyes veer my direction—on my back, out the corners of my peripheral—as other students were finishing reading the handwritten note. Because of my situation, I had inadvertently become synonymous with all things "elves."

This slip of paper was clearly not meant to be in here.

Turning to Magnus, I hissed, "What the fuck is this?"

He pursed his lips, seemingly unaffected by this whole debacle. "Beats me. You'd know best, Ravinica."

My eyes bulged.

Another shrug, infuriating me. "You lived with the elves for a time, and told me essentially the same thing this note is saying. In much deeper detail."

It was true. I had. But it almost sounded like he was accusing me of something when he said it.

"Not a woman harmed, but a woman freed," Magnus added, repeating the words he'd said to me after seeing me kiss Corym E'tar prior to our separation.

I leaned closer, flapping the pamphlet next to my face. "You don't think I had something to do with this, do you?"

"No," Magnus said simply. "I think someone is doing your dirty work for you, lass. Who else have you told?"

I realized our body postures, our intense whispers, looked quite suspect and conspiratorial. Worse, the Hersirs at the base of the hall were starting to recognize the hushed commotion fluttering through the students.

The whispers between initiates had turned to full-on conversations—questioning what this was, what it meant, and who had written it. It was a jumble of chatter I couldn't fully decipher, but it gave me a ringing headache listening to the cacophony rise through the hall.

Gothi Sigmund strode forward from the base of the stage. I couldn't hear him—reading his lips was easy enough. He asked Hersir Jorthyr, "What's going on?"

He went to the closest student in the first row and snatched the pamphlet out of the boy's hands. "Give me that," he growled in frustration.

The Gothi flipped through the pages. He found the missive, quickly reading it.

The satisfaction I got from staring down at him and watching his shadowed face twist and fall with disbelief as he read the paragraph was utterly amazing. I had never spoken with Sigmund Calladan, but if he was the chief executive of this academy then he had the most blame to bear for the misguided messaging of the school.

The buck had to stop somewhere. And that somewhere was with the Gothi.

His face went from disbelief, to flustered frustration—pinched brow, creases in his forehead—to sheer anger.

He strode up the side stairs onto the stage, lifting the pamphlet high above his head. I figured we were about to get a much different message than the one he'd planned to give for his address.

"Who is responsible for the slanderous lies inside here?" he called out.

The entire hall went from raucous, confused conversation to pin-drop silence in a heartbeat.

Sigmund kept wagging the booklet in the air. "Show yourself, coward, and you will not be remanded."

No one said a thing. Eyes glanced left and right, students witnessing the powerful Gothi unravel before our eyes.

It was fascinating, surely. Magnus was right about that.

Sigmund's voice rose, his long chest-length beard waffling left and right as his head turned to take in every student sitting before him. "We do not tolerate cowardice or rebelliousness at Vikingrune Academy!"

He continued, lecturing us on what integrity meant, how these were lies and unsupported by facts, and how our purpose at Vikingrune had not changed in generations.

"Just because the elves have allegedly shown themselves in Midgard after centuries away does not make them our allies or friends. Do not be swayed by the dangerous words in this pamphlet, initiates!"

He sounded . . . desperate. Eager to get his point across. Not in control, as he had always sounded during every other auditorium speech. The mythical figure, the powerful chieftain of the academy, was starting to show his humanness and frayed edges.

Inside, I didn't care so much who had written the note and stuffed it into every commencement pamphlet here. The entire operation seemed industrious and ingenious to me. Get the message across when all the students are forced together in one room. The end of the term. Get people talking for the first time.

How long must that scheme have taken to plan out and execute?

No, I cared more about what it meant moving forward.

Because it seemed someone had done my job for me.

Whether I liked it or not, whether I was ready or not, someone had sparked the flames of my planned rebellion and fanned them into a whole-ass academy crisis.

And I was here for it.