Page 101 of The Last Valkyrie

Chapter 32

Ravinica

OVER THE NEXT WEEK, I stuffed down my sorrow and grief and leaned into my tenacity and anger. I trained relentlessly with my mates for hours at a time in the cool spring weather, until we were sweaty and exhausted and collapsed into each other’s arms at night.

The guys noticed my newfound energy, which I said came from a need todo something. To stay busy. It was the only way I was going to keep the gloomy thoughts of my brothers and mother away.

My top priority was finding out what happened to Ma and rescuing her. I needed to be in tip-top shape to do that, which meant more than just spear and runeshaping training.

Hersirs Osfen and Selken were excellent teachers for the finer points of melee combat and magic combat. But they couldn’t help me with one particular skill I had—a unique trait I shared with no one.

I had to figure that one out on my own.

Both sects of elves became situated quickly enough, with the Ljosalfar taking camp just north of Gharvold Hall, in an empty space between the barracks, Tyr Meadow, and Dorymir Hall. They erected tents and camps like they were hoofing it in the wilderness, and I suspected they felt like the academy was one big wildlands.

The Skogalfar, led by Hunter-Chief Jhaeros, were given a small plot of land far to the east on campus, closer to my abode, Eir Wing, and some second-year cadet housing.

If the humans barely trusted the light elves, they looked at the wood elves with outright scorn. Cadets saw them as savages. I noticed the wary, untrusting way my human brethren stared at any passing group of breechcloth-clad Skogalfar, and it made me angry to see.

Some of the women on campus, however, had a slightly different opinion.

On my way to the western gate on the third day of my weeklong manic training sprint, I overheard two female initiates conversing as a pair of tall, bronze-hued wood elves passed us on the other side of the path.

Leaning in to her friend, the blonde girl with the shorn sides said, “Hot, aren’t they?”

Her brunette friend giggled. “If it weren’t for the stigma of cross-species birthing, I wouldn’t mind making some half-elf babies with those barbarians.”

Gritting my teeth together, I stayed quiet as I walked behind them, eager to get around them once the pathway widened up ahead.

“Kind of nice you can see what each one is packing inside those tiny loincloths, huh?” the blonde one said.

Another giggle from the brunette. “Saw one the other day, Sar, and I swear his towel didn’t even cover the whole thing! He was poking out the bottom of it, oblivious and just rocking it.”

They laughed, and I fumed.

The objectification annoyed me. More than that, it was the way I’d heard so many of my human “comrades” speaking about the Ljosalfar and Skogalfar like they were subhuman. They weren’t human, sure, but they weren’tsubanything.

“Enough, initiates. They’re not pieces of meat to ogle, and they’re not barbarians. They’re people, like us, and they’re our allies. Treat them with some respect.”

I wondered if I was out of my depth saying such a thing, and while the brunette looked at me with a pale face, the blonde one glared and scrunched her nose.

“And what makes you the arbiter of who I can ogle, eavesdropper?” She put her hands on her hips. “Aren’t you the girl who famously hasfiveguys on her roster? Pot calling the kettle black, no?”

They stormed off after that, with the brunette cackling at the burn her friend had given me.

I scratched the back of my head, muttering to myself, “Fair play, bitch,” as they walked away.

The next day, it was a similar conversation I heard from a group of boys regarding a passing troop of five Ljosalfar heading for one of the cafeterias.

I should have kept my big mouth shut then, too, but this one seemed too dangerous to ignore.

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