Page 109 of The Last Valkyrie

My heart dropped to my boots.

“Salos Torfen of the Torfen wolf pack,” Ingvus finished.

Sven was on his feet in an instant, reflexively, and Grim had to take him by the arms and shove him back down.

My mate’s father took the stage with a glint in his cunning eyes, the audience falling into a rare bout of confused silence.

No one even knew who the Hel this was.

No one except me and my guys, anyway.

Fuck, this is bad.My mind kept screaming,Why him?!

Before Salos could say a damned thing to the audience, one of the students far to my right shouted a similar question.

“He’s no battlelord!”

Another joined the first brave student. “That man looks like a politician more than a commander! We need afighterto lead us!”

“Yeah! A warrior!”

The hall fell into an uproar.

Fuck.My head darted around, trying to gauge the sudden anger of my peers. All thoughts of my dragon wings and what they had accomplished were tossed aside for this back-breaking news.

I’d always known we were one false step away from a riot ever since the elves had gotten here—really ever since the failed battle in the Selfsky Plains. But the reality of the situation hit me square in the chest. My handsome mates had looks on their faces just as concerned as mine.

“Silence!” Ingvus’ voice cut through the din with a shrill screech.

Slowly, the voices fell away.

Salos took his place at the front of the Hersir group, clasping his hands together in front of him in a show of peace. He wore the dark robes of Vikingrune Academy, looking more like a Mimir Tomes scholar than a Gharvold Hall Huscarl as Sigmund had preferred.

An awful thought came to my mind, before the cruel leader of the Torfen pack—the same man who had tried to quell Sven’s role and dispatch his own son—had spoken more than a single word.

Salos and Sigmund met shortly after our battle against the jotnar and draug. They hid away in Fort Woden for days . . . before Sigmund joined me on our ill-fated journey to Selby Village.

The suggestion rang clear in my head.

. . . Did Salos Torfen have something to do with Sigmund’s death?

“Dans and deens of the academy,” Salos said with a small bow of his head. If he was nervous or showed any animosity or loathing toward the reaction from the crowd, he didn’t show it. “It is with a heavy heart we must say goodbye to Gothi Sigmund Calladan. With his admirable death in battle, we have been given an opportunity.”

The crowd fell completely silent, many of the standing students plopping down in their seats to hear Salos’ spiel.

“It is true, I am no master of battle, though I have been in quite a few of my own while protecting my family clan from rival packs.

“What I offer, however, is something Vikingrune Academy desperately needs:Connections.A level head that can look from the outside in, as my colleagues have generously put it, deduce problems, and mitigate them before they explode into catastrophes.”

The students yelling out were right. He’s a damned politician.

This wasnotwhat we needed. I couldn’t stop wringing my hands and chewing the inside of my cheek as I listened to him croon about what weneeded, after he had only been here a fortnight or so.

What the Hel does a pack leader from outside the Isle have to offer us? Whatcanhe possibly offer us? And how did Kelvar and the others let this happen?

If I had to guess, I’d say the vote was tilted by the Hersirs I didn’t recognize. Kelvar, or at least Dahlia and Ingvus, had likely voted for themselves, all but canceling their vote. Kelvar had maybe gotten a vote or two, with Axel Osfen, I ventured, getting a few others. Most wouldn’t vote for a woman in Gudleif Selken, I knew, because our species seemed to correlatewarwithmen.

. . . Which meant the mystery Hersirs I hardly knew—and hardly knew where they camefrom—must have been the deciding factor that gave Salos Torfen the edge.

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