Page 63 of The Last Valkyrie

I shrugged. “Guess we’ll see. Probably won’t be too happy.”

Grim said, “That’s why I brought you two sad sacks along,” nodding to Ulf and Edda. “To make Salos stand down if it comes to it.”

We stood abreast, not trying to hide ourselves. A rocky outcropping rested behind us, rising to the mottled woods that led into Delaveer Forest and the way we had come. In front lay grainy sand, small boulders, the vast ocean, and the single ship. Closer, moored against a makeshift dock, were three otherWraiths—theGray,Blue, andWhite.

Grim made a curious expression as he glanced out at the dockedWraiths, but I thought nothing of it.

I hadn’t been to the shoreline of the Isle since leaving here between my initiate and cadet year, returning home briefly to speak with my father during the fortnight we had off from classes.

I should have read the signs then, nearly two years ago now, because my father had treated me particularly poorly upon my return to our den in Norway. He had asked more questions than usual and seemed skeptical about my answers. He’d wanted to know a lot about the inhabitants of the school in particular, my peers, and the Hersirs especially.

I’d never known his relationship with Gothi Sigmund when they were students at Vikingrune. I imagined it was similarto Ravinica’s lack of knowledge about her mother Lindi and Sigmund.

Did they get along? Were they enemies? Why is Da here?

He had massive influence across the wolf shifter world. He was a donor to the academy, which meant nepotism had played its part in bringing his offspring through the school. Ulf, for instance, had never been qualified to attend based on his testing and skill-set alone.

Yet he’d been on the list, same year as Ravinica. As a measure of his embarrassment, Ulf had been forced to take theGray Wraithhere rather than the more esteemedRed Wraith, cutting the decades-long Torfen tradition of new initiates taking theRedto come here.

My father appeared to be renewing that tradition.

The longship landed a half hour later. I could see the deep resentment and anger across my father’s face as he jumped off the ship and waded through the knee-high waters to get to us. He was flanked by his usual retinue from our pack, including his younger brother, Uncle Gunne Torfen, and his chief of security, Osborn.

Osborn was a slight but dangerous shifter. He had wily eyes that immediately honed in on us at the edge of the shore. Gunne was tall—taller than my father—with a rotund belly and a scowl on his face. He clearly hadn’t seen any need to stay fit in his understandably posh position as a money-man outside Vikingrune Academy, ever since graduating a few years after my father.

Salos Torfen had a clean-shaven face, an angular jaw, and a sharp nose. He wasn’t broad like Edda and Ulf, sharing my wiry, corded build. A couple scars ran down his face—one nicking his chin, the other scaling from his temple diagonally down to the base of his ear. The ear on that side, his left, was missing.

Da had told us cubs that his wounds had come from dangerous Vikingrune missions in his youth, and from being foolish. His missing ear had always been symbolism, a warning example of what foolish actions led to.

As our father approached cautiously, his eyes landed on mine the longest. The scowl was so deep in his gaunt face I worried he’d turn into a skeleton before my eyes. Clearly he had not been expecting me.

Worse was the look he gave to Edda and Ulf, as if his gaze alone damned them for traitors. To Grim, he looked slightly confused, his brow jumping, before his face twisted when he noticed a glaring absence from our foursome.

I figured, from a distance, he had mistaken Grim for Olaf at first.

The trio stopped in front of us, ten feet away, boots deep in the sand.

“If you’re going to bring the whole family as a welcoming committee, why did you forget Olaf?” he asked in a grating, raspy voice that came from a life of smoking.

“Olaf is dead, Father,” Edda said. Her voice cracked at the end and she bowed her head. “Killed in battle by a lowly draug. The bastards.”

Father showed no sign of sadness, no hint of shame or guilt or anger. His face was unreadable. It made me irrationally furious that he couldn’t show emotion for our lost brother, his son, even now in front of us.

He looked to me, over his beaked nose. “What are you doing here, Sven? I figured my missive left no room for discussion.” His eyes snapped to Edda and Ulf, who stared on, shamefaced.

I folded my arms. “Times and situations have changed, Da.”

A lengthy pause settled between our groups. The rain started to fall harder, drizzle turning to drops.

Salos glared up at the sky, the gray clouds, and back to me. “Olaf is dead? Tell me everything.”

And so we did. We spoke about the battle against the Dokkalfar, jotnar, and their nefarious undead army. I thought my father would’ve known the information beforehand, but apparently not. He had been on theRed Wraithfor days, after all, and I’d only learned of his itinerary through Edda.

Salos was silent the entire time, as were his two closest men. He had come with no guards other than his head of security, because he clearly saw no threat here.

It was obvious he knew much less about the goings-on here than I’d previously suspected.Or is he that pompous, to think he can buy his way out of any situation that goes awry—that he doesn’t need bodyguards when traveling to the Isle?

In the past, that would have been true. Now, we had predators afoot. The landscape of the island had drastically changed since he’d last been here.

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