Page 31 of The Daughter of the Scarred Elf

“It’s going to be a small party.” Inkeri combed her hair with her fingers. “Me, you, Herja, Eluf—you remember Eluf, right?”

The name sounded familiar, and the more she thought about it, a hazy image appeared. Raven-colored hair. A cloak made offeathers. Dark circles rimming tired black eyes. “He’s … That purple rank, right? The one who looks gloomy all the time?”

“Yes. He’s a rank higher than us too, so he’ll be in charge of us. He’s actually almost always in charge of our group.” She smoothed down the front of her dark gray uniform. “His younger brother, Gunnar, will be with us as well. Along with?—”

“Look what we have here.” A male voice carried into their conversation, clashing with whatever Inkeri was saying. “I’m surprised you’re her teacher in this.”

A young man with a purple badge pinned to his breast pocket was leaning onto the fence, his forearms casually folded and braced on the wooden railing. Curly chestnut hair brushed his shoulders and a jarring pair of heterochromatic eyes stared at her—one eye a sea-green with specks of blue, while the other was ocean-blue with specks of green. His lips twisted into a smirk while Inkeri’s smile faded.

“Ivar,” she said flatly, annoyance flitting over her face.

“The one and only.” His strange eyes flicked to Kolfinna. “You’re the fae everyone’s been talking about. Kolrinna, right?”

“Kolfinna.” She shifted the training sword to her other hand to at least do something. She wasn’t sure what she felt about this intruder. On the outside, he looked harmless, but there was something about him that pricked her senses. Like he was dangerous.

“Kolfinna. Got it.” He flashed a white-toothed smile. A hint of feral glee gleamed in his unmatched eyes. “I liked what you did the other day, smacking that big oaf with that rock.”

Thatmade her smile at least. Throwing that piece of stone at Bjarni’s face had been satisfying, to say the least. She had seen him once or twice in the dining hall, but he hadn’t said a word to her and had only glared from the distance. No doubt Sijur had given him a stern talk. Especially considering how Sijur needed Kolfinna for his grand plan of creating rune-marked slaves.

The last part made her smile fall.

“What do you want, Ivar?” Inkeri gave him a pointed look. “We’re training here. Don’t you have something better to do?”

“There are a hundred things I can list off that would be better than watching you dance with that sword. None of which I can do at the moment, unfortunately.” He watched her with an unreadable look before turning to Kolfinna. “I’ve been given the task to watch over you two to make sure you”—he pointed to Inkeri—“don’t screw up.”

Splotches of red bloomed on her cheeks. “What would I mess up on?”

He lifted his shoulders. “You don’t have a good track record.”

“Stop screwing around, Ivar,” she snapped. “I know Lieutenant Bernsten didn’t send you here.”

“Hm.” He didn’t deny it. “What I’ve seen of you two fighting has been pretty …boring. Didn’t the Royal Asses teach you anything?”

Kolfinna bristled. She was starting to become embarrassed whenever people gawked at her lack of skills with the sword. Even though it was technically the Royal Guards’ fault for not teaching her enough, it still was a jab at her.

“We’re in the middle of training,” Inkeri said through clenched teeth. “Feel free to screw off.”

“Middleof training? Looks more like the end of training, if you ask me?—”

“We didn’taskyou.”

He propped his chin on his palm and leaned on the fence lazily. “Don’t be like that. I’ve come to help.”

Kolfinna watched them exchange heated looks. Ivar looked more pleased and amused than furious, while Inkeri was all shades of anger and annoyance.

Ivar’s grin only made Inkeri simmer. “I’ll be helping out occasionally, so no need to look so angry. She’s a member of ourteam, isn’t she? So it only helps all of us if she’s trained well and, judging by her lack of training, I’d say she needs all the help she can get.”

Kolfinna rolled her eyes. “I can handle myself just fine. I might not be the best swordsman, but I’m not a lousy fighter.”

She had fought several people in the past year or two. Lord Estur, a purple rank. A handful of Royal Guards when Fenris had chased her down before the Eventyrslot ruins. Draugrs, drekis, the Nuckelavee. When needed, her instincts had always kicked in.

Not that she didn’t need the training—she knew better than anyone else that she did—but it annoyed her that everyone was treating her like a weak fae who couldn’t fight back.

She certainly could.

Ivar raised an eyebrow. “Really? That’s new to me.”

“You don’t even know me,” Kolfinna said slowly. “Am I to believe that you’re basing my fighting abilities off … the fight with Bjarni and”—she waved her hand at the dents in the sand where she had fallen and then to her sword—“all of this?”

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