Viking Conspiracy Page 4

  “Tons,” I confirmed. “My cousin, Olivia, makes this amazing chicken curry. And my grandmother made the best lasagna with oregano and basil and tons of garlic.”

  My heart tugged as I thought of all the family dinners I’d missed since I’d been here. Olivia and I had planned to drive home from college together one weekend a month to maintain our monthly family games night. And we’d have cooked Thansksgiving dinner together with Mormor and the rest of my cousins. And over Christmas vacation, we’d have baked all the pies and gingerbread cookies and lefse and waffles. It had been more than four months since I’d seen my family.

  God, I miss them.

  “Saga?” Freia’s kind voice pulled me back.

  “I’m fine. Honest.” I sucked in a breath. “Thank you for checking on me. It really does mean a lot.”

  Freia’s gentle gaze held mine. “Your birth family may be far away, but you always have us. Never forget that.”

  My throat tightened at her words. I was too touched to do anything but nod.

  “Come. I’ll walk you back to class. Slowly.” Freia linked her arm through mine. True to her word, she took her time guiding me back down the hallway, so by the time we reached the A&D room, I’d regained my composure.

  “Come by the family quarters for tea sometime,” Freia urged. “Halvar and I would love to see more of you.”

  “I will.” I nodded. “And thank you again. For looking out for me.”

  Freia winked. “Get in there and see if any of those spices look familiar. In the ‘recommendations’ portion of your report, feel free to include any uses your family may have for them.”

  A smile tugged at my lips. I gave Freia one more nod before walking into my classroom.

  After apologizing to Professor Spry I joined Katrin and Brigga at our usual table, ignoring the cold looks the icy blonde shot my way as I took my seat.

  “You’re late,” Brigga hissed.

  “You’re rude,” I snarked back. I’d had it with Brigga’s attitude over the past few months. Thank God we were nearly done with this term—if there was any justice in this world, we’d be on different schedules for the spring.

  “We’ve already started on our list,” Brigga said. “Since you couldn’t be bothered to be on time, you can cross reference prior discoveries. This is an eastern shipment, by way of Rome.”

  “Fine by me.” I stalked to the bookshelf, where lists of past shipments were bound in leather. I grabbed the Eastern Shipments volumes and turned back toward my table. Brigga must have jumped into another one of her tirades while I’d stepped away, because by the time I returned Katrin was glaring, arms crossed.

  “I just don’t get you. Why do you have to be such a horrible person?” Katrin’s normally level voice held an edge.

  “Why do you have to be such a horrible fighter?” Brigga spat back. “Your parents are warriors, for Odin’s sake. You’d think they’d have taught you something.”

  Oh no, she didn’t.

  Katrin’s shoulders slumped. Her lack of skill with a sword was a major source of disappointment for her . . . Something Brigga was well aware of.

  “Everybody has different strengths. Even within a family.” My books landed on the tabletop with a heavy thud. “Didn’t you get kicked out of the dragon-riding program? The one your sister’s supposedly the star of?”

  Brigga’s icy eyes shot daggers of pure hatred. “Don’t talk to me about my sister.”

  “Don’t insult my friend.” I crossed my arms. “Katrin’s strengths are academic. I’m still waiting to see what yours are. They’re obviously not of the social variety.”

  Beside me, Katrin tried to disguise her laugh with a cough.

  Brigga braced her palms on the table and leaned forward. “You know what, Saga? You’re—”

  “Do we have a problem, ladies?” Professor Spry’s even tone bore just a hint of warning.

  Brigga leaned back, shooting me one final glare before picking up her writing feather. “Saga’s distracting me from my work.”

  “Oh, that is hardly—”

  “Saga, Katrin—why don’t the two of you take your work out to the sunroom? There’s a fresh platter of lefse and a pot of tea out there. Brigga, you and I can work on your portion of the manifest together. I’d like us to have a conversation.”

  “I don’t need to talk about anything,” Brigga said defiantly.

  “Well, I do.” Professor Spry’s face made it clear there was no room for negotiation. “My desk, now.”

  She picked up Brigga’s papers and gestured to the front of the room. Katrin raised her brow before gathering her own things and stalking outside. With Professor Spry still watching us closely, I bit my tongue, grabbed my stuff, and followed my friend.

  Once in the sunroom, I deposited my books while Katrin retrieved two lefse-filled plates.

  “Yikes,” I said when she returned. “Somebody got up on the wrong side of the bed today.”

  “She’s been like this for months,” Katrin reminded me. “She’s never been nice, but it’s getting progressively worse. I don’t know if she’s fighting with a guy, or having issues with Birna, or what.”

  “Does she have any friends besides her sister?” From what I’d gathered, the two were as similar in temperament as they were in appearance—beautiful blond ice queens with the personalities of venomous snakes.

  “She used to be close with some of the divinity girls—the ones who study as seers and prophets?” Katrin bit into her lefse and chewed thoughtfully. “But right before you got here, she had some kind of falling out with them. After that, she only spent time with Birna. And with whatever guy she was trying to get with that week.”

  “Right.” I remembered both sisters flirting with Axel . . . and Erik. Brigga’s rage when she’d discovered he and I were a thing was a memory I wouldn’t soon forget. “Well, whatever it is, I hope she gets over herself soon. She’s making this class awful.”

  “Awful?” Katrin raised her lefse. “This?”

  “Well, this part is good.” I bit into the doughy flatbread and opened my book. I flipped pages until I came to the most recent entry and read the loopy script. I peered at Katrin’s manifest and scrolled through the names of the spices the ship’s explorers had brought back. Ginger and nutmeg were familiar enough in my world, so I read backwards in the book of prior discoveries, looking for an identical entry.

  “The company’s good too.” Katrin picked up her writing feather with a smile. “I’m glad we’ve become friends. It was awful being partnered just with Brigga.”

  “I’ll bet.” I grimaced. “And speaking of friends, what do you think of Ingrid and Vidia?” It was the lamest segue ever, but I was low on sleep and high on curiosity.

  “They seem really nice.” Katrin scribbled on her parchment. “Ingrid’s obviously got a thing for Axel.”

  “Obviously.” I chuckled. “I’m not sure which of them should be more afraid—they’re either going to rip each other to pieces, or end up being the perfect match.”

  Katrin smiled.

  “What about you? What would your perfect match look like?” Seriously, Saga? You’re better than this.

  Not without coffee, I wasn’t.

  “Oh, I don’t know.” Katrin toyed with the edge of her sleeve. “None of the guys here are really my type.”

  I lowered my writing feather. “What about the girls?”

  Katrin’s eyes widened. “How did you—"

  “Where I’m from, love is love. It’s a blessing however it’s found.” I shrugged.

  “You’re from a tiny farming region.” Katrin’s brows furrowed together. “I thought things were very traditional in those kinds of areas.”

  “Um, they are,” I hastened. “In some respects. Others, not so much.” I was seriously the worst at this.

  “Well . . . to answer your question, none of the girls here are my type either. Or they weren’t . . . until recently.”

  I knew it! She was totally into Vidia.
“Katrin.” I nudged her with my elbow. “You have a crush.”

  Katrin’s olive skin blazed crimson. “Is that weird?”

  “Not to me. Like I said, love is love. Besides, didn’t Helene have two moms?”

  “She did,” Katrin confirmed. “Freia enforces tolerance here—we’re to be accepting of all lifestyles, so long as they’re rooted in love and kindness. But it’s not that way through most of Norway. And Vidia’s not from Valkyris, so she might not even know different lifestyles are an option. Or if she does, I might not be what she’s into. Does that make any sense?”

  “It does.” I chewed thoughtfully. “But you miss all of the shots you don’t take, right?”

  Katrin tilted her head. “You know I’m not an archer.”

  Context, Saga. That’s not a phrase yet. “I just mean you’ll never know unless you try. That’s all.”

  “True.” Katrin placed her hand on top of mine. “You’re a good friend.”

  “As are you. Now get to work—this manifest’s not going to break itself down. And your aunt already has her hands full with Brigga. We don’t want to give her any more headaches today.”

  “Okay.” Katrin picked up her feather with a smile.

  “Besides, I know exactly what we’re going to cook with these spices once we get them on hand. My grandmother has the most amazing gingerbread cookie recipe. And since we already have cinnamon . . .” I rubbed my belly. “Way better than mutton stew, I promise.”

  “I hate that stew.” Katrin laughed.

  “Don’t we all,” I agreed. I turned my attention to our task. Somewhere in all these spices there had to be something that would improve our most frequently served meal.

  And if there wasn’t . . . thank God we had lefse.

  Chapter 5

  THAT AFTERNOON, I RUSHED from Strategy to Combat. I ducked into the changing room to hang up my cloak and re-lace my boots. I knew I needed to get into a fighting headspace, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Professor Steepleton’s lecture. We’d spent the first half of our hour-long strategy class discussing false attacks—the art of sending in a small battle party to determine a foe’s weaknesses, then reassessing the full-scale attack plan in order to strike with maximum impact. Few tribes could spare the numbers for false attacks, but those that managed it nearly always defeated their opponents in the end. Valkyris was strong, but if we wanted to engage in that practice, we’d need to continue increasing our numbers. Recruiting was something to think about, for sure.

  After we’d covered false attacks, we’d spent the rest of the class discussing Clan Bjorn’s threat to Valkyris. Once we’d learned of their plan, Freia had requested a full update from all remote scouts. She’d learned—and passed on to her war council, including Professor Steepleton—that Lars had asked all tribal leaders to help him recover his “stolen” bride and slaves. He’d manipulated the narrative to make it appear that not only had Erik stolen me, but that Axel had absconded with Ingrid and Vidia. Since theft amongst Vikings was considered a high crime, it was only a matter of time before Bjorn, Ragnar, and the rest of the clans descended on Valkyris with one thought on their mind: revenge.

  Gulp.

  Thankfully, we had two things going for us. First, none of the tribes knew where Valkyris was. At least, we hoped they didn’t. We hadn’t learned anything more about the spy who’d leaked our location months back, and we could only pray said spy had been deterred by Erik and Axel’s public executions. And second, Erik was beyond furious at Bjorn’s threat. Which meant any revenge Bjorn planned to extract paled in comparison to the Viking vengeance Erik intended to unleash on his rival. It was kind of terrifying—but also freaking hot.

  “Hey, Saga! You coming or what?” Axel’s voice echoed off the high ceilings. He must have poked his head in to yell at me.

  “I’ll be right there!” I hurriedly finished tying my boots and jogged to the indoor training arena. I picked up one foot and stretched my quads, then dropped into a hamstring stretch. When I was loosened up, I grabbed a sword and stood by the wall. Zaan, Helene’s crush, was my current training partner, but he was working with Vidia on a basic broadsword sequence. She seemed to be struggling beneath the weight of the weapon—either that, or she was just really bad at blades. Vidia’s arms trembled as she lifted the broadsword and swung wildly at Zaan. He stepped backwards in the nick of time—a second later, and he’d have been down an arm.

  Yikes.

  “Why don’t we take a break?” Zaan gently lowered Vidia’s sword with the tip of his own. He wrapped his hand around the hilt and pried it from my friend’s hands. I grabbed a thinner sword from the wall and quickly crossed to stand beside Zaan.

  “Here,” I offered her. “This is my favorite blade—heavy enough to pack a punch, but not so big it’ll overwhelm you.”

  “Saga.” Vidia wiped the sweat from her brow. “How long have you been here?”

  “Long enough to see Zaan started you on the wrong blade.” I pushed the lighter sword at my friend before slugging Zaan in the shoulder. “It’s her first day!”

  “It’s hers, too.” Zaan pointed across the room, where Ingrid was giving Erik hell. My boyfriend occasionally dropped in on the upper-level classes, so his being there wasn’t totally out of the ordinary. But I wasn’t used to seeing him spar with a student. Usually, he corrected form, demonstrated advanced maneuvers . . . more hands-off kinds of things. But right then . . .

  “Holy mother, what’s he doing?” I gaped at the sight of the hotter-than-hell Viking heir going head-to-head with my friend. Instead of his usual shirtless training attire, today he wore a sleeveless tunic that was covered in sweat. His long hair was tied up in a man-bun, and though his eyes bore their signature sparkle, there was a hint of grit in them—as if he might actually be testing Ingrid to see how far he could push her.

  On her first day.

  My friend was more than rising to the challenge. She raised her broadsword over her head, grunting as she brought it down in a fierce arc. Erik blocked the blow, the clang of striking swords reverberating throughout the stone-walled training room.

  “Left high!” Erik shouted. Ingrid swung her sword around to cut to his shoulder. Another clang resonated through the space as Erik blocked the blow.

  “Right low!” Erik barked. Ingrid spun counter-clockwise and struck at Erik’s calf. He blocked again, stepping back before calling, “Jab center.”

  Ingrid thrust her sword forward, aiming straight for Erik’s stomach. He easily parried the move, rotating his wrist to knock her blade out of her hands. She doubled over, panting.

  “Let’s go again,” she rasped.

  “I think you’ve earned a break.” Erik bent to pick up the fallen sword. “You really haven’t trained before?”

  “No.” Ingrid wiped her forehead with the back of her sleeve. “I’ve always wanted to though.”

  “Did my mother formally assign you to a discipline yet?”

  “I told her I want to train for the Shieldmaiden Squadron,” Ingrid said. “She gave me a combat-heavy schedule.”

  “Well, you’ve got the talent for it. They’ll be lucky to have you after graduation.” Erik hung Ingrid’s sword on the wall and grabbed a towel from the table. Droplets of sweat trickled between the deep muscles of his arms, and he dabbed the moisture away. Yum.

  “I hope so,” Ingrid said. “I never want to feel helpless again.”

  “Nothing about you is helpless,” Erik replied. “But you could use some help with your form. Where’s Axel?”

  Oh, this just got good.

  I looked around until I spotted Axel in the corner, walking a group through an advanced sword sequence.

  “Andersson!” Erik shouted.

  Axel turned at the sound of his name. His eyes glinted when he spotted Ingrid scowling at Erik’s side.

  “Need help?” he called over.

  “No!” Ingrid retorted, at the same time as Erik said, “Yes.”

  Axel’s lips quirked upw
ard. He barked instructions at his group before sauntering toward Erik and Ingrid. “Yes?”

  “I changed my mind.” Ingrid whirled on Erik. “I’ll take that break after all.”

  “You said you wanted to go again.” Erik’s brow furrowed. “And he’s a better technical teacher than I am.”

  “Ja, but—”

  “Axel, she’s proficient in the sequencing but needs nuance work—grip, angles, blade positioning, that sort of thing. I’m going to work with the other new student and let Professor Grieg handle the rest of the class.”

  “Sounds good.” Axel eyed Ingrid like a hungry predator. “So, you need some help with your grip, huh?”

  Ingrid’s lips pressed together in a thin line. “Weren’t you too injured to row a boat, like, yesterday? How are you teaching a class right now?”

  Axel shrugged. “We’ve got extraordinary healers here.”

  “Magic fairy medicine, more like it,” I muttered.

  Beside me, Zaan snorted. “The healer who treated him teaches my morning class. She told me they put him on some major stuff to fix that arm—had to make sure he was a hundred percent by morning. The chief and chieftess can’t afford to be down an archer if we’re attacked.”

  All the more reason for me to train harder. My stomach churned at the thought of the dragon-riding lesson I’d have to endure after combat, but Zaan was right—we needed archers. And for the time being, I was one of the strongest ones we had.

  Viking up, Saga. Nobody’s died learning to ride a dragon.

  Not that they’ve told me, anyway.

  “I am holding it at an angle.” Ingrid’s irritated snap pulled me out of my head. She and Axel had moved on from bickering to working on form. And apparently, they had a difference of opinion.

  “The other way,” Axel ground out. “You’re pointing left—rotate your wrist to the right, then arc it in a half-circle. And raise your elbow at the end of your swing. You’ll maximize the force behind your block, and if you’re lucky, you’ll throw your opponent off enough to loosen their grip. That’s when you come in with a fist.”