Chapter Eight Amund
Ileave only once I’m certain Edith isn’t going anywhere else tonight.
As I head back to Father, I can’t stop thinking about her.
Edith lied to me. Not just tonight, either.
She let me believe she was a witch. A hunter is only as good as their instincts.
My hands curl into fists. How could I have been so wrong?
She was calm when I found her standing over the student’s body.
Cold. Remorseless. She struggled when she had to explain herself only because it was plain what had happened.
Edith isn’t just a liar.
She’s a killer.
What other explanation could there be?
By the time I reach the witches’ section, Father is in a heated discussion with Helga.
One of her ravens must have informed her of the attack.
The dead girl lies by their feet. Father’s dark cloak is draped over her like a funeral shroud.
My guilt is overwhelming. She died on my watch.
I shoulder some responsibility for this too.
“I know a berserkr attack when I see one,” Father says, his voice cutting.
“Don’t be so hasty.” Helga shakes her head, careful not to disturb the raven perched on her shoulder. “We have to at least consider it.”
“Wouldn’t you know if one was on campus?”
“You are a fine one to talk, Agnar.” Helga sighs. “Skallagrim still holds plenty of secrets. Not even I know everything that goes on within these walls. All I’m saying is we can’t ignore—”
“Amund,” Father says, turning toward me.
The raven ruffles its feathers and Helga purses her lips.
“What were you discussing?” I ask, joining them.
“Nothing,” Father says swiftly. “Help me bring the body to the morgue.”
“Emilía,” Helga corrects. “Her name is Emilía Jónsdóttir.”
I glance between Helga and Father, uncertain. Just what were they talking about before, and why did they stop as soon as I showed up?
I shake my head slowly. I have to focus on the task at hand. “But the morgue is in—”
“The seer campus,” Helga cuts in. “Yes, I’m well aware. We have to keep the body there until I speak with her parents and… persuade them to cremate her.”
I don’t even want to know what that means. “Val is still on patrol there.”
“Then you better make sure she doesn’t see you,” Helga says, turning away from us. “No one else can know of this.”
Father’s jaw ticks. “Because of your foolish Unity Celebration?”
Helga pauses. Glances over her shoulder.
“I’ve already invited all of our alumni, family, and friends to Skallagrim.
The last thing I want is them—or the board—getting wind of this incident.
” She presses her lips together. “This matter isn’t up for discussion.
I can trust you to deal with this discreetly, can’t I? ”
“Of course,” Father says, his voice strained.
Helga nods, satisfied. “If that’s all, then I need to go handle this situation.”
And with that, she leaves us.
Father crouches in front of the corpse and grabs her under the arms. “Give me a hand, Amund.”
I hesitate. Again.
How can Helga still plan to hold the celebration after this?
A student is dead. The last Unity Celebration was thirty years ago—when the Tragedy took place.
We haven’t had one since. It was already a shock when Helga said she wanted to reinstitute the celebration this year.
It’s not like anyone would even miss it if it were canceled again.
“Amund,” Father says, his annoyance growing.
“Sorry.”
This is the least I can do for Emilía now. Swallowing down my revulsion, I bend over and lift her legs carefully. Her body is cold, far heavier than it should be. It takes everything in me to keep my grip firm and steady as we carry Emilía toward the morgue.
“Shouldn’t the students be warned?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
“You heard Helga. It’s not my decision.”
On one of my first hunts, Father told me that animals who know they’re being hunted will behave differently. So will humans, I imagine. If the students don’t know they’re in danger, then it makes our job to protect them that much harder. They’ll continue to be careless.
Carelessness gets you killed.
I glance down at the body we’re carrying. It was my carelessness that got her killed.
Father looks me over with a frown. He isn’t angry like I expected. He just looks… disappointed.
Somehow, that’s even worse.
“Don’t blame yourself,” he says quietly. “We can’t save everyone.” There’s an uncharacteristic softness to his voice. Not disappointment but sympathy.
It only drives my guilt deeper like a knife. I don’t deserve his sympathy. If I hadn’t been distracted, I could’ve saved her, like he’d saved that student’s life from a berserkr five years ago. Instead, I was watching Nils, ensuring he returned home safely.
Now Emilía is dead because of me.
“What will happen to Edith?” I whisper, though I’m not sure why I care.
Father hesitates a moment. “The berserkr? Helga will deal with her.”
“If she did this, she can’t be allowed to stay at Skallagrim.”
His gaze flicks to me, sharp as any arrow. “If she did this?”
“I misspoke.”
“If you have any doubts, so will Helga,” Father says. “She’s always been too soft on the berserkir.”
I shift my weight between my feet, feeling unsteady as I carry the body. “No. Of course—”
“Quiet,” Father says harshly. “Valerie is close by.”
We must have reached the seer campus. My mouth snaps shut, and I focus on the task at hand: carrying the corpse. We can’t risk alerting Val or anyone else to our presence here. We move at a quick clip, sticking to the shadows.
The deserted campus is unsettling. After all our hunts, even our footsteps are soundless as we head toward the morgue. Soon, the crumbling, decrepit building looms over us. Like everything else in this part of campus, it’s been long abandoned.
Even though both our hands are full, the door slowly creaks open.
An invitation.
My muscles tighten. Even Father seems tense, like he doesn’t want to be here any more than I do. Inside, the morgue smells of dust and mold, every surface covered by thick cobwebs. This place probably hasn’t been used since the Tragedy occurred. The morgue would have been filled with bodies then.
Countless students died that day.
Not just seers but berserkir. Witches. Hunters.
My uncle.
“Have you been here before?” I ask Father.
“Of course,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate.
Father never speaks of the Tragedy. All I know about his brother is that he was an ambitious seer. The few times Father has mentioned Trygve, he got choked up. Even though Nils is no longer a part of my life, at least he’s alive. I can’t imagine how I would feel if I lost him permanently.
Father’s earlier words come back to me. We can’t save everyone.
I suspect he wasn’t just talking about Emilía.
A heavy, cold weight settles inside my stomach as we continue. The sounds of squeaking wheels and quiet wails still echo through these halls. The stench of death permeates this place, wafting through the stale air.
Finally, Father turns left.
I follow him, carefully steering the body through the doorway.
Metal tables fill the room like a classroom for corpses.
We heft Emilía onto the nearest table with a grunt. Her left arm flops over the side, almost as if she’s reaching for me. But her hand is limp as I move it back. Even with the worst of her injuries hidden underneath Father’s cloak, it does nothing for my guilt.
I look to Father, but his focus seems elsewhere.
“What now?” I ask him.
He shakes his head slowly. “After Helga speaks with her family, her body will be cremated. We have to conceal the truth of how she died in order to keep Skallagrim’s secrets safe from the world.”
“Is that what happened to Trygve?” I ask before I can think better of it.
Father pauses. Nods. “What happened to Emilía could have been worse,” he says thickly.
“Much worse. At least she was only mauled by one berserkr.” He has to clear his throat before he can continue.
“Helga wants to cover this up, and quickly, so we’re going to investigate this ourselves.
I need you to find proof that a berserkr is responsible. ”
“How am I supposed to do that?”
“If Helga won’t cooperate, then where else could we look?” Father asks. He clearly already has the answer in mind. Another test.
A long moment passes as I try to figure out an alternative.
I shake my head. “I don’t know.”
“The student records, Amund.”
“Helga would never hand them over,” I point out. “Those are confidential.”
“Yes, which is why you’ll need to break into her office tomorrow morning and look through them yourself.”
“What?” I ask, unable to hide my surprise. “Isn’t that too risky?”
“No, because you won’t get caught.” He reaches into his pocket and produces a small, charred piece of lignite. “You’ll have this.”
He drops it into my palm.
I stare down at it. “What is this?”
“A helm of concealment,” Father says. “With it, you’ll be undetectable, but you’ll need to activate it with your blood. It only works as long as you hold it, and even then it lasts a limited time. Once it crumbles, it’s nothing but ash.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Your mother.” He frowns. “She made me plenty before… Well, I still have a few left. I can’t use them because a stave requires the blood of its creator. I ran out of the vial your mother gave me years ago, but since you share her blood, you’ll be able to activate it.”
Mother. I stare down at the lignite in my palm. Suddenly, it seems precious. It’s so soft, already starting to crumble. Once it does, there’s no making it whole again. Precious but easily breakable. Like our family.
“All right,” I say, tucking the helm of concealment away carefully.
Father heads out the door like he’s eager to get out of this place.
Before I go, I glance back at the corpse.
I’m sorry, I tell Emilía. I should have saved you.
Father rests his hand on my shoulder. A comforting gesture, one I’m grateful for.
“Father, I’m—”
I turn around, but he isn’t there.
No one is.
Cold spreads over me, coursing through my veins like ice. I felt the weight of his palm, the press of his fingers as he gripped my shoulder. I know I did. But if it didn’t belong to Father, whose hand was it?
“Amund?” Father prompts, his voice coming from down the hall. He must be by the entrance already. “We have to return quickly. The others should be nearly finished with their patrols.”
“Right.” Ignoring my misgiving, I rush to catch up to him.
He nods at me before opening the door. “Remember, tell no one. Not even Valerie.”
“I know.”
There are plenty of things I haven’t told Val. This will just be one more.