Chapter Twelve Amund #2
“I see.” I can’t help but glance at the portrait of Uncle Trygve on the wall. If Edith’s father was involved with the Tragedy thirty years ago, maybe it’s not a coincidence she’s returned now.
“Henry’s daughter enrolls right before Helga reinstates the Unity Celebration, and the night after she arrives, someone winds up dead, with her at the scene? That’s no coincidence.”
Once again, we’re on the same page. “I agree,” I say, leaning forward and tapping her file. “Not only that, but look. She was sent to Skallagrim because she attacked a classmate at her previous school.”
“Apparently, she takes after her father.”
He sounds almost… disappointed. But the words also seem barbed, directed at me and my brother. Like we don’t take after him enough.
I clear my throat. “Her transformation only began recently. She clearly can’t control herself. Our victim must have caught her by surprise, and Edith snapped.”
“Unfortunately, we can’t bring any of this to Helga.
” Father leans back in his chair, flipping to the next page of her file.
“Speculation won’t be enough. We need something concrete.
Something she can’t ignore. Keep a close eye on Edith in the meantime.
We cannot let her kill anyone else on our watch. ”
“I know,” I say, thinking of Nils.
I drop into my chair with a thud. At least my first class today is one I took last year but didn’t pass. Since Reading the Runes is required for graduation, I had to retake it.
The classroom fills with students. Hunters, witches, and berserkir alike take their seats, but no one wants to sit next to me. I’m the oldest in the class. One of the few students to not pass it the first time. I would be embarrassed, but I’m too exhausted to care.
Mother stands at her desk. When I failed this class, I had no idea she would be teaching it this year. Normally I avoid any class Mother teaches, and even the infirmary where she works. I don’t want her to see the injuries Father has given me. She’d get the wrong idea.
“All right, in your seats, everyone,” she calls out.
She frowns when her eyes land on me, her brows lifting in worry. “Amund?”
It must be obvious Father is pushing me hard just from looking at me, but I don’t need her concern. I don’t deserve it. “Here.”
She pauses a moment, as if debating if she should say something, but then the door bursts open.
My body immediately tenses.
When I see who’s standing in the door, I can’t believe my eyes.
Edith.
She hurries inside, her backpack hanging off her shoulder. “Sorry I’m late, I had trouble finding the class.”
My mother shakes her head. “Thank you for joining us. Take a seat.”
Edith looks out over the class—until she sees me.
Our eyes lock.
Unbelievable. Is this what Helga meant by dealing with her? Letting Edith roam around Skallagrim and continue her classes? Doesn’t Helga realize she’s endangering every student here by allowing this? Edith can’t control herself.
I glance to the empty seat beside me—the only unclaimed one in class. Great.
Frowning, Edith reluctantly walks over to me.
“What are you even doing here?” I ask lowly.
She scowls at me. “Attending class, just like you.”
“You should be expelled.”
Her eyes flash. “Helga doesn’t think so.”
My hand tightens into a fist atop my desk. “We’ll see about that.”
“Enough, the two of you,” my mother chides.
Once she finishes taking attendance, Mother draws a long string of runes on the board: ??????????????????????????????????????
“This is a runic inscription from Bryggen, dating back to the 1200s. Work together with your partner to translate these runes,” she says. “If you can translate them before class ends, I won’t assign any homework tonight.”
Edith ignores me, takes out her pen and paper, and starts copying them down.
I stare at the runes, but I can’t concentrate. How can I? Edith is sitting right next to me. I watch her out of the corner of my eye, aware of her every movement. She’s flipping through her book of runes, her forehead creased in concentration.
Edith must notice me staring. “Are you going to help or not?”
The last thing I want is to help her, but I have no choice. Less homework means more time to keep an eye on Edith. I glance over at her open book. “Those runes aren’t the Elder or Younger Futhark.”
Edith frowns. “How do you know that?”
“Those are medieval runes.”
I flip the page for her, finding the right ones. “Here.”
“Thanks.” Edith goes back to work. She writes an English letter under each rune in neat handwriting: O M N I A
She pauses. Struggles. “Wait, isn’t this Latin?”
I lean over her shoulder, taking a closer look. “You’re right.”
The words are Latin, not Norse or Icelandic.
Edith peers down at the page, running a hand through her pale hair. With her distracting me, it takes me longer than I’d like to admit, but I finally decipher the runes myself. Omnia vincit amor, et nos cedamus amori.
Edith sighs, clearly frustrated. At first I think she’s giving up, but then she moves her pen down to the bottom of her page and draws a new symbol. Three triangles overlapping each other.
“Do you recognize this rune?” she asks.
I scoff at her. “It isn’t one.”
“How are you so sure? Wait.” Edith turns to me, her gaze narrowed. “You already read these runes, didn’t you?”
“Well, I don’t speak Latin,” I say, which is true.
“I know some,” Edith says. “So if we work together, we can solve this. Just tell me what each rune represents, and then I can translate—”
“No.”
I suspect I already know what it means. Our teacher used the same inscription last year. I have to rack my brain, but I believe it’s a passage from Virgil, a famous Roman poet, like Egill is to us. Something about love conquering everything so we should surrender to love.
I can’t bring myself to say those words out loud.
Especially not to Edith.
She leans closer, studying me. “You already know what it means, don’t you?”
She’s surprisingly perceptive. But I’m not going to tell her that, either.
Edith shakes her head. “Unbelievable.”
“I’m sure you can solve it yourself,” I tell her.
Her hand shoots straight up in the air. “Excuse me, we have the answ—”
I cover her mouth too late.
“Yes?” Mother asks, an amused expression on her face. “What is it?”
Edith turns to me, one of her eyebrows raised. “Yeah, what is it, Amund?”
I cast her a scathing look. Everyone else in the class is staring at me too, so why is it only Edith’s gaze that feels like a searingly hot iron? I clear my throat. I’ve already been embarrassed enough. No matter what I say now, I’ll just be adding to it.
“I-I don’t know,” I say through clenched teeth.
Mother frowns. “Does anyone else?”
The classroom falls silent.
“You’ll all be translating this individually tonight, then,” Mother calls out just as the bell rings. More than a few students groan.
Edith slams her notebook shut and jumps up as if she can’t wait to get away from me. She’s out the door before I can ask her where she’s going next. Damn it. The classroom is already clearing out. I leave quickly before Mother can try to approach me.
Father was right. I’m going to have to keep a close eye on Edith.
I’ll make sure she won’t stay at Skallagrim for long.
I swear it.