Chapter Thirty-Five Edith
Heightened Senses is one of the only classes I share with Amund, but he still hasn’t arrived yet. Each time the door swings open, I look up. Some part of me hopes to see Amund standing there, while another part dreads it.
Isaac strides in, followed by Tala. He stretches his arms out, wrapping one around Tala’s back. The two start whispering with each other.
Seeing them makes me think of Amund. How he guided the knife as I held it, showing me where he’s weakest. It seems like something a hunter should never share. Especially not with a berserkr. But Amund did anyway.
For me.
When Amund was showing me all his vulnerabilities, I felt just as vulnerable.
I still do. The class fills up and there’s still no sign of him.
I bounce my leg, scribbling in my notebook.
Where is Amund? He’s never missed this class before.
I think of how he gripped my hand last night.
Something changed between us after I kissed him.
He seemed even more reserved than usual. More uncomfortable, too.
Is he avoiding me now?
I nibble on my nail. Maeve—or more likely, Gunnar, since he’s been covering her classes lately—hasn’t shown up yet.
There’s still time for Amund to arrive. Maybe he’s training and is running late.
The door opens and Valerie strides in. Her gaze flicks my way before she heads for the back of the room.
Clearly, she doesn’t approve of Amund helping me. I doubt anyone here would. The divide between the class is as clear as ever—berserkir on the left, hunters on the right. I start flipping through my notes to distract myself, rereading where we left off last class.
“Did you hear there was another attack?” Kris whispers to a student beside them.
I blink, looking around the room. “What attack?”
“Oh yeah,” Isaac says. “Last night.”
He says it so nonchalantly, like he’s not the one responsible—
Wait. Amund.
He was on patrol last night, wasn’t he? He went straight there after our training.
Is Amund hurt? Is that why he hasn’t shown up?
My chest grows tight at the thought.
“At least it was another hunter,” Tala mutters, fueling my fear.
“Watch it, ma chérie,” Valerie says while using one of her knives to clean under her nails. She doesn’t bother glancing up, but it’s obvious she’s listening to every word. Everyone in the room is. “That’s my best friend you’re talking about.”
My stomach sinks. She must mean Amund.
Tala smiles, baring her fangs. “Now you know how it feels, then.”
“Not quite.” Valerie levels her with a gaze. “Amund survived.”
Tala rushes toward Valerie.
“Fight! Fight! Fight!” hunters and berserkir alike cheer loudly.
Tala snarls.
“That’s right, show me your fangs,” Valerie purrs. “Good girl. I know you’re an animal just like the rest of them. You may have everyone else fooled with your prissy little act, but not me. I promise, you will never fool me—”
The door swings open.
My heart climbs my throat, but it isn’t Amund.
Gunnar walks in, clapping loudly. “Seats, now! Anyone still standing in ten seconds will be marching straight to Helga’s office. Maeve may have put up with this nonsense, but I assure you, I will not.”
Valerie and Tala reluctantly tear away from each other.
“We’re all on edge after the attack,” Gunnar says, clearing his throat. “Now that you got that out of your system, let’s get started with today’s lesson.”
Gunnar begins talking about how to control our heightened hearing. I don’t hear a word he’s saying. I keep glancing to the empty seat beside Valerie and tap my pen against my paper.
All I can think of is Amund.
“Sorry,” I say, scooping up my belongings and stuffing them in my bag. “I have a headache. I need to go to the infirmary.”
Gunnar lets out an annoyed harrumph.
Taking that as the only permission I’m going to get, I rush out the door before Gunnar can change his mind. I run down the hallway, sprinting like I’m on the track again.
I have to know if Amund is okay.
“Amund?” I call, rushing inside the clinic.
My gaze leaps between the beds—
There.
Amund is lying in one, his arm wrapped against his chest to stabilize it. He doesn’t have a shirt on. Bruises litter his body, dark blooms on his skin. My stomach squeezes at the sight. Like this, even he looks breakable despite his size.
Amund sits up slowly, grimacing as he does. “Edith?”
I hurry to his side. “What happened to you?”
“Ah, nothing,” he hedges. “We’ll have to pause our training for a bit, though.”
My gaze roves over him. Everywhere I look, I see a new bruise or scar. How many more does he have that can’t be seen? “It doesn’t look like nothing. I overheard our classmates talking about a hunter getting attacked, and when you didn’t show up to Heightened Senses, I—”
“I’m fine,” he says, his voice firm. “I just made a stupid mistake, that’s all. It won’t happen again.”
His words make me ache. How many times did my mom say something similar? After my parents fought, she’d come into my room and sit on the bed with me. When I asked what was wrong, she would always make excuses. Oh, just something stupid I did.
Maybe that’s why I blame myself and my mom—because she blamed herself too. I learned it from her, from how she talked about it, how she justified my dad’s treatment, both to herself and to me. And it wasn’t just her.
Society blamed her too.
“Don’t do that,” I tell Amund, lowering myself onto the chair beside his bed. “Don’t minimize what happened.”
The words sound like something my therapist would tell me. I’m pretty sure she has. I wish I could have told Mom the same thing.
Amund frowns, staring at his arm like he’s ashamed. “I got careless.”
“So was it my fault when I was attacked?”
His gaze lifts to meet mine. “Of course not.”
I reach for his uninjured hand, resting mine gently atop it. “Then why is it your fault you were?”
He stifles a groan.
“Shit, sorry.” I quickly pull back.
“No, I should be sorry,” Amund says tightly. “I didn’t believe you when you said the berserkr was bipedal, but I should have. You were right. I saw it for myself when I was attacked.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I could never be mad at him, not when he’s hurt like this. His bruised body reminds me of all the damage my mom tried to hide. There’s a small tin resting on the table beside him. The medicinal scent is familiar, taking me back to my childhood. “Is this bruise cream?”
“My mother insisted I use some, but I don’t need it.”
“Nonsense.” I take the tin and dip my finger in. “I’ll do it for you.”
Amund hesitates. Nods.
He looks embarrassed as I lean closer, my fingertip brushing over a large bruise. The muscles in his arm tense at my touch. I try to be as gentle as I can, but his skin is hot and tender under my finger.
“Why is this berserkr bipedal?” I ask while I work.
Amund shakes his head. “I’m not sure. It isn’t a normal berserkr.”
“I thought it had yellow eyes, though.”
“Yellow?” He hesitates. “Its eyes were white.”
I sigh. “I don’t know.”
Uneasy silence settles over us.
This close, I realize those aren’t just new bright red and purple bruises blooming on his skin. There are plenty of others old enough to have faded. His arms, his chest, and his ribs are covered with welts. I had no idea he was hiding so many injuries beneath his leathers.
“Who did this to you?” I ask, tracing one of the older bruises. “These aren’t recent.”
Amund looks away. “Those are from training.”
“That doesn’t look like training. That looks like abuse.”
When Amund tries to shrug his shoulders, he winces. “My father is hard on all of us.”
His dad did this to him?
“Even so, this… isn’t normal.”
Breathing in the faint smell of arnica brings back bad memories. As terrible as my dad was, he never laid a hand on me. I can’t imagine any parent willingly hurting their child. Or how that must feel to be on the receiving end of it.
“I’m sorry, Amund.”
His face softens. “It’s fine. I can take it.”
“You shouldn’t have to,” I whisper, drawing closer to him. “No one should.”
I dip a finger into the tin of arnica. Tentatively, I reach for his face. He searches my eyes but makes no move to stop me.
I trace along his bruised eye and down his jaw, spreading the salve in the slow wake of my fingertip. He leans into my touch, closing his eyes. Long lashes graze his cheeks. He winces a little when I reach his cheekbone.
“Sorry, sorry, I’ll try to be more careful.” I apply some more salve to his bruises, as tenderly as Amund did for me when I was attacked. I realize now that it isn’t as easy as he made it look. He was so careful not to cause me any pain.
I stroke my thumb over his cheek. Like this, Amund looks younger and more vulnerable. We stay like this, neither one of us moving. The silence unites us more meaningfully than any words. This is a new calm, safe space.
One just for us.
Someone clears their throat.
I pull away quickly, turning to see a man standing there. His cropped hair is pushed over to one side, his chiseled face severe as he stands there, dressed in leathers with a long cloak. I recognize him instantly.
Agnar.
Amund’s dad.
He was returning with Amund when I first arrived at Skallagrim. I saw him again on the night I found Emilía dead. I was intimidated by him then. For as long as I can remember, I’ve been scared of men like him. Like my dad.
Something ripples under my skin, my fury building as I stare at Agnar. In him, I see the worst parts of my own dad. I channel all that seething anger, that rage, into my expression as I glare at him. I won’t cower to men like them.
Not anymore.
“I didn’t expect to find you here,” Agnar says at last.
My claws start to break through, growing longer and sharper and more dangerous. As I think of all those bruises littering Amund’s body, I want to hurt his dad. My head throbs. A low growl builds in my throat, rumbling deep within my chest, reverberating through me.
I push past him and hurry out of the clinic without a word.
No, I will no longer be afraid of men like that.
They should be afraid of me.