Daughter of Rage and Beauty (Berserker Academy Book 1)

by Amy Pennza

  Before the sound fully left my lips, he’d wrapped his arms around me. Tears burned my eyes as images from the day paraded through my head. Harald’s disdain in the car. Maja’s cold look on the drive to the courtyard. Olaf’s face when I’d pushed him into losing control.

  I’d been at the castle less than a day, and it seemed I was already surrounded by enemies.

  Asher pressed my head against his chest and spoke in a quiet, insistent voice. “I want you to listen to me, a leanbh.” My child. “You’re tougher than you know. There are many types of strength. I know I’m just a randy old satyr, but one of the benefits of living a long time is you get to go around pretending to be wise.”

  My laugh was muffled against his shirt. Although I couldn’t see his smile, I heard it in his voice.

  “Years ago, when humans still carried swords, men would give everything they possessed to own a Damascus blade. They were strong enough to cleave a lesser sword in half. Clearly, a superior weapon in every way, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes.”

  “Ah, but here’s the thing. Damascus steel could also bend. Other blades were rigid. Uncompromising. But the deadliest swords in the world were also the only ones that bent without breaking. They were delicate-looking things—until you had the misfortune of being on the pointed end of one.”

  I lifted my head from his chest.

  He cupped his hands around my face, his green eyes filled with fondness. “The strongest weapons bend without breaking, Elin. It doesn’t make them weak.”

  I put my hands over his. “Thank you.”

  He dropped a kiss on my forehead, and the scent of honeysuckle teased my nose. As he pulled away, he murmured something under his breath in the same musical language he’d used before. As he spoke, electricity danced over my skin—like champagne running through my veins. It warmed me from the inside out, tickling my face and making me laugh.

  “What was that?” I asked, rubbing my nose.

  But he just winked and walked backwards to the door, somehow sensing when to skirt the bed. “Call whenever you need me.”

  I braced my hands on my hips. “You promise you’ll answer your phone this time?”

  “Of course!” He reached the door and opened it, then brushed a loving hand over the wood. “You can ask Old Man Spruce here, too. He knows how to reach me.”

  “Good to know. I’ll probably just text your cell.”

  “Fair enough, Elin.” He gave me another wink, then slipped out the door and pulled it shut behind him.

  As soon as he left, it was like all the light left the room. Even the air felt colder. When I exhaled, I fancied I could almost see my breath. September weather was hit or miss in Norway, but Bjørneskalle’s position on the northern coast meant it saw much colder temperatures than other parts of the country.

  Of course, it was also possible the berserkers had just never installed central heating in the castle. They went in for that sort of medieval ambiance.

  I hugged my arms over my chest and faced the desk. The food basket waited, the aromas still wafting from the white napkin folded over the top. But my appetite was gone.

  Asher had brought sunshine and spring with him. I missed it already.

  As if on autopilot, my hand went to my back pocket. I pulled out the desk chair as I withdrew a hard, round disc that filled the palm of my hand. I sat and rubbed my thumb over the surface, which was engraved with curving vines and roses.

  The metal warmed in my hand. At the same time, a soft noise filled the room—the rustle of trees as wind blows through them.

  I found the disc’s clasp and opened it, revealing a mirror. For a moment, my reflection stared back at me. Then the image blurred. Slowly, another took its place. The rustling grew louder.

  Where my face had been, a woman came into focus.

  I brought the mirror closer to my face.

  She’s in the forest.

  She wasn’t always. Sometimes, she stood in a vineyard, vines woven through her hair. Other times, she sat on a barstool in a modern-looking kitchen.

  I liked that one the best. It felt more real somehow.

  But I didn’t get to pick the scenery.

  The image grew clearer. She sat on a tree stump, one palm braced on the wood while she gazed at something on the ground. Her long brown hair spilled down her back in a riot of soft curls—the kind beauty vloggers made tutorials about. The white flower tucked behind her ear matched her simple dress, which draped over the side of the stump and trailed on the leaf-strewn forest floor.

  The wind picked up, tugging at the material. She turned and looked over her shoulder.

  Straight at me.

  Her green eyes widened. Then her full pink lips curved in a delighted smile. A becoming blush entered her cheeks. “Elin!” She stood and brushed leaves off her lap, laughing. “Look at me, such a mess.” She lifted her gaze. “How are you?”

  “I’m—” My voice was hoarse. I cleared my throat and tried again. “I’m good.”

  Her smile was like the sun appearing from behind a cloud. “I’m so happy to hear it.” She gazed at me, love in her eyes. “Oh, I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

  My throat ached. “I missed you too, Mom.”

  She gathered up her skirt and sat on the stump. “You must tell me what you’ve been up to. I want to hear everything.” She tilted her head to the side, her expression open and patient. Sunlight played over her face, making her skin glow.

  “Well . . . I just entered the academy. Today is my first day.”

  “That’s wonderful! Tell me more.”

  Words gathered in my mind, but I held them back, my lips pressed together. In the forest, the leaves stilled as the wind died down. On my side of the mirror, silence gathered in the room, its presence almost like a distant buzz in my ears.

  My mother waited, her patient expression unchanged. She was breathtakingly gorgeous. People said that without considering what it means—to take a person’s breath away. They used words like “speechless” and “awestruck” to describe beautiful things. It was almost always an exaggeration.

  But it wasn’t in her case. She was movie star stunning, with high cheekbones and a delicate jaw and nose. Her rich, dark hair was threaded with reddish highlights that caught the sun, and her skin was that rare kind of pale that looks fresh and radiant rather than sickly. Tall and curvy, her figure would have turned heads in any era.

  And, of course, it had. It had turned Harald’s, too.

  “I don’t like it here,” I blurted. “Ha— Father forced me to come after my last tutor quit. I’m afraid I’m never going to learn how to be a berserker. I don’t even know if I want to learn.” I gripped the mirror and lowered my voice. “I’m bad at everything. I can’t even open a portal.”

  My mother nodded. “I’m glad you told me.” Her face brightened as if she’d just had an idea. “I want to share something with you. May I?”

  Disappointment washed over me—but only for a second. Because I knew this conversation. I already knew how it went.

  She was going to sing the song.

  “I’m going to sing you a song,” she said, excitement making her voice quiver.

  I plastered a smile on my face, even though it didn’t matter. And I said “I’d love to hear it,” even though that didn’t matter, either.

  She sat up straighter. After a nervous giggle, she began to sing, her soprano pure and clear.

  Ash and oak and willow, three

  Which one shall my dearest be?

  Oh, ash with leaves the first to fall

  And ancient oak, its branches tall

  Still willow weeps for Babylon

  And forgotten times once here, now gone

  Each one so very dear to me

  Yet ash with fruit that holds the key

  As the last few notes died in the air, she gave me a shy smile. “Well? Did you like it?”

  I cupped the mirror in both hands, my heart heavy. “I loved it.”

&nbs
p; The flush in her cheeks deepened. “It sounds better in Gaelic.”

  “Yes. I remember.”

  She stood, then looked down at her dress and let out a self-conscious laugh. “Look at me!” She brushed leaves off her lap. “Such a mess.”

  The weight on my heart tugged harder. “I, um . . . I should probably go.”

  “Oh!” She brought her head up. “But you must tell me what you’ve been up to! I want to hear everything.”

  I smiled. “Next time.” My voice was thick.

  “Of course.” She lifted her arms away from her sides and tilted her head back, letting the sun shine directly on her face. In her white gown, surrounded by tall, ancient-looking trees, she looked like a pagan goddess.

  Which, on some level, was exactly what she was.

  “Bye, Mom.”

  She lowered her head. “Goodbye, Elin. Make sure you spend some time outdoors. It’s so beautiful.”

  “I will.”

  “Good.” She beamed at me for a second, then blew me a kiss.

  My reflexes kicked in, and I pretended to catch it.

  She didn’t react. She just continued gazing forward, a soft smile on her lips.

  I put my fingers on the back of the mirror, hesitated, then closed it. The metal cooled against my skin. For a brief moment, I had an urge to open it again—to see if she was still standing near the stump.

  But she wouldn’t be. The spell didn’t work that way. The mirror just reset itself, running the script from the beginning.

  It was a top level enchantment. Few witches or wizards had the kind of spellwork chops to make something so intricate. But like all magic, it had its limits. As the witch who’d taught me defensive maneuvers was fond of saying, magic could kill in a thousand ways, but there was no enchantment strong enough to erase death.

  I stood and stuffed the mirror back in my pocket. At least I hadn’t put it in my duffel. Something told me Olaf and his minions would have confiscated it.

  Exhaustion swept me. I trudged to the bed and sank onto it.

  So this is the academy. If everything went according to plan, I could expect to spend the next three years learning how to control my rage so I could use it to kill people.

  Lucky me.

  I fell back on the bed and stared at the ceiling. Using the mirror had been a mistake. I should have known it wouldn’t make me feel better.

  Wood creaked, and I turned my head toward the door. The faint sound of tinkling bells—so soft I had to strain to hear it—jingled in the room.

  Asher’s voice whispered on the air. “Bend without breaking.”

  Some of the warmth I’d felt in his presence swirled around me, banishing the castle’s chill.

  The bells tinkled again—quieter this time—and his voice seemed to come from farther away. “Also, I forgot to pay my cell phone bill. Just use the door for now.”

  He couldn’t see me, but I rolled my eyes anyway. Amusement tugged at me, and I gave up and let out a giggle.

  Not a very berserker sound. But as Asher had said, I had no reason to be ashamed of my mixed heritage. There were worse things than being a nymph.

  Now I just had to spend the next three years proving I was worthy of being called a berserker.

  Three years.

  At least graduation meant freedom. I’d be out from under Harald’s thumb, free to live wherever I wished.

  Three years was a long time, but how bad could the academy be? It had been around for over a thousand years, churning out generations of berserkers. They knew what they were doing. Sure, my introduction had been rough, but I couldn’t blame Olaf or the academy for that. I was two weeks late for classes. Today had sucked, but tomorrow would be better.

  It had to be.

  I looked at the ceiling and nodded. Tomorrow would definitely be better.

  It wasn’t like things could get any worse.

  3

  Okay, so things had definitely gotten worse.

  Wind gusted across the practice field, raising goosebumps on my arms and tugging at my ponytail. I shivered and tried huddling deeper in my jerkin. The stiff material just rode up my torso.

  I tried slouching my shoulders. That didn’t work, either. Now I could see straight down my chest, my undershirt more white than gray in the dreary predawn light.

  “Are you all right?”

  Olaf’s voice made me look up from my efforts. He frowned at me, then lowered his gaze to the jerkin bunched under my chin.

  I yanked it down. “Yeah. Just a question, do we ever wear sleeves?” A yawn crept over me, and I covered my mouth.

  He hefted the broadsword he held, as if testing its weight. “You’ll get a cloak in the winter.”

  “Oh. That’s a relief.” I relaxed for a second, then the full meaning of his words hit me. “Wait. We train outside like this in the winter?”

  “We do sword work every morning.”

  “What if it’s snowing?”

  He slashed the sword through the air a couple times, warming up his wrists. “You think berserkers only take quests in the summer?”

  “No.” Ugh, I hated it when people answered questions with questions. I folded my arms. “What’s the rest of today’s schedule look like?”

  He whacked the air a few more times, then began whipping the sword in an infinity pattern around his body, his biceps bunching with the effort.

  I tilted my head to the side. Was he really going to wow me with a tough guy demonstration? If he had a sports car, he’d be slouched in the driver’s seat and revving the engine right now. Maybe he’d roll down the window and invite me to the “gun show.”

  The sword blurred as it whistled through the air. He didn’t look cold—or tired. When he’d pounded on my door at daybreak, my sleep-addled brain had initially mistaken him for room service, and I’d lifted my head from the pillow long enough to yell at him to go away.

  That had gone over about as well as our altercation on the landing the day before.

  He’d handed over my duffel, then given me ten minutes to shower, brush my teeth, and change into my training leathers.

  “Whoa.” I’d held up a hand. “Training leathers? You really call them that?”

  He’d glanced at a military-looking watch on his wrist. “Nine minutes.”

  As it turned out, the bathroom on my floor was surprisingly modern—with private, tiled shower stalls and a sauna. I’d stared at the cedar benches longingly in the mirror over my shoulder while I finger-combed my wet hair into a messy ponytail.

  The wind gusted harder, pulling me out of my sauna fantasies.

  Olaf continued working the blade. Just when I thought he was in danger of succumbing to irreversible testosterone poisoning, he slowed his movements. He gave the sword a couple of slow, lazy swings, then brought the blade to rest.

  “Defensive Magic, then break for lunch,” he said. “After that there’s One-on-One Sword Work, followed by Axe Training. Then its Daggers and evening meal.”

  It took me a second to realize he’d answered my question. “That’s a lot of weapons training.”

  “Beheading is the only way to kill an immortal. Don’t you think we should know what we’re doing?”

  “Yes.” I tried to keep the irritation out of my tone. “I just thought we might learn a little more about magic, and not just defensive stuff.”

  He gave me a tight smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “Most of us aren’t half-breeds, so it would be pointless for us to train on a subject we have no use for. The academy employs a witch who helps on the occasions we need a specific spell or an enchanted object. She also teaches the Defensive Magic course. Maybe you could talk to her about honing your abilities.”

  Ha. If I had any, maybe. Fiona had always insisted I possessed a raw, untapped magical reserve. But she also loved me, and the phrase “love is blind” existed for a reason.

  Still, her assurance had created a tiny kernel of hope in my heart. When my last tutor quit and Harald announced he was sending
me to the academy, I tried to look for a bright side. I’d found it in the idea that studying at Bjørneskalle might mean discovering whatever latent magic lay within me.

  But no. Apparently, my class schedule consisted of Swords, More Swords, Remedial Swords, and Fun with Swords.

  I hunched my shoulders.

  “You should warm up,” Olaf said. He jerked his chin toward a spot over my shoulder. “Weapons are over there.”

  I turned. A rack of broadswords stood on the edge of the field, various hilts poking out of the openings. I went to the rack and gazed at the blades. “Should I just . . . pick one?”

  “Yes,” a woman said behind me.

  I spun. Maja and several others approached, their footsteps nearly silent on the soft grass. Where the hell had they come from? They moved with an eerie grace, almost like dancers. Each one carried a sword, the blades catching the rays of the sun just starting to spill across the field. When they reached me, they fanned out in an arrow formation that was both cool and intimidating. There were eight men and two women, including Maja.

  Her purple eyes were even more mesmerizing up close. I didn’t have much time to take them in, however, because she planted the tip of her sword in the grass, then put a hand on her hip and looked pointedly between me and the sword rack. “We only have this field for an hour.”

  I shot Olaf a look. He rested his blade on his shoulder, his face an expressionless mask.

  Right. No help there.

  Heat entered my cheeks as I faced the rack once more. The stares of the others seemed to bore into my shoulders. Why did they already have swords? Did they bring one from home? I let my hand hover over the rack. The hilts were all different. Some were wrapped in basic leather, while others had plain metal grips. Undoubtedly, some swords were heavier than others. That wasn’t always a bad thing. A lightweight sword was faster, but it was also easier for an opponent to knock away.

  Behind me, someone cleared their throat.

  I grabbed a longsword with a plain leather grip. As I pulled it free, it caught on the edge of the rack, making the other swords rattle and clack against one another. The heat in my cheeks turned to fire, and I clenched my jaw. With deliberate movements, I steadied the swaying rack with my free hand, then gently disentangled my sword from the others. Then I took a deep breath and faced the others.