Daughter of Rage and Beauty (Berserker Academy Book 1)

by Amy Pennza

  Then it vibrated.

  Surprise jolted me, but I didn’t dare look down.

  Maja took a breath. A faint blue glow colored her palms.

  I thrust out the staff.

  “Scintilla!”

  “Desisto!”

  Our voices clashed. Blue light sizzled toward me. The staff moved in my grip, leaping toward the light and repelling it. The curse recoiled and, like a boomerang, streaked backwards and slammed Maja in the chest. She flew off her feet, struck the wall, and fell to the floor.

  A collective gasp ran through the trainees. Several people jumped to their feet.

  Professor McBride ran toward Maja, her brow furrowed. Before she could offer aid, Maja pushed herself up the wall. She put an arm out, holding Professor McBride off.

  “I’m fine.”

  Professor McBride stopped. “Are you sure? That was a nasty hit.”

  Maja glowered, her eyes spitting purple fire. “I said I’m fine.”

  The thin branch from the mantel curved around my shoulder, its leaves rustling in my hair. I didn’t push it away this time. In my hand, the staff pulsed once, twice. I gave it a gentle squeeze.

  “Thanks, friend.”

  It pulsed again. A sense of well-being washed over me, making my heart rate slow. It was like stepping from shadow into the sun. A silly grin threatened to burst from its bonds and spread across my face.

  Professor McBride seemed to wilt under Maja’s regard. She took a step back, then faced the class. “I’m afraid that’s all we have time for today. Dismissed.”

  At first, the trainees didn’t stir. Then someone shoved back their chair and left the room. Others followed, some casting furtive looks at Maja. Several darted glances in my direction, then hurried away. I felt the weight of someone’s gaze and turned. Professor McBride watched me, her face like she’d seen a ghost.

  The sunny feeling faded. She was the one who’d insisted on a duel. Now she was troubled about it? Over her shoulder, Maja gave me a look so filled with hatred, I caught my breath.

  If she wasn’t my enemy before, she definitely was now.

  Without another word, she turned and stalked from the room. Professor McBride watched her go, then looked at me. For a second, it seemed she might speak. But she pressed her lips together and scurried for a small door tucked next to the fireplace.

  Confused and anger swirled in my mind. How was I suddenly the bad guy? It was okay for Maja to throw a curse with no warning, but I was a jerk for defending myself? Damn, but I was tired of Bjørneskalle. Tired of berserkers. Tired of everything. Abruptly, my anger flared higher.

  Have to get out of here.

  I gripped the staff and headed for the door. Just before I reached it, Olaf appeared at my side, his eyes wide.

  “What happened back there?” he asked.

  Suppressing a sigh, I stopped and faced him. “You saw everything. Maja tried to stun me. I blocked her.”

  He glanced at the staff. “Yeah, but you changed.”

  What? I shook my head. “What are you talking about?”

  “When you held up the staff, you sort of . . . glowed. And your face looked really scary for a second. It hurt my eyes to look at you.”

  Well, that was nice. Just what I needed, another reason to stand out from the crowd. The anger climbed a notch higher. My chest tightened. “It must have been the staff.” I started to step around him.

  “W-Wait.” He blocked my path. “That’s not how it—”

  “I have to go, Olaf.” I pushed past him, but he followed on my heels, dogging my steps as I hit the door and started down the hallway. It was lunchtime, but there was no way I could sit in the Great Hall. Not with my rage simmering, ready to coalesce and burst out of control.

  Olaf kept up a steady stream of chatter as we walked. With each step, my anger ratcheted higher. The Great Hall loomed ahead, the smell of roasted chicken drifting from its open doors. Groups of trainees walked in and out as they made their way to and from lunch. A couple students from Professor McBride’s Defensive Magic class caught sight of me, then immediately leaned their heads together, their lips moving.

  The rage in my gut swirled, threatening to form a tiny ball.

  I tucked the staff against my side and put my head down. If I could get past the doors without anyone stopping me, I could duck outside and hopefully walk off my anger.

  “Elin, will you listen?” Olaf said, his breaths coming in pants as he struggled to keep up with me.

  We’d almost reached the doors. I jerked to a stop and glared at him. “I like you, Olaf, but right now I need you to get lost.”

  He bristled. “I’m just trying to help.”

  “That’ll do, Karlsson,” a deep voice said.

  Olaf and I turned toward it. In the long shadow cast by a pillar, a figure leaned against the wall, arms folded. It straightened and stepped into the light.

  Olaf blanched and lowered his eyes. “Headmaster.”

  The headmaster moved his gaze between us. He wore his hair in the same topknot as before, but something was different about it today.

  It’s lighter. Where it was a dirty blond before, now it was more of a honey gold. The color made his eyes even more striking—the deep blue like the fjord in summer. Not glamour, I realized. His whole appearance was tidier. Less grubby. His hair was clean today, which meant it must have been awfully dirty yesterday for it to have been so much darker.

  He held my stare, a glimmer of what might have been humor in his eyes. In my peripheral vision, Olaf shot me a look. He shifted slightly, nudging my arm.

  Protocol. Right. I rested one end of the staff on the ground, then dropped my gaze to the headmaster’s chest and murmured, “Headmaster.”

  “Busy day in Defensive Magic?”

  That brought my head back up. How had he heard about it already? I took a deep breath. “It wasn’t my fault.”

  He put up a hand. “I’m not accusing you of anything.” He looked at Olaf. “I’ll take it from here, Karlsson.”

  Olaf glanced at the Great Hall. “But it’s lunch.”

  The headmaster’s expression was patient, but there was a layer of steel in his voice. “Elin is doing her one-on-one training with me. I’ve got lunch sorted for today.”

  With those two sentences, the atmosphere shifted. It was a subtle thing, but it was still there. Olaf looked between us, the glimmer of a suspicious, knowing look in his eyes.

  “Of course,” he said. He started toward the Great Hall, then stopped and made a hasty bow. “Headmaster.”

  The headmaster gave him a dignified nod. “Olaf.”

  Without even so much as a glance in my direction, Olaf turned and walked quickly toward the Great Hall. A few trainees noticed his approach and beckoned him forward. As he joined them, they looked past him, their gazes finding the headmaster and me. A tall male in a burgundy jerkin clapped Olaf on the back, bent, and said something in his ear. Olaf looked over his shoulder, then faced the group. They moved into the Great Hall.

  “Hungry?”

  I looked at the headmaster. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  He raised a golden eyebrow. “Done what?”

  “You told them you’re working with me for one-on-one training. Now everyone will talk.”

  The eyebrow climbed a little higher. “About what?”

  Ugh. Was he really going to make me explain this? Or maybe he was being deliberately obtuse. I pulled the staff closer against my side and lowered my voice. “You already gave me this weapon, which hasn’t done me any favors, by the way. Now you’re singling me out for individual training.”

  “Ah. You worry people will think we’re an item.”

  My cheeks flamed. “What? No! I meant they’ll accuse you of playing favorites.” I licked my lips. “I mean, you’re Fae and I’m Fae, and Lord Harald is my father. Most rage lords don’t send their children to Bjørneskalle.”

  His gaze dipped briefly to my mouth. Then he smiled and folded his arms over
a broad chest. “You worry too much, Elin.”

  I didn’t have a reply to that. I was too busy processing what that glance at my mouth and the follow-up smile was doing to my stomach.

  He eyed the Great Hall. “Since you’re concerned about attracting scrutiny, I’d rather not exit through that crowd.” He looked at me and jerked his chin back toward the corridor. “Come on, I know a shortcut.”

  “Wh-Where are we going?” And why did I always stutter when I talked to him?

  “The Dragon Tower. Where else?”

  Where else, indeed. At least it was isolated. With no dragons around and no King Magnus in sight, the tower served no practical purpose. According to the Bjørneskalle histories I’d read, it was hollow inside, the ancient inner floors having been burned away centuries ago when a previous king’s dragon fell ill and spewed flame from its perch on the tower’s battlements.

  Of course, that also meant I’d be alone with the headmaster. I gnawed at my bottom lip. It was just training. Goodness knew I needed it.

  And, oh gods, he was looking at my mouth again. I stopped chewing my lip.

  He lifted his gaze . . . and smiled.

  “A-All right.” I cleared my throat, then tried to inject nonchalance into my voice. “That’s fine.”

  The amusement that always seemed to lurk in his gaze deepened. “Good. This way, then. I’m starving.”

  6

  The Bjørneskalle histories weren’t exaggerating about the Dragon Tower.

  I scooted closer to the wall as I climbed the blackened steps, which wrapped around the inside of the stone tower. The core was hollow, its walls covered with soot and dust. It was hard to imagine the inside ever holding floors or furniture. All that remained were the steps, which stuck out from the wall like a giant’s spinal column.

  Ahead of me, the headmaster stopped and looked over his shoulder. “You okay?”

  “Yes.” I dared a glance at the crumbling edge of the steps, which led straight to a sheer drop down the tower’s center. “Shouldn’t the academy install a banister or something? This has to be a building code violation.”

  He looked around at the charred walls. “No one really comes here. People don’t like the soot.”

  The soot was the least of my worries. The edge beckoned less than two feet away, the stone rounded and crumbling. My stomach did a queasy flip. I jerked my head down and toward the wall, taking shallow breaths through my mouth. My hand holding the staff grew sweaty.

  “Hey.” The headmaster came down a step, and a warm hand lifted my chin. Concern shaded his eyes. “Are you afraid of heights?”

  My stomach did another roll, but this time it wasn’t because of the lack of handrails. His eyes really were the most incredible shade of blue. I inhaled a slow, deep breath, willing my heart to stop racing. “Not so much heights, no. It’s more the risk of plummeting to my death.”

  His smile was gentle. He released my chin and took the staff from me. “Here, I’ll carry this. Now, take my hand. It’s not much farther.”

  I probably should have protested. Headmasters and students shouldn’t hold hands. There was probably a rule about it somewhere. But he was so large and solid, his body radiating warmth, that I didn’t hesitate. As soon as I slid my hand into his, my stomach stopped pitching.

  “Better?” he asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Good. It helps to focus on something, so just look at my feet, okay?”

  “Okay.” I felt like a small child putting their trust in a parent to keep them safe. Warmth rushed over me. For whatever reason, I knew he would do exactly that.

  He started ascending again, his hand wrapped around mine. As he instructed, I lowered my gaze to his boots. He wore leather pants again today, but he’d replaced the T-shirt with a long-sleeved Henley. His hair was tied low on his head with a string of tan leather. For the first time, I noticed his hair was shaved underneath—bristly under his short ponytail and then faded to his nape.

  I let my gaze wander down his back. He wore the same obsidian dagger strapped to his leg. Up close, I could see the leather strings wrapped around his thigh, one positioned dangerously close to his—

  “What about it hasn’t done you any favors?” he asked.

  I almost tripped up a step. “Wh-What?”

  “The staff.” He waggled it without turning around. It looked way smaller in his hand. “Back at the castle, you said it hasn’t done you any favors.”

  Oh. I considered my response as I continued to climb. “It sort of attacked Maja.”

  “Is that what all the fuss was about in Defensive Magic this morning?”

  I looked at the back of his head. “How much do you know?”

  “The general details.” He glanced at me over his shoulder. “I’d like to hear it from you, though. Stories have a way of getting distorted by the time they get to me. Ah, here we are.”

  Abruptly, I realized we’d reached the top of the tower. He helped me up the last few steps, then released my hand.

  I caught my breath. It was like standing on top of the world. The jagged cliffs of the fjord were black against a gray sky bloated with rain clouds. Down below, the fjord itself wound away from the castle like a dark blue ribbon. I drifted forward, eager to see more.

  “Careful,” he murmured behind me. “The battlements don’t go all the way around.”

  No kidding. The tower was topped by a large, round platform and bordered by shallow stone crenellations. In two places, however, wide gaps in the stone led straight off the side.

  “It’s so the king could mount,” the headmaster said, coming to my side. He pointed. “The stories say he’d stand just there and then hop on the dragon’s back as it took flight.”

  A shudder ran through me. “That’s insane.”

  “Rumor has it dragons aren’t the most cooperative creatures.”

  I looked at him. “Have you ever seen one?”

  He trained his gaze on the horizon. “No, not in all my travels. That’s what makes me doubt they exist. Or if they did, they’re long gone now.”

  There was sadness in his voice—and something like weariness. I opened my mouth, and my stomach growled.

  He turned to me, any trace of sadness gone. “Sounds like a serious problem. And one I can fix.” Without further explanation, he strode to the battlements and balanced the staff against them. Then he leaned over and opened a wooden door I hadn’t noticed before. It was as if someone had built a little cupboard directly into the stone. Curiosity made me drift toward him as he rummaged around inside.

  As I neared, he turned, a stack of white takeout containers in his arms.

  “Sit,” he said, using his chin to point. “It’s probably already getting cold.”

  I looked around. “What, right here?” The stone was still damp from the morning’s rain.

  “Unless you want to eat on the battlements.”

  I sat cross-legged on the ground. My leather pants might be a pain, but at least I wouldn’t end up with a wet ass.

  He placed the takeout containers in front of me, then went back to the cupboard.

  The rich scents of garlic and tomatoes drifted from the containers, mingling with the heavy scent of rain. My mouth watered. Whatever was in the boxes, it smelled a whole lot better than the food in the Great Hall.

  The headmaster returned, a wine bottle tucked under one arm and two glasses in his hand. He settled across from me—his movements graceful for such a large man—then set everything on the ground. “You like pizza?” he asked, unstacking the containers.

  “Who doesn’t?”

  He laughed. “Good point. I don’t trust anyone who dislikes pizza.”

  I gazed at the spread of food and wine. “Where did you get all this?”

  “I opened a portal.” He reached over and popped open two of the containers near my knee. “New York style pizza. You can argue all you want that Chicago is better, but you’ll never convince me.”

  I had to wait a couple secon
ds to make sure I heard him right. “You opened a portal to get New York style pizza?” Even the most powerful berserkers only used portals when absolutely necessary. The energy drain could last for days.

  “You bet I did.” He uncorked the wine bottle and filled both glasses. “I can’t think of a better reason for using a portal.”

  His enthusiasm was infectious—and charming. A grin tugged at my lips, threatening to break free if I let it.

  He picked up the glasses and held one out. “I hope you like red.”

  “I do.” I took it and held it to my nose, inhaling oak and burnt leaves. It seemed like forever since I had a glass of wine. Harald kept a liquor cabinet in his office, but he’d paid a witch to set an enchantment on the lock.

  “Well, in that case . . .” The headmaster tilted his glass toward mine. “Skol.”

  For some reason, the prospect of sharing a toast with this man felt important. Momentous. Like we were making a pact, or joining our fates together in some way.

  He kept his arm extended, his gaze steady as he waited.

  Heart pounding, I clinked my glass against his. “Skol.”

  Still holding my gaze, he tipped his glass back and drained it, his thick throat working. If he’d held a horn rather than a wineglass, he could have come straight from a scene in a longhouse.

  I took a healthy sip, then lowered my glass to the stone. Steam wafted from the pizza, which was thin and cut into generous slices. There were also small, round pieces of bread that looked smothered in garlic and melted butter. A plastic container held marinara sauce for dipping, the inside of the lid dotted with condensation.

  “Eat while it’s hot,” he said, lifting a slice of pepperoni and folding it in half. “Now that everything’s out of the cabinet, it’ll get cold fast.”

  I looked toward his secret cupboard. “That’s how you kept everything warm?”

  He nodded as he turned his slice sideways and bit into it like a sandwich. He closed his eyes on a groan.

  I couldn’t help watching as he chewed and swallowed, clearly loving every second. When he opened his eyes, I glanced away.