Daughter of Rage and Beauty (Berserker Academy Book 1)

by Amy Pennza

  It was clearly Fae. Its face was too sharply drawn to be human. Even if hadn’t been, the pointed ears gave it away as hailing from Faerie.

  “Come to ask his lordship for a baby?” It flashed a malicious smile. “He doesn’t do fertility stuff anymore. You’d know that if you did your research. Honestly, you people have the internet now. Would it kill you to Google?”

  Hauk and I exchanged glances. I was wary of letting too much emotion show on my face. Otherwise, the red-haired troll doll might catch on that I was thinking, What the fuck is happening right now? Did it just say we came to ask for a baby?

  The creature lifted its head and sniffed. “Hey . . . you smell funny.”

  My face grew hot. We’d screwed like rabbits and then slept in a cave. Hauk had heated water over the fire for washing up, but a sponge bath wasn’t the same as standing in the shower. After our hike through the forest, we probably smelled a little ripe.

  And now this little motherfucker had to go point it out.

  It sniffed the air again, its brow furrowed. “You don’t smell human—”

  “We’re here for a baby, yes,” Hauk said. My mouth dropped open as he spread his free hand in a pleading gesture. “M-My wife and I, that is.”

  The creature rolled its eyes.

  “Please,” Hauk said. “I know his lordship isn’t in the fertility business anymore, but maybe he’ll make an exception. Can you just take us to him?”

  I held my breath. He’d seen a way to get in front of Radegast, and now he was doing his best to make it happen.

  The creature flicked a look at Hauk’s sword. “You’re here for a kid, yet you carry a sword?” Its face darkened. “A twenty-first century human?”

  My heart thumped.

  “And this one,” it said, looking at me. “Why would such a beautiful woman need a bo staff?”

  “It’s a walking stick,” I said. “We had a long journey.”

  “Oh? From where?”

  Shit. I dared a look at Hauk. He faced forward, his expression blank. But a little muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “I asked you a question, woman,” the creature said.

  I said the first thing that popped into my head. “England.”

  It looked me up and down. “Funny, you don’t sound English. That one does, but you sound like a mongrel combination of American and Scandinavian.”

  My heart beat faster. I’d fucked everything up with my stupid, stupid comment about the staff.

  The creature’s stare bored into me. “You’re far too pretty for a human.” Suspicion rose in its voice.

  In my haste to stop the conversation from turning to disaster, I stepped forward and threw out a forestalling hand. “Please—”

  The creature’s nose shot into the air. It inhaled, clearly catching a fresh whiff of my scent.

  Then it bared its teeth and hissed. “Assassins.”

  Hauk charged it, sword held high.

  It disappeared.

  Hauk stumbled to a stop, then spun around. “Where did it go?”

  The creature spoke just behind me. “Here, berserker scum.”

  It was my turn to spin. I held the staff across my body, ready to do battle.

  Poof. The little shit disappeared again.

  It reappeared a few paces behind Hauk, who whirled and gave a frustrated snarl. “What the fuck are you?”

  “A blud,” came the bored reply. “Duh.”

  “A Slavic fairy of disorientation.”

  I sucked in a breath. Why did Hauk sound scared? He was never scared.

  The creature raised ruddy eyebrows. “So somebody does Google. I’m impressed.”

  “You led us astray in the forest,” Hauk said.

  The creature buffed its nails on its shirt. “And in this hallway.” It leveled a look at Hauk. “You’ll never get out, you know. Disorientation is what I do. You people kill and make grunting He-Man sounds. My kind leads travelers and intruders off course.”

  Sarcasm laced Hauk’s reply. “A noble calling.”

  “Mock all you want, sword swallower. I’m sure you’ll change your tune when his lordship is cooking you in a stew.” It raised a bony hand and snapped its fingers.

  The floor fell away. I landed hard on my ass. Pain shot up my tailbone.

  Then I started to slide.

  “Hauk!” My scream bounced off the walls. The staff clattered to the stone. I tried to grip something, anything, but there was nothing but smooth flagstone.

  A hiking boot slid into view, followed by strong legs and a broad torso crossed with a leather sword scabbard.

  Hauk. I grabbed his arm.

  “Hang on,” he ordered, sliding with me. “I’ve got you!”

  Tears of relief sprang to my eyes. The floor tilted more.

  How was that little monster doing this? Why were so many Fae such utter assholes?

  We slid faster, and my thoughts blanked as I focused on surviving. My shirt lifted, and stone scraped my back. Hauk’s arm tensed under my hand. His face was grim but unpanicked. Once again, reassurance buoyed me. He’d gotten us this far. He’d get us through the rest.

  Light loomed ahead. We hurtled toward it. Oh gods. What if we landed in a person-sized cauldron? The blud had said Radegast would turn us into stew. We could splash straight into boiling water, our flesh burned from our bones.

  Nausea surged in my throat.

  Ground rushed up. My boots slammed into stone. I flew forward, smacking against the ground on all fours. Hauk landed more gracefully, rolling on his side like some kind of Viking superhero. A second later, my staff slid to a stop next to me.

  “What’s this?” The deep voice boomed from somewhere over my head.

  I sat back on my heels, my palms stinging.

  An old-fashioned dais stood against a stone wall decorated with colorful banners. They might have been even more colorful if not for the dust and cobwebs covering them.

  But the banners only held my attention for a brief moment. Because there was also a throne on the dais.

  And it was occupied.

  The biggest Fae I’d ever seen slumped in it, his chin on his fist. His eyes were narrowed—and fixed on us. His hair fell past his shoulders in long black ringlets. The style might have made him resemble the Cowardly Lion, but the black armor covering his body saved him from looking ridiculous.

  Radegast. Long known as the Slavic god of hospitality and banqueting. Now, possessor of the Eternity Stone.

  Also, eater of innocent hikers.

  He sat up and let loose another ear-splitting bellow. “Fyodor!” He stretched the word out, his voice rising at the end.

  The troll appeared at the foot of the dais. Even with its back to me, its posture was obviously deferent—almost cringing. “Yes, my lord?”

  Radegast pointed, the gesture encompassing both Hauk and me. “What are these?” His tone was that of a child who’s just risen from a nap and wants everyone to know they’re mad about it.

  “Berserkers, my lord.” The troll, who was apparently called Fyodor, looked over its shoulder, its lips curving in a smug smile. “I caught them breaking into the castle.”

  Radegast put his hands on the arms of his throne and leaned forward. “Fools. You enter my home without an invitation?” His accent was thick, with the cadence of every actor who’d ever played Dracula. Under any other circumstances, it might have been kind of nice to listen to.

  But, of course, he probably planned on eating us.

  “My lord,” Fyodor said, his voice brimming with excitement. “Let’s kill the big one first. I just refilled the box. You know how fear seasons the meat.”

  Everything about that statement made the little hairs on my body stand on end. What was the box? What did he mean by “seasoning the meat”?

  But I knew. My stomach flipped over, and saliva pooled in my mouth. I pressed my palms against my thighs, desperate not to puke. Something told me that barfing all over the floor would make my situation worse.

  To d
istract myself, I looked away from the throne. We were in some kind of great hall. More torches lined the walls, making a smoky haze lay over everything. To my left, a large wooden cube sat like a freestanding room in the middle of the floor. Black bolts held a door shut. Along the top was a narrow opening like a long rectangle.

  Fingers curled over its bottom edge, and a pair of eyes appeared. The pupils were pinpricks, the whites bloodshot and wide with fear.

  My stomach lurched. I’d found the box and, if I wasn’t mistaken, an explanation for Fyodor’s seasoning comment.

  Radegast stood, drawing my attention. He was big, even bigger than I’d thought. His long curls fell nearly to his waist. His black armor was dull and matte—and unadorned.

  Except for the bright silver stone hanging from a black cord around his neck.

  I caught my breath. He wore the Eternity Stone out in the open?

  Had our luck just turned?

  I dared a look at Hauk, but he was watching Radegast, his eyes intense.

  Radegast strode down the dais, his steps thundering. He had to be at least seven feet tall, his build bulky but powerful. His jaw was smooth, and his face might have been handsome if not for his heavy black brows and twisted expression. His lips were full, almost feminine, and colored a dark pink that sent an odd discomfort twisting through me.

  He stopped in front of Hauk, his fists on his hips.

  Hauk started to rise, but Radegast snapped out a hand. “Down, dog!”

  Hauk fell to his knees. His head bent forward, as if an imaginary hand pressed against his nape.

  Anger and fear twisted in my gut.

  Radegast spoke. “You’re not the first berserker to come here, you know. The Rage Lords have sent others.” He smiled at the top of Hauk’s head. “All have sat at my table.”

  Hauk remained still, but the tendons in his neck strained. Whatever magic held him in place, he was fighting it.

  “Go on,” Radegast said, his voice almost impatient. “Look!” He waved his hand.

  Hauk’s body shot upright, the movement so abrupt his spine cracked.

  I winced.

  He spun around, his arms flying out from his sides. He was standing, but he wasn’t in control of his body. He flopped like a marionette.

  Radegast moved beside him, gesturing toward something out of my line of sight. “See? Look at what an excellent host I am. Every guest dines with me.”

  It was stupid to move, but I had to see what they were looking at. Staying as close to the floor as I could, I turned slowly on all fours.

  A long trestle table dominated the back wall. It was the sort of banqueting table that appeared in every movie set in medieval times. The tablecloth covering it might have been white at one time, but now it was grimy and stained. Flower arrangements lined the table’s edge. The flowers were all dead, but some had trailing vines that spilled over the table and touched the floor, their bright green an indication that they thrived.

  The flowers were dead, but the table was loaded with food. And it wasn’t just a few dishes.

  This was a feast.

  I couldn’t see everything from my position on the floor, but some of the dishes were piled so high I could guess at their contents. There was a platter weighed down by a huge roasted chicken. Serving bowls steamed with vegetables and noodles. Several baskets held dinner rolls, the tops golden brown.

  My stomach growled.

  Radegast spun. His gaze landed on me, and it was like he’d never seen me before. Abandoning Hauk, he walked to me.

  Still held immobile, Hauk spoke, his voice strained. “Leave . . . her.”

  Radegast answered without taking his gaze off me. “Is this your female? She’s small for a berserker.” He reached up and toyed with the stone at his neck. “The Rage Lords didn’t send their best this time, did they?”

  My throat went dry. At the same time, confusion swamped me. He was supposed to love nymphs—to be hopelessly distracted by them. But all he saw when he looked at me was an undersized berserker?

  His pink lips turned upward. He shook back his hair, revealing pointed ears. “Well, you can watch while I interrogate your male. I hope he’s more of a good sport than the last berserker I entertained.” He made a face. “Bled out in twenty minutes, that one. It was a disappointment, wasn’t it, Fyodor?”

  “Yes, my lord,” the blud said from his perch by the throne.

  Radegast waved his hand. “Put her in the box with the others.”

  Fyodor advanced on me.

  I scrambled back, but it was no use. He moved quickly, swooping down and seizing my arm in a painful grip.

  He was strong, too. I yanked against his hold, but he hauled me to my feet as if he were twice my size and not the other way around.

  Hauk called out, “Don’t fight, sweetheart!”

  “How romantic,” Fyodor muttered, hustling me toward the box. The eyes darted away from the opening as we approached. He held his hand in front of the bolts, which slid back one by one.

  More magic. Fabulous.

  He swung open the door and shoved me forward.

  I stumbled into shadow, caught myself, and whipped around just as he slammed the door. Locks clicked into place.

  His muffled voice came through the door. “Enjoy the show, sweetheart.”

  I went to the door and pushed. It didn’t budge.

  Behind me came a shuffling noise.

  I spun. Two women and a man huddled against the back wall, their faces pale and pinched with fear.

  Well, the women’s were, at least. The man’s face was blank. He wore some kind of hooded jacket that made it difficult to see his features.

  The women were young and dressed like college students in jeans and sweaters. One wore a pair of hiking boots. She came forward, babbling in a foreign language.

  Russian. I spoke a little Finnish, but not enough to catch more than a word here and there. I got help and please, and also home and monster.

  The last one was for Radegast, I guessed. Or maybe Fyodor. Personally, I was reserving the bulk of my hatred for the red-haired psychopath.

  She moved closer, her tone pleading.

  I pointed at her. “English?”

  She stopped talking and shook her head.

  “I’m sorry. I can’t help you.”

  She started up again, her words coming faster.

  A man’s tortured yell ripped through the air.

  I spun and threw myself at the wall, going onto my tiptoes to peer through the narrow opening.

  Hauk was on his knees in front of the throne, where a seated Radegast observed him. Fyodor stood to one side of the throne, his face lit with a cruel smile.

  Radegast made a tsking sound and held up a black dagger. “You lied to me. How do I know you don’t have other weapons concealed on your very muscular person?”

  I stared at Hauk’s dagger, the deep obsidian one he usually wore strapped to his thigh. I hadn’t seen it since we left his study to visit Crom. He must have kept it hidden.

  Hauk stared at Radegast with murder in his eyes.

  Radegast sighed. “Answer me.” He flicked a hand.

  Hauk’s body jerked backwards, as if something had struck him across the chest. He squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw, but a low moan escaped him.

  The asshole was torturing him. I clenched my hands over the bottom of the opening. Splinters poked my palms, but I didn’t care.

  “Answer me,” Radegast repeated.

  Hauk let out a harsh breath. “There’s nothing else.”

  “And this?” Radegast waved the dagger. “A rare shade, wouldn’t you say? Where’s it from?”

  Hauk pressed his lips together, the “fuck you” in his eyes unmistakable.

  Radegast’s expression darkened. He flicked his hand again.

  This time, the blow sent Hauk sprawling to his ass. He cried out and grabbed at his chest.

  Tears streaked down my cheeks. Why didn’t he just answer? I wanted to scream at him,
but I bit the inside of my cheek so I’d stay silent. If I drew attention to myself, they might pull me from the box and use me to torture him in other ways. That’s what bad guys always did in movies.

  “Answer me,” Radegast said.

  Panting, Hauk stood, his posture defiant.

  Radegast made a quick gesture.

  Hauk slammed to his knees, his bones making a sickening thud against the stone.

  Radegast touched the stone, his fingers playing over it. “My patience grows thin, berserker. Tell me where you got this, or I’ll drag your girlfriend from the box and ask her.”

  “It’s volcanic rock,” Hauk said quickly. “From the Minoan eruption of Thera.”

  A slow smile spread across Radegast’s face. He pinched the dagger between his thumb and forefinger. “Quite a long time ago. Bronze Age, yes?”

  Hauk was silent.

  “Far too long ago for someone like you to have commissioned a weapon like this. Good for killing demons, or so I’ve heard.”

  “That’s right.”

  “You haven’t said how you came by it.”

  Hauk hesitated.

  “Shall I fetch your girlfriend?”

  “It was my mother’s.”

  “She bought it?”

  “She had it made.” Hauk bit out each word like it caused him pain. “She commissioned it from a smith who survived the eruption.”

  Radegast sat back. “A millennia-old dagger. A warrior mother. A berserker who hunts demons.” He let out a low laugh. “You’re Hauk Sigridsson, Crom Cruach’s son.”

  “That’s why you won’t kill me.”

  “Oh?” Radegast put a hand to his breastplate. “Tell me, prince, is there some kind of no-killing-of-high-Fae-children rule I don’t know about?” He turned to Fyodor. “Fyodor, did someone make a new rule like that?”

  “Not that I know of, my lord.”

  Radegast looked at Hauk, his expression flat. “Yeah, we’ve never heard of that.”

  Hauk leaned forward, somehow managing to look menacing despite his humble position. “My father will rain unholy hell on you if you even think about killing me.”

  The tension in the great hall climbed several degrees.