“Seriously?” I ask, too loud.
Helga clears her throat, casting me a scathing look before continuing her lecture. “After losing his second son, Egill was consumed with grief. He ended up writing theSonatorrek, or the irreparable loss of sons, a beautiful skaldic poem lamenting their deaths and berating the god Óðinn.”
Someone starts whispering behind us. “Psst, argr.”
I turn around to see a student dressed in leather, so it’s not hard to guess he’s a hunter like Amund. He waves at me before pointing at Nils, like he wants me to get his attention for him.
“Um, I think someone wants to talk to you,” I whisper.
Nils nudges my elbow and shakes his head before sliding me a piece of paper. His writing is small. Neat.Writing is probably better. Helga will kick us out if we keep talking.
I grab my pen and quickly write back,Right. Good idea.
Nils takes the paper.Amund said Emilía died. He thinks you killed her.
I press the tip hard to the page.I didn’t.Not knowing what else to add, I slide him the piece of paper.
Nils reads, his brow scrunching. I study his expression, waiting to see how he responds. He turns to me, our eyes locking.I believe you, he writes.I don’t think you would do something like that.
Relief fills me.
“Hey, argr,” the hunter whispers more loudly behind us.
What does that mean?I jot down to Nils.
He shakes his head and scribbles:Ignore him. Dorian always does this when he’s bored.
I do my best to ignore the hunter—Dorian, I guess—and lean closer to Nils, writing out a response:I want to find out who killed Emilía, but Helga will expel me if I investigate.
Nils quickly writes back without hesitation.I’ll help you.
After a moment, I write:Really?
Nils nods, determined.Emilía was my friend.
The weight I’ve been carrying around since last night lifts a little. At least now I have a friend in this with me. If Nils is one of the only other people who knows about what really happened, his help will be invaluable. Especially since he was close with Emilíaanda witch. He might even know what the symbol I saw means. Amund wasn’t any help. He wouldn’t even cooperate with me on our assignment in Reading the Runes.
I draw the three interlocking triangles and write under them:Have you seen this symbol before?
Nils leans closer, peering at the paper. His brow furrows, and he shakes his head. It’s not a stave or a rune—staves are more complex than that, while runes are simpler. Why? What is it?
Sighing, I write back.No idea. So where do we start?
Nils considers for a moment, tapping his pen against the paper.We should talk to her roommate, Irina, once class is over.
A wad of paper hits him in the back of the head and falls to the floor.
Sighing, Nils goes to grab it, but before he can, I scoop it up. As I smooth it out on the desk, I see????written in a messy scrawl. Nils winces. I lean over and whisper as quietly as I can, “What does this mean?”
“Nothing.”
Looking at him, I canclearlytell it isn’t nothing. A frown pulls at his lips and a crease appears between his brows. When people sayhe looks like a wounded puppy, I guess this is what they mean.
“Tell me,” I whisper back.
“It’s dumb,” Nils says, reaching for the paper.
I take my pen and write below the runes:What is that supposed to mean?
