“Do all this without arousing suspicion?” Bode chuckled. It wasn’t a pretty sound. “That boy may be smiles and kindness on the outside, but he is devious. He’ll use anything and anyone for his own purposes. He might have even used you without your knowledge. What did he tell you? Did he ask anything of you?”
I thought about the envelope. Bryn said it was his goodbye to Viggo. Could it be something else? Perhaps instructions on how to follow him? But why would he give that information to his friend? Viggo wouldn’t go looking for Bryn and risk expulsion. Bryn would know this. It had to be as innocent as he said it was. Still, I couldn’t help but doubt his true character. What I saw could have been only what he wanted me to see. I hadn’t known him long enough to say with confidence that he was as kind and innocent as he had appeared to be. I couldn’t betray him without real cause, however, not after all he’d done for me.
I cleared my throat. “He said he was planning on leaving but he didn’t tell me how.”
Bode scoffed. “He was trying to protect you. Perhaps he cared for you after all.”
“Why does the director want to see me?”
“Because Viggo would rather die than betray the trust of his friend,” Bode said as if it were obvious. “Brynjar wouldn’t risk giving his brother in arms any useful information for fear of Viggo being harmed for it. You, on the other hand, we aren’t so sure about.”
“I already told you everything he told me.”
Bode opened the door to the main office and held it open for me. “We’ll see about that.”
A small glass was placed on the desk before me. The liquid inside was dark and had an odd scent.
The director glared at me. “Drink it.” He was taller than Bryn and of a broader build. His dark hair was cropped short. It didn’t look like he could be Bryn’s father, especially with the harsh scowl on his face and the anger in his bright eyes.
“I already told you what Bryn told me,” I said.
“If you want me to trust you, girl—”
“Asta.”
The director rose from his chair with a snarl. “I don’t care what your name is!”
I flinched, ears ringing.
Director Endre took several moments to breathe and collect himself. He scowled down at that shot class. “If you want me to trust you, you will drink it.”
I took the glass between my thumb and forefinger, and downed the liquid.
Director Endre eased back into his chair. “Did you know what my son was planning?”
I crossed my arms. “No.”
“Did he ever speak to you about his unhappiness?”
“Yes. He wanted to become a doctor. He said you wouldn’t let him try.”
The director’s glowing eyes narrowed. “Did he explain why?”
“You believe he can only bring you honor by being a warrior,” I muttered in disgust.
He leapt to his feet and struck me across the face. I fell out of my chair with a shout. The director rounded the desk and pulled me up by my hair. I bit my tongue to refrain from shouting again.
“You are not a native Holgarian,” he said, his face uncomfortably close to mine. “You must know what it’s like to be forever separated from the people you care about. Olga, my wife, my friend, my life, was murdered. I heard about it too late to avenge her. My son—” He cursed rather colorfully and threw me back into the chair.
I gripped my head, scalp and eyes stinging.
The director gave me his back and kicked at the safe’s open door. It swung into the wall with a crack, revealing the files it stored.
“I see her in my son,” he said. “Brynjar has her smile, her kind heart, her brilliant mind… I can’t let him become a doctor. He can’t become more like her. It will destroy me. He must be someone else entirely. He must be—”
“Himself.”
The director glared over his shoulder at me.
I sat up in my chair, knowing that speaking the truth would only guarantee another blow, but whatever he had given me forced my thoughts to become words. “Bryn must be allowed to seek his own path and discover himself or he will never love you as a son should love his father. If medical school is a mistake, let him learn that himself. He will come back on his own. If it isn’t a mistake, he will thrive. Is that not what you want? The happiness of your son?”
“What I want is to be free of her!” the director roared. “I want to be rid of her memory. I can’t even bear to look at him, my own son, because of her.”
“With all due respect, sir, that isn’t Bryn’s fault. Perhaps this separation will be good for the both of you. Perhaps it will give you the necessary time to heal.”
The director waved away my words. “He belongs here. Dotharr has chosen him to become a warrior. Running away from his fate is not only disrespectful, but irresponsible and selfish. Tell me where he went.”
I rolled my eyes. “You know where he went.”
Director Endre’s hands turned into fists at his sides. “The medical school on this island starts six weeks from now. Brynjar must hide somewhere while his application is being processed. Where did he go?”
“I don’t know!” I shouted. “And I’m glad of it because I can’t betray him even with your damned truth juice.”
The director slammed his fist into his desk. The wood groaned. “Then how did he do it? How could he have left Viggo and the rest of his friends behind without saying goodbye, without alerting them even in the slightest about what he was going to do?”
I swallowed against the lump in my throat. “I don’t know.”
Chapter Seven
I sat alone at breakfast, mechanically bringing the spoon from my plate to my mouth and back. I had no appetite after my interrogation this morning, but knew that I wouldn’t have the strength to do well in my classes if I had an empty stomach.
Sleep had evaded me after Bode had escorted me back to my room. I had sobbed into my pillow as quietly as I could and hoped no one could hear, but they would know something was wrong just by looking at me. My eyes were always bloodshot after a good cry.
I couldn’t meet anyone’s gaze. My chest felt hollow, my head heavy. From his father’s description, Brynjar had been everything he had seemed to be; a kind, considerate man who wanted to be my friend. And still, I’d expected the worst of him. A stab of shame made my chest ache.
Now he’s gone, and I’ll never be able to say how sorry I am for ever doubting his intentions.
I sniffled and wiped my eyes with my sleeve. I tore into my crust of bread and tried to put it out of my mind. Then I caught sight of Viggo stalking toward me. The look on his face… it was beyond anger, beyond hurt. He didn’t stop at my table. He grabbed a fistful of my sleeve, pulled me out of my chair, and proceeded to drag me out of the Feasting Hall.
“Hey!” my guards shouted, dropping their utensils and rushing to my aid.
Viggo hauled me around the corner of the building and threw me against the wall. My shoulder hit the cement, jarring my still-tender back. I didn’t have it in me to be afraid. I simply winced and looked down at my feet.
Viggo loomed over me, the anger rolling off of him in waves. “What do you know?”
My guards charged out of the building and ran toward us.
“It’s all right,” I murmured, knowing they could hear me even from a distance. “He just wants to talk.”
The guards skidded to a halt, weapons raised, narrowed eyes fixed on Viggo.
“He’s given you trouble before,” one of them said. “How can we trust he won’t—?”