Lady Berserk by Tessa Gratton

Lady Berserk by Tessa Gratton

Author:Tessa Gratton
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Tessa Gratton
Published: 2014-09-29T00:00:00+00:00


SIX.

In the morning, I make Soren switch trucks with me so I can ride with Sean Hardy and Visby Larue.

I got a bit of skit last night for taking off, so I made myself useful cleaning up in the mess tent, telling jokes to my fellow workers and answering questions about Baldur and Bright Home and berserking. I know Soren doesn’t tend to get along with strangers; most berserkers have this attitude that they’re unwelcome among the non-berserking populace, but that hasn’t been my experience—because I’m sort of famous, or because I’m a girl, or because I’ve got the charm of a caravan rat, I don’t know. But I fell asleep full of smiles and at least three interesting new jokes.

I didn’t stay asleep, though. It was like I wasn’t tired enough to sleep, and I tossed, turned, stared at the top of my tent. Finally got up a couple hours before dawn and ran laps around the camp. Soren joined me, unsurprisingly, and we did some boxing and weight training and yoga until the rest of the caravan rose. I taught him a frenzy game Henry and I played to help me hone my control. Soren seemed fascinated by it.

Now we’re taking off for what promises to be another day of absolute boredom. Sean is driving, explaining to the camera guy, who’s in the passenger seat, that we’re going to finish the entire grid over the next two days, so we’ll have seen with our own eyes the basics of the Flint Hills and have a feel for the land. I throw my head back against my seat in despair. But it isn’t as if I have any better ideas. Not any, at least, that don’t involve Loki Changer.

Sean seems calm, though, and now that I’m stuck two feet behind him, I notice he’s got a little valknot tattooed on his earlobe. An Odinist trefoil. There’s a dark splash of color cutting through it, though, a slash across the design the way you tie a green ribbon across portraits or around your arm when somebody dies to show mourning. That’s what it reminds me of, and I immediately assume the dead person is his daughter’s mother. I could be wrong, but I don’t think so, and the ragging weight of it settles in my stomach again. As long as this pencil-neck camera guy is here, I won’t give him the satisfaction of making Sean admit to anything on television. Probably the whole world knows already anyway.

But ragging rut. He needed that apple.

Unlocking my seatbelt, I slide across the bench and easily straddle Visby’s lap. He’s so surprised, he puts up no fight, and of course, when he realizes what I’m about, he doesn’t argue. He steadies me by my thighs as I bend my neck only a little awkwardly to fit under the roof. Good to be tiny sometimes.

“What are you…?” Sean asks as I jostle the front seat, and the camera guy makes an excited, strangling sound.

Visby holds one hand out to block the camera.



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