Chapter 27 Solveig/Latham
The Fae lord roared with laughter as he told his companions of Solveig’s last stay in Asgard. He was currently entertaining them with the time she’d taught a very valuable lesson to a group of males.
“So these males refused to be trained by a female, especially a Vanir female”—he tilted his head towards her—“no offence.”
“None taken, Connie. Go on.” She grinned at him over her mug when he narrowed his eyes. She just laughed and took a healthy swig of water.
“These males formed a protest of sorts. They recruited as many as they could and refused to attend the lessons. How they could think they were above a female instructor when we have two queens sitting on the throne is beyond me!” He chugged his tankard of ale and slammed it down on the table.
“It’s a pity really that the queens brought General Tordottir in as a special guest instructor since she’s, you know, the head of their armies! ”
After a dramatic pause, he continued, “I thought she was going to tear them a new one or challenge them to a fight. That’s the general I knew back in the day. Always looking for trouble and a reason to knock the shit out of any Fae who glanced at her the wrong way.” He winked in her direction.
“What else was a witchling to do? Being young and stupid is a rite of passage,” Solveig said, smirking.
“Ha ha! That it is! So anyway, much to my surprise, she didn’t force the males to fight.
Instead, she held the training anyway. It was mostly females who attended, and she worked them hard.
Harder than she’d originally planned, I’d wager.
” Solveig’s silence was confirmation. “The queens eventually got word that males were skipping their training and ordered them to attend the lessons. I cancelled my own lessons so I could see the general take them down, but she didn’t! ” Another dramatic pause.
“What did she do?” one of his companions asked, slurring his words.
This lot were drinking their weight in ale, and it was starting to show. Vanir ale was strong and delicious, but she was not taking chances. She couldn’t afford to lose her inhibitions, so she drank water, hoping one of the Fae would slip up in their inebriated state.
“She welcomed them and told them they were in luck, it was evaluation day. The students who won their matches would earn a coveted spot in one of the queens’ elite battalions.
You should’ve seen the smug looks on their faces!
They puffed out their chests and strutted around the room like animals rutting in mating season. ”
A burst of laughter roared through the crowd.
“She paired up the males who hadn’t attended her training with the Fae who had. And then, one by one, those males had their asses handed to them!” Another roar reverberated around the hall, most of the attendees’ attention on Conalle’s story.
“Wait,” he said, waving his hands around to quiet the hall, “you haven’t heard the best part. General Tordottir invited the queens to the assessments.”
“What did the queens do?” another asked.
“What could they do? There wasn’t actually a battalion for the winners to join, so the queens created one on the spot! They even went so far as performing the rites to induct them into an elite force of shieldmaidens.”
“That’s not fair,” one of the males muttered under his breath. Solveig eyed him, slowly placing her mug on the table as the hall quieted.
From her corner where she sat lazily with her back against the wall, her legs straddling the bench, she could see the whole room. She leaned forward.
“What would you consider a fair consequence?” she asked quietly, not taking her eyes off the male who had spoken.
Another Fae answered. “Since their complaint was not with the others, it would’ve been more fitting to fight against you instead. That way they would’ve had a chance. Of course they would lose to better trained Fae, even if those Fae were female.”
Conalle shook his head and gave the male’s shoulder a reassuring squeeze. The male seemed confused at the gesture. Solveig grinned.
“How long have you been a trained soldier?” she asked him, cocking her head.
“Three decades.”
“And you think this is long enough to be posted as a lord’s guard in a Vanir camp?”
“Yes. I was hand selected by Lord Conalle.”
“I’m regretting that choice now,” Conalle muttered under his breath.
“Why does Lord Conalle need a guard in my camp?” Solveig continued, ignoring Conalle’s remark.
“Well . . . We know things are . . . unsettled here, so . . .” he stuttered, losing his courage at the gleam in her eye.
“And if the situation became more volatile, you’d be able to protect him?” She kept her tone conversational, her body language relaxed.
“Yes.”
She raised a brow. “Against every Vanir here?”
He paused before answering, but still, he nodded. Foolish youngling.
“I suppose since the unsettling you speak of has to do with me, if I became a danger to your lord, you would have to step in, correct?”
He nodded again, this time breaking eye contact and looking around at his companions. None jumped in to save him.
“And you think, because I’m Vanir and you are Fae, that you would be able to stop me?”
He swallowed and his nod came slower this time. “You don’t have your magic,” he said with a shaky voice.
“Neither do you,” she baited.
“Yes, but . . . as Fae we still have . . . I mean, physically we’re . . .”
“Stronger? Faster?” Solveig helped him.
“Well . . . yes,” he said, his eyes still scanning the room for support.
“Care to test that theory?” Solveig leaned back again, drinking from her mug. It was not an official challenge, but the male had backed himself into a corner and wouldn’t be able to say no. His swallow was audible, and it took everything in her not to smile again.
“Yes. I mean, I wouldn’t be alone—there are many of us.” Those around him shifted in their seats, uncomfortable with the unwanted attention.
“Very well.”
The male exhaled with relief, but it didn’t last. Solveig lifted her mug to her mouth and downed the contents. She placed it back on the table, stood up, and made her way to the door. Her hand was on the handle when she turned, raising her brows.
“Are you coming or not?” Without waiting for an answer, she left the dining hall.
She counted her steps as she walked away, making it to fifteen before she heard the door open, footsteps following her. Gerrie was at her side within seconds.
“What’s your plan?”
“Oh, just a friendly competition.”
“Ha. Friendly. You, with the Fae?”
“Stranger things have happened.”
“Doubt it.”
Solveig led them along the street, away from the fighting ring.
“Where are you going?” Gerrie asked.
“If they’re going to try to take my title, might as well do it in a public space.”
She led them towards the centre of the camp, near the training ring where most of her people congregated after they finished supper.
Silence fell as she walked through the crowd. Those who hadn’t seen her yet today took in her black leathers and the warpaint on her face. They bowed as she passed. She hated being bowed to.
When she reached the centre of the camp, she pivoted to face the Fae who had followed.
There was silence.
Clouds swirled above their heads, the wind picking up. Solveig took a deep breath in, counting to three as the Fae spread out around her. She let the feel of the wind caress her flaming skin. Her magic stilled in her veins.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” she asked. They unsheathed their swords and Solveig followed suit. But none of the Fae made the first move.
She sighed. “Are you waiting for me to attack you?”
“Well . . . yes. We’re here only as protection. We were ordered not to initiate a fight,” the male she’d been speaking to in the dining hall said.
Warning bells went off in Solveig’s mind. Would it be a mistake to take the first swing? She was just about to sheath her sword, pride be damned, when she changed her mind. She walked over and poked Conalle with the point of her sword, causing the lord to yelp in surprise.
“Oops,” she said, managing to keep a straight face. “It looks like your lord has been attacked. What are you going to do about it?” she taunted.
They looked at each other and all at once, they attacked. Six Fae came charging towards her from all sides. Her sword was ready in one hand, the other armed with the stolen hammer.
Sliding through the legs of the first male who came close, she popped up behind him and shoved him into two others barrelling towards her from the other direction.
Her sword met the swing of another’s and she threw her hammer at the approaching Fae on her left.
It knocked him to the ground before he could dodge it.
These Fae were strong and fast, but Solveig was Asgard’s general for a reason.
She may have been Vanir, but her strength and speed were unmatched, even amongst most Fae.
They twirled and twisted in a violent dance of swords and daggers. Solveig retrieved the hammer from where it had fallen, liking the weight of it in her hand. It came in handy when she needed the extra force.
She had to give it to these soldiers—they were holding their own. Solveig was starting to tire, so she had to end this as quickly as possible. She could not show an ounce of weakness.
Conalle watched with pride, most likely because they were lasting so long.
Picking up the hammer, she threw it again, knocking one of the soldiers to the ground. He didn’t get back up right away. Solveig looked to Gerrie, who immediately tossed a spear into her still outstretched hand.
Wielding the spear and the sword made her arms burn, but she pushed through. She swung her sword and disarmed another Fae. Holding the spear horizontal, she used both ends to knock the wind out of two more.
Four down, two to go.
They came at her head-on and she dropped the spear, hitting one in the face with the butt of her sword and parrying with the last Fae standing. He was a good swordsman, matching her blows—her arms ached with the effort.
Magic rushed through her veins and for a moment she flashed back to the cave, to a hallucination she’d had of Fear fighting her like this.
In the hallucination, she’d frozen in her panic.
She’d been unable to move to protect herself, chained as she was to the ground, as he approached her, sword raised for a killing blow.
The vision cleared as quickly as it had come, but the fear and terror were fires in her veins as her magic seared through her.
The clouds overhead grew thick and dark, thunder booming in the distance. She pushed the emotions away and in a wild swing, disarmed the Fae and kicked his chest. He went flying, knocking out two of the soldiers who had begun to stand.
All six were down when Solveig stood, sword hanging at her side, chest heaving. It took every ounce of energy she had left to keep the panic at bay.
“I win,” she said, breathing heavily. Sheathing her sword on her back, she walked out of camp, swiftly making for the stables.
She didn’t even bother readying Helle, just opened the doors and swung herself up to sit bareback, taking off as quickly as possible.
Latham walked Conalle and his wounded soldiers to their tents. He ordered their baths to be filled with hot water and cloths prepared for their injuries. They were all silent as they nursed their wounds and their pride, but Conalle chuckled, unconcerned for his guards’ welfare.
“It’s been a while since I’ve seen her fight. She’s a beauty,” he said to Latham once they were alone.
“Yes, she’s very skilled in combat,” Latham answered tentatively.
“The time away clearly hasn’t affected her ability too severely.”
“Not her fighting ability, no. She’s clearly regained her physical strength.”
“So you think she is emotionally unstable?” Conalle asked.
It was odd for a Fae to be so direct, but Latham appreciated his forwardness. Still, he hesitated to answer.
He didn’t know how Solveig was doing emotionally. She hadn’t spoken with him since their fight, and shame filled him. He hadn’t meant for her to overhear his conversation with Trella. He hadn’t meant for her to find out about Trella that way.
But he knew Solveig well enough to see she was haunted, even if they weren’t speaking. He’d seen the flash of panic in her eyes as she fought. Her dramatic exit wasn’t about making a point but to escape before her emotions spilled out.
“No, I don’t think she is mentally fit to lead anymore.” The sting of shame spread through him as he betrayed the only person he’d ever loved. But this was for her own good and the good of their people. He had to believe that.
Conalle gave him a look he couldn’t decipher.
“We shall see. Good night, Latham. Thank you for your hospitality.” The lord tilted his head towards him and went into his tent.
Latham slowly walked back to his tent as the storm clouds thickened and rain began to fall. The clear skies from earlier were nowhere to be found. He tilted his head up to the heavens and prayed to the gods he was making the right decisions.
He was unsure if it was a good or bad omen that a bright crack of lightning illuminated the dark, stormy sky, thunder reverberating through the camp.