Chapter 56 Solveig
Mind wholly focused on getting back to camp and stopping Latham from executing this unbelievably horrible idea, Solveig raced through the forest. Sten tried to keep up with her and the prince but he was falling behind with each long stride. She had to slow down so she could question him.
They needed to know what they were getting themselves into.
Sten told her of Latham rousing the clan into a blind fury against the mortals, coaxing them to act like the heathens the world believed the Vanir to be—to raise their torches and pitchforks in the air and storm the village as soon as possible.
Sten didn’t know if there had been any strategic planning for this attack, only that Latham and Maddock had been discussing it in letters for weeks.
Latham had been waiting for the commander to arrive before making any sort of move.
“Is this what you were warning me about?” she asked Sten, ignoring the confusion on the prince’s face.
Though she may have warmed to him, there were secrets she would never tell, and he had them too. Anyone who’d lived as long as they had—as well as led armies in a world war—didn’t have enough wardrobe space for all their secrets.
“I don’t know,” Sten said quietly, eyeing the prince. Solveig gave a slight shake of her head, warning him not to say anything. He got the message and fell silent.
The prince caught their exchange but didn’t ask any questions—Solveig was grateful he at least knew her well enough to know it was not the time to push.
Latham was signing their death warrants. From the fifty years of raids, they learned the mortals had access to some sort of magic. Not the same as the Trifold magic, but something other.
Their previous raids had taken months of planning, scouting, and strategy before even attempting to execute them.
From the moment a raid ended to when the next one began, they planned.
Even if Latham was making a huge mistake, she hoped he had at least thought it through or spoken with their council.
Jarl Bjornson would’ve made the danger known and advised on the precautions they needed to take. She had to trust that Latham had some common sense left.
The dread pooling in her stomach told her he didn’t.
All three of them reached the edge of camp and Solveig gestured at Sten to leave. She didn’t want him anywhere near this. He understood and snuck around to one of the secret entrances. Alone with the prince again, she took a deep breath before starting for the gates.
“Care to share what that was about?” he asked as they ran side by side through the opening gates, rushing to get to the loud crowd in the middle of camp. The guards bowed their heads to her as she passed through.
“Solveig,” he said sternly when she didn’t answer. She stopped running at his tone and serious face, drawing herself up to match his challenge. War prince versus war general.
“You are neither entitled nor privileged to that information, Your Highness.”
His eyes narrowed. “I have people at risk here, General Tordottir. I am entitled to this information. Tell me.”
“The only information you are entitled to is that which I deem you worthy of.”
He flinched like she had struck him. She held no remorse. If he was going to behave like an ass, she would treat him accordingly. He collected himself quickly and his face softened.
“We’re on the same team here, Solveig. I can help.”
“We’re not. You’re fighting for Idavoll and I’m fighting for Vanaheim and Asgard.”
“Aren’t they on the same side?”
“Not when one sends their prince to spy on the other, gathering information and accusing their leaders of treason,” she said sharply.
“I never accused you.”
“Not yet.”
Energy built between them at their standoff. Solveig couldn’t help the twitch in her hand when she thought about possibly stabbing him again if he said the wrong thing.
The prince scanned her face, looking for what? She didn’t know.
“Do I need to?”
“What are you asking me, Prince?”
“You know what I’m asking.”
“You really think me capable of that magnitude of treachery? To condemn an entire world? To lose my magic in the process?”
“You have your magic.”
“So do you.”
They’d been stepping closer to each other during the exchange. Her chin tilted up to meet his gaze, her chest brushing against his. The pulse of their magic connected them. If her heart wasn’t beating out of her chest she could’ve sworn the flash of emotion that crossed his face echoed in her mind.
Anguish.
They stared at each other, neither backing down. When his gaze flicked to her lips, her body responded. She tried to ignore the sudden, warm flow of blood gathering between her thighs, her breasts aching for more contact.
He bared his teeth, his tongue flicking out to graze his sharp canines. She tracked the movement, resisting the tenable pull to close the distance between them. To taste that tongue on hers—to feel it on her skin, between her legs.
It had been bad enough when his back was against hers, guiding her movements as he taught her how to use her bow properly. She’d wondered if he had this kind of hands-on approach with all his students, and that thought made her blood simmer.
But now that they were face to face, the pull was stronger and more difficult to resist. Her body remembered how he felt pressed against her, driving her mad with need.
The fact remained that he had his secrets and so did she. Solveig forced herself to take a step back.
“We’re wasting time. We have to go,” she said quietly as she started walking away from him. She heard a soft “fuck” from behind her as his steps followed hers, and she was glad he couldn’t see the small smile that quirked the corner of her mouth.
They picked up their pace and were at the back of the crowd within minutes. Maddock and Latham stood on the raised training ring, addressing the clan.
“These mortals have taken everything from us! It’s time we stop running and start fighting back!” Latham yelled over the crowd. A chorus of cheers swelled around them. The Fae stood separate from the Vanir, whispering to each other.
Solveig and the prince shared a nod before splitting in separate directions. She had to find Quillon, and he went after his companions. She briefly wondered whether the prince would tell her what the Fae were discussing.
After their little exchange, she doubted it. She couldn’t think of that now anyway.
She spotted the jarl hovering at the side of the ring, watching Latham with horror etched into his features. When he spotted her, relief slumped his shoulders. As she approached, his eye caught on the bow and arrows slung across her back and he gave her a quizzical glance.
“I was practising when Sten came to find me,” she informed him.
“Alone?” he asked suggestively. Solveig pinned him with a look and he dropped it. “I’m glad you’re here now. Please make him see sense.” He gestured towards Latham.
“I don’t think I have that ability anymore. I’m not sure I ever did.”
“You’re the only one who could get through to him.”
Before Solveig could respond, Latham’s voice carried over them.
“For too long, we have been ruled by cowardly leadership, fleeing whenever the mortals got too close! No more!” he yelled.
Solveig bristled, blood rushing to her face as her magic flared to life at the insult.
Quillon’s outrage matched her own. He had always backed Solveig’s decision to move camp when the mortals caught their trail.
It shouldn’t have surprised her that Latham thought this way—he had always tried to convince her to fight rather than flee.
But Solveig’s pride wasn’t strong enough to corrupt her judgement.
The mortals were stronger than they were, and retreat was necessary for survival.
It had been difficult in recent years to convince the council to side with her.
She understood—for so long, their race had not been one to flee.
They wanted to fight, not with strategy but with their weapons and their hands. She couldn’t fault them for that.
However, it was a death sentence to blatantly attack the mortals.
“All those willing and able to fight, gather your weapons and say your goodbyes! We ride at dusk!” Latham yelled.
There was a mad dash as the crowd dispersed, everyone going off to prepare for battle.