Chapter 57 Solveig
Solveig and Quillon fought their way through the crowd to get to Latham and Maddock. They reached the raised platform at the same time as the prince, Conalle, and Noren.
“Latham!” she shouted. He heard her but did not respond.
“Arlanson!” the prince barked, and Latham reluctantly turned to face them. He sneered at the two of them.
“How cute. The second spare and the disgraced general,” Maddock said, voice barbed.
“Will you four fight with us?” Latham asked.
“Latham, you can’t do this,” Solveig insisted.
He would not meet her eyes. “Actually, I can.”
Though it was likely pointless, she tried to reason with him. “You know what this will do to our people. They will not survive.”
“We are the strongest Vanir legion to ever exist. Your lack of faith in your own soldiers is pathetic,” he spat in response to her honest plea.
“And your bullheaded pride will be the death of us all,” Quillon chimed in.
“Latham, listen to me. You know me. I have never run from a fight I can win, and we cannot win this. We have no magic to protect us, and no measure of skill in combat can prevent the onslaught of whatever power the mortals have gained. How many people have to die for you to see that?”
“You don’t know that, Solveig,” Latham said, sounding less sure.
“We all know this, Latham! Or do you not remember the years before the raids? We’ve tried this already, and half of our people were wiped out!”
The Fae jolted in surprise at the information. The Southern Wilds Legion had been shrouded in mystery since it formed, ensuring no one ever really knew the specifics. They had been far, far greater than their numbers now.
Maddock shrugged. “You’ve trained them better. They don’t rely on their magic anymore.”
“That doesn’t warrant an attack, Commander. And with all due respect, if Jotunheim is not willing to aid our cause, you can keep your opinions to yourself,” Quillon chastised.
“Say we are better trained to fight without our magic. Have you sent scouts to check for traps? Studied their new guard movements? Developed any sort of strategy?” Solveig asked.
“Of course there’s a plan,” Latham replied, indignant. “We have the element of surprise. They’ll be taken off guard.”
“That doesn’t answer my other questions. A surprise attack is all well and good, but we don’t want to be the ones surprised.” She was trying to get him to think rationally but he was having none of it.
“We? Oh no, Solveig. You are not coming,” Latham said.
Everyone, including Maddock, looked at him with varying degrees of surprise and disgust. Solveig instinctively reached out to grab the prince’s arm a second before he took a step towards Latham. His body was tense, poised to attack, but relaxed under her touch.
“There is nothing you can do to stop me from coming,” Solveig said. From the corner of her eye, she noted Veda, Signe, and Idunn waiting in the wings, ready to jump in if needed.
“I can have you thrown into the Vault for disobeying an order from your direct superior.”
Solveig laughed out loud. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m completely serious. You are a danger to others and to yourself. I order you to remain here.” He drew himself up to his full height, hand going to his sword.
“I don’t take orders from you,” she said calmly.
“Guards!” Latham called and four sentinels rushed over. Her shieldmaidens made to move towards her as well, but she shook her head.
“Seize her!” Latham ordered. The guards exchanged wary glances, clearly unsure what to do. “I said seize her!” he yelled. Still, they didn’t move.
“Forgive us, General Arlanson, but we cannot,” the one closest to Solveig said quietly. Latham’s face achieved a new shade of red.
“You mean to tell me that you are refusing a direct order from the war general of Asgard?” Latham cried.
The guard went to speak, but Solveig cut her off.
“You see, that’s where you’re wrong, Latham.
You might be General of the Southern Wilds, but that does not make you the General of Asgard.
That appointment comes directly from the queens.
Assuming they have not sworn you in through letters, of course.
That position died with my assumed death. ”
“They are not two different titles!”
“They are, actually,” Quillon confirmed.
“Well, you reside in this camp, which means you fall under my rule!”
“Latham, we’ve been through this. Besides, even if your guards wanted to seize me—which they don’t—they know they’d be severely injured in the attempt.”
“Oh, come off it, Solveig, you can’t take on four trained Vanir guards by yourself.”
Solveig said nothing, just smirked.
“Who said she’s by herself?” the prince asked quietly.
Latham’s head whipped towards him. He looked between the prince and Solveig, reassessing their position. Solveig was no longer holding the prince’s arm, but he stood close behind her, too close for a casual distance. His eyes narrowed.
“Stay out of this, Fae,” he spat.
“You also can’t order me around. You know, Fae prince and all that.” The prince gestured to the invisible crown on his head.
“So now that you’re bedding her you no longer think she’s a traitor?” Latham sneered.
“Watch it, witch,” the prince growled.
“You’re on thin ice, Latham,” Solveig warned him.
“Okay, witchlings, settle down. You can piss over your property later,” Maddock said. Solveig scowled at him as he stepped between the two males. “Regardless of our opinion of the previous general, she’s an incredible fighter. We should bring her.”
“She’s mentally unstable!” Latham argued.
“Latham, we’re wasting time arguing. I’m not going to let my soldiers march into that mortal camp unprepared without me. You can have others try to stop me or you can try yourself, but I swear to the gods that anyone who lays a hand on me will not walk away alive.”
Solveig’s magic pulsed, backing up her threat as a current escaped her. The air grew thick, the pressure of her power building. Everyone sucked in a breath, confused at the sudden change in atmosphere.
This time it was the prince who reached out to steady Solveig. She could almost hear his words. Save your fury for the battle, General.
She rolled her eyes, breaking the tension.
“If you cause me any problems, Solveig, so help me . . .”
“You’ll what, Latham?” she challenged.
“Just try not to let yourself get captured this time,” he said sarcastically.
“Don’t worry. I have no plans to save your sorry ass, so I should be safe,” she replied with a smirk. Latham’s veins popped from his neck, a satisfying reaction. Footsteps followed when she left, and Quillon jogged up beside her.
“What’s your plan?” he asked.
“Make sure Latham doesn’t get all of our people slaughtered.”
“Great plan,” the prince replied from her other side. She missed Gerrie already.
“If you lads will excuse me, I need to see a man about a horse.” She waved without making eye contact with either of them, a clear dismissal.
Solveig needed time to put some of her plans in motion, and this trip to the mortal camp threw a wrench in her timing.
Her revenge would have to wait a little longer.