Chapter 63 Westley
“Why is Solveig not here?” Conalle leaned over to whisper in his ear.
The lord had been anxiously awaiting their return and demanded to know every detail of what happened. Westley told him all, only leaving out the fact that somehow, he and Solveig could communicate without words. It must have something to do with their magic.
So far, he didn’t know if anyone else’s lingered beneath their skin.
Westley had looked for Solveig when they entered the Vault, but he’d assumed she was still bathing. He wasn’t lying when he said she stank. They all stank when they returned from battle covered in gods knew what.
What bothered him more was that she had lost a lot of blood, and the scent of it drove him wild. Even as she stood there, alive and well, arguing with him, the scent of her blood outside her body made his magic overbearing. It constantly reached for the threat, urging him to protect, conquer.
If she didn’t get cleaned up, there was no way they’d be able to train together later. He had a hard enough time focusing in her presence as it was—no need to add her blood to the mix.
His sharp canines ached at the thought, the impulse to taste her overwhelming his senses.
“West?” Conalle nudged him out of his trance and he swallowed hard, shoving the unnerving craving he had for the Vanir general to the back of his mind.
“No idea why she’s not here. She should be.”
“Aye,” he agreed.
“I don’t think that would be a good idea,” Noren interjected.
“Why not?” Conalle asked indignantly.
Noren gave Westley a knowing look that flooded his stomach with unease. He both hated and appreciated that Noren was here to keep him on track.
“Why are you two always looking at each other like that? If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were secret lovers. But since all our dear prince has done since he arrived is trail after our sassy general like a lovesick puppy, I think it’s something else.”
Westley let out a laugh, hoping they couldn’t tell it was forced. He was saved from trying to explain by Latham clearing his throat. Ten males, including Maddock, stood in a circle around a single chair placed in the middle of the room. They quieted.
“Bring in the prisoner,” Latham ordered. Two guards left and soon returned with the mortal they’d taken from the village. He had a sack over his head and his feet and hands were bound with rope.
With only a little slack between his ankles, he could barely shuffle as they dragged him along. The guards sat the man in the chair and began securing him with more ropes. Once he was fastened tightly, they removed the sack.
The Lionhead didn’t flinch at the sudden burst of light in his vision. Westley was shocked to see he appeared rather comfortable. This man was either too foolish to be frightened or knew something they didn’t.
Westley would bet his fortune it was the latter.
“Welcome to the Southern Wilds,” Latham started, his tone sickly sweet with not an ounce of sincerity.
“We have a fun nickname for you. We call you the Lionhead. I’m sure you can imagine why.
” He gestured to the man’s face with a smirk, probably hoping he’d take offence.
But the mortal just inclined his head and smiled through the gag.
“Tell me something, human, will you bleed if I try to cut you?” Latham asked. When the mortal said nothing, Latham continued. “Interesting magic you seem to possess. For your own sake, I hope it holds strong here.” He stepped towards the Lionhead. “Shall we test my theory?”
The mortal stared intently at Latham, showing no reaction, let alone fear, at Latham’s words. That only infuriated Latham, all pretence of politeness vanishing from his face in an instant.
“Let me make one thing clear, mortal.” He spat the word like it tasted foul in his mouth. “There is no one in this entire realm who will save you. No saviour, no rescuer, and certainly none of the gods—” He was cut off by a banging sound.
Westley had to hide his smile at her timing, though unease curdled in his chest. Solveig sauntered through the wide-open door and into the dungeon like she had no care in the world. He knew well enough now that this was not a mask—she was learning to remain unshaken in the face of her nightmares.
There was a brief tremble of her hand as it rested on the hammer she carried on her belt.
He’d been meaning to ask her about it. No one else noticed, too preoccupied with the deadly sword she brandished casually in front of her.
She used it to gesture around the room, her hair still wet from her bath.
“What do we have here?” she asked casually. As she reached their group, all but him, Noren, and Conalle took a step back from her. Westley relished the playful menace in her eyes. It was an effort to keep a straight face.
“Looks like you forgot to invite me to the party.” She made a tsk sound with her tongue a couple of times before she came to stand in front of Latham. “An unintentional oversight, I’m sure.” The smile on her face was a promise of violence. Latham flinched away as her smile grew wider.
“You are not in charge here anymore, Tordottir, you weren’t invited because we have no need of you,” Maddock said from his place at Latham’s side.
That was bullshit and everyone in the room knew it.
Though she may not have her title, she carried the respect of the clan and had led them for so long that she damn well deserved to be in this room.
“Solveig. I thought that you might not want . . .” Latham started, but Solveig’s hand flew up to cup his cheek, cutting him off, and leaned in close.
Latham’s eyes widened in shock at the unexpected contact. That simple touch took control of Latham’s entire body and he softened under her. Poor bastard.
“Shhh, Latham. No need to lie,” Solveig whispered pleasantly, sending chills all over Westley’s body.
“But if you think for one minute that you can leave me out of this”—her fingers gripped his face as she pulled him closer to whisper in his ear so none but the Fae could hear her—“I will cut off your balls and serve them to you for breakfast.” A snort came from Noren, who unsuccessfully tried to cover it with a cough.
Solveig pulled away slightly so she could look Latham in the eye, their faces close.
All the humour disappeared from her features as she slid her hand down Latham’s face to his throat and flexed her hand, squeezing a fraction.
A quick flicker of light flashed in her eyes that Latham must’ve seen too.
Perhaps a shock went through his neck. All the blood drained from his face at her warning, and he stood frozen on the spot.
Just as quickly as it had dropped, her smile was back in place. She released his neck, gently patting his cheek.
“That’s a good lad.”
Then she deliberately turned her back on him, leaving him rooted to the ground. Westley had to give him credit—even as it took him a moment to shake off the fear, Latham hadn’t wet himself. A grand feat indeed.
“Where were we?” Solveig asked the group.
She caught Westley’s eye and winked at him. She winked at him. He felt as shocked as Latham looked, eyes going wide and mouth slackening. He snapped out of it when Conalle chuckled beside him.
“It’s nice to see she’s got some of her spirit back,” Conalle whispered. Westley swallowed hard.
“Always so dramatic, Tordottir,” Maddock said, his arms folded across his chest.
“We were just, uh, getting ready to question him,” one of the guards said from behind Latham, who was still trying to recover. Solveig nodded.
“You may want to remove his gag. That way if he’s feeling particularly chatty, he’ll be able to speak.”
The guards who’d brought in the Lionhead quickly removed the cloth bunched in the mortal’s mouth. The man took a deep breath, maintaining his casual demeanour as Solveig assessed him.
“My name is Solveig Tordottir. I sincerely hope you have an inclination for self-preservation, I do not want this to get ugly,” she said calmly, surprising Westley by using the mortal’s common tongue. “What is your name?”
“John Davis, at your service,” he said, his mortal accent twanging.
“Welcome to Vanaheim, John Davis. Although I suppose since we took you from the village you built on our lands, you have been here for a while.”
“Ah, well, y’all know how it goes,” he replied, politeness never wavering. Solveig smiled at him. The man had the good sense to recoil.
“Yes, that I do. And what brings you here from Midgard?”
“Your lands are quite rich. The fields in Midgard leave something to be desired,” John Davis said matter-of-factly.
“You’re here for the soil?”
“That, and the freedom.”
“I see.” Solveig brought a chair from the side of the room and sat in front of him, crossing her legs and leaning back. “Your freedom was hard won. I don’t blame you for fighting for it.”
“Thank you,” he said, tilting his head. “Not all of your kind agree.” He scanned the room, chin gesturing to the faces of the males who would gladly rip him to pieces.
“Yes, well, some of us can appreciate the position you were in before the war. Others cling to power.”
“That they do, ma’am.”
“And what of you? Do you cling to power?” she asked. Westley marvelled at how smoothly the conversation was going. They chatted like old friends catching up after years apart. The distinction, of course, was that one was tied up like an animal for slaughter and the other was armed to the teeth.
John Davis considered his answer. “Power is what keeps us free.”
Solveig nodded. “And what power do you possess that allows you to be free?”
“Magic,” John Davis said bluntly. Solveig’s eyes swam with genuine sadness as she peered down at her hands.
“It is a beautiful thing to hold.”
“That it is.”
“You can imagine, then, how those of us born with magic have missed it these past hundred and fifty years.”
“I can imagine.” And he genuinely seemed sincere, showing what looked like empathy? That couldn’t be right.
“What would you do, if you were in our position?” Solveig asked, her focus trained solely on him.
The mortal sighed. “Fight like hell to get it back.”
“Then we understand each other.”
“That we do.” The man’s eyes softened. “I know what you have to do, and you know what I must do.”
Bracing her hands on her knees, she nodded in agreement. “For what it’s worth, I fought for the rights of mortals before the war, though maybe not as hard as I should have.”
“That is worth a lot. You have my sincerest thanks, ma’am.”
“And you have my respect, John Davis of Midgard.” He nodded, his face solemn. She stood and looked down at him with pity in her eyes. “You won’t tell us anything, will you?”
“Not without a fight, I’m afraid.”
“Will you answer at least one question before it comes to that?”
“Depends what it is.”
“How did you obtain the magic you wield?”
He gave her a small smile. “Now, you know I can’t answer that, Solveig.”
“You know I had to ask.”
“I do.”
Solveig stared at the man for a long period of time. Westley would’ve given anything to know what she was thinking. He didn’t have to wait long because she sat back down and leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees, more urgency in her tone.
“I was captured recently. A few months ago. Taken on that last raid of your village.”
John’s eyes softened. “I remember that raid. It was much like all the others until the end—chaos unlike anything we’d ever dealt with.”
“I was their war general.”
“Was?”
“I was deemed unfit to lead when I returned. And I have been accused of treason,” Solveig said nonchalantly.
“I was captured and kept in a dark cave, chained to the floor, the restraints so short I was unable to sit.
I was tortured for unending hours every day by a sadist. I mean that quite literally.
He got his pleasure from hearing me scream.
I never knew what was coming, and he got . . . creative.
“After I made a few escape attempts in the beginning, I always had one guard at the mouth of the cave. But every day whichever guard was posted would ask me the same questions. When I refused to answer, that’s when he would start, and he wouldn’t stop until the sun set.
The horrors I went through I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.
” When she stopped speaking, her hands gripped each other tightly.
The mortal leaned forward as much as the ropes would allow.
“That wasn’t us,” he insisted.
“I know.”
The room was deadly quiet, and Westley’s heart restarted as his mind raced. If she knew it wasn’t the mortals, what else did she know?
“Why tell me this? To scare me? It won’t work.”
“No, John. Not to scare you, to plead with you. The cycle must be broken. You capture one of us, they capture one of you, we capture one of you, they capture one of us, and we all retaliate in our own ways. The cycle of war and death and pain goes round and round. I’m sick of it, and I’d like it to end. ”
“I mean no disrespect, but you already told me you are no longer in power. You have no authority to make such promises.” He slumped back in his chair, the kernel of hope flickering out in his eyes.
“I may not be their leader anymore, but I am not without power. I held the title of war general of Asgard for two centuries. And I am the adopted daughter of the Queens of Asgard, sister by our mother’s blood to Queen Koa,” she said as she stood.
Gasps erupted throughout the room at her declaration.
Maddock’s head reared back. He hadn’t known.
The mortal’s eyes widened before narrowing them. “How do I know you speak the truth?”
Solveig shrugged. “You don’t. But you know that I do not have the authority here, in this camp. If you do not wish to work with me, I have no choice but to leave you in the hands of these Vanir.”
“Threats do not frighten me.”
“It’s not a threat, John. It’s a warning.”
“What do you want from me?”
The whole room held its breath waiting for Solveig to answer.
“Freedom.”
He shook his head. “I cannot give that to you. If you are free, then my people are not. There is no other way.”
“Wrong. We just need to find a way. I am willing to try. Are you?”
Another long moment of silence.
“No,” the mortal whispered, apology clear in his eyes.
She showed no other signs of disappointment than the subtle fall of her shoulders.
“So be it.” Solveig lingered. “If you change your mind, ask for me and I will come.”
She didn’t wait for an answer as she strode out of the dungeon. Westley fell into step behind her, leaving Noren and Conalle in his place.
Once they were outside, Solveig leaned against the wall and put her head in her hands. Westley stood silently by her side and they listened as the screaming began.