Chapter 17 Latham
Latham begrudged his trip to the river. He’d hated coming here since Solveig was captured. He saw her angrily whipping stones into the wide expanse of water. He saw her spearing fish and laughing as she splashed him. He felt her presence in every rock and tree.
Running a hand through his hair, he thought over the past three months. Gods, what a mess.
That first week she was gone was the worst of his life.
He didn’t think he’d be able to stop searching for her.
But as time went on and the council grew more impatient with his lack of leadership, he had to make a decision between his oath to Solveig, who was probably dead, and his duty to the monarchs of the Realms. Just thinking about the Jotunheim king sent a shiver down his spine.
He’d received a letter from Maddock that morning with instructions.
Latham had to appeal to the queens to expedite their decision about the Southern Wilds.
He had tried his best to put his people first, he was a Vanir above all else, but with Jotunheim and Idavoll breathing down his neck, he didn’t know what the right path was anymore.
Jotunheim was now openly allied with Idavoll, and if Vanaheim did not join them, they would find themselves with only Asgard as their ally. He hadn’t wanted to admit that he was out of his depth.
It all had gone to Hel after he gave in to that first request to make Maddock his advisor. If Solveig were here . . . he stopped himself from thinking about her. It was no use.
The usual swirl of guilt and anger pressed at the back of his mind, and he forced it down. She was gone and he had to make his own choices. He knew what she would think of the decisions he’d made so far, but she wasn’t here.
And without her, he finally had the power to help his people defeat the mortals the way he thought best, even if that meant aligning with the Fae of Idavoll and the Giants, cutting Asgard out of their alliance.
Instead of going to her usual spot, Latham decided to head farther north, attempting to escape the memories.
He lengthened the reins and gave his horse his head, trying to take a bit of joy in racing through the water.
The shoreline curved into the riverbend along the edge of the forest where the trees started thinning. He was close to the Idavoll border.
He hated these trees, hated their labyrinth of roots and the rocks lying at their feet. Hated the Fae who resided here. And now that he was in bed with them, hated himself for it too.
Just as he was about to leave, movement caught his eye farther up the river at the treeline.
He swiftly dismounted and unsheathed his sword, moving cautiously towards it.
If it was an animal, he didn’t have time to lay a trap—hopefully his sword would do.
If someone was watching him, he was ready for a fight.
As he drew closer, he made out a body lying on the ground, barely moving. They were clothed in all black and appeared as though they were trying to get to the river.
“Hello?” he called, but the body only struggled forward.
He called louder this time. “Hello! Are you injured?” Still, there was no reaction to him.
He moved closer, his heart hammering. The body moved again and the hood slipped from their head, dark copper hair spilling out. Latham’s heart stopped completely.
The world stopped spinning.
“SOLVEIG!” All thoughts vanished from his mind as he dropped his sword and raced to her.
“Solveig,” he sobbed, crashing to his knees when he reached her, rolling her onto her back. Her face was hollow, scratched, and bruised, skin sallow and pale. An angry red scar marred her right cheek.
“Solveig, please—I’m here. Wake up.” She stirred but did not open her eyes. He checked her for major injuries. None were visible except for scrapes and bruises and that brutal scar. There wasn’t time to fetch the healer. He would have to risk moving her.
He scooped her into his arms—she was far too light—and whispered apologies and loving words in her ear, anything that would keep her alive until they got back to camp.
He summoned Blesi and hoisted her up with him.
Wrapping her in his arms and holding on to her firmly, he rode as fast as he could through the forest.
She was alive.
Alive.
Guilt gnawed at him and terror settled in his stomach. He pulled her tightly against him as her head lolled against his chest, a moan escaping her lips.
“You’re almost home, Solveig.”
He flew through the woods, not caring how she’d escaped or how she’d made it to the river. He just had to get her home. Panic seized him when her body went limp. He could not have found her just to lose her again.
When he finally made it to the camp walls, he shouted for the guards to open the gates. They did so without hesitation. Gerrie was already running towards them, Latham’s outcry causing quite the stir.
“Latham, what the Hel—” She gasped when she caught sight of Solveig in his arms and ran forward to help get her down.
“Send for Laeknir now!” Gerrie yelled to the nearest guard, who immediately ran towards the healer’s tent while Gerrie helped Latham get Solveig onto the ground.
Solveig’s breaths were short and shallow, her eyes still closed.
She was not moving. Gerrie’s normally stoic demeanour shattered as she cried over Solveig’s body.
“Wake up, Sol. Come on. You’re home.” Still no response.
Laeknir came into view, pulling on a robe as he half ran, half stumbled towards them, being dragged by the guard Gerrie had sent. The healer knelt beside Solveig’s unmoving body. Latham gripped her hand so hard his fingers turned as white as Solveig’s clammy skin.
“Where did you find her?” Laeknir ran his hands over Solveig, lifting her black clothing to scan her body, prodding her limbs.
“She was crawling towards the river, about twenty legs from the Idavoll forest border. When I reached her, she was losing consciousness.”
Laeknir continued his assessment. “I don’t see any life-threatening injuries. Her bones feel intact and the bruising and cuts are all superficial. Let’s get her to the infirmary so I can do a more thorough exam.”
Gerrie and Latham released twin sighs of relief as Laeknir’s assistants gently lifted Solveig onto a stretcher.
They followed Laeknir to the healer’s tent and refused to leave Solveig’s side.
Laeknir didn’t put up his usual fuss, knowing better than to argue with them.
Instead he had them help disrobe and wash her body.
It was evident she was severely malnourished.
Her bones jutted out, her skin wan and taut.
Though she was still unconscious, her pulse raced.
When she was cleaned and dressed in fresh clothing, Laeknir brought smelling salts to her nose.
She jolted upright and began thrashing—delirious and glassy-eyed—clearly not recognizing the faces around her. Her mouth opened as if to scream, but no sound came out as she wildly threw kicks and punches when they tried to subdue her.
“Solveig! Solveig, it’s me, Latham!” he said firmly, easily blocking her feeble attempts to strike him. When he managed to grip her wrists, panic flared in her eyes.
“You’re safe. No one will hurt you. You’re safe.” She blinked and went preternaturally still. Her eyes were blank and unfocused.
“Solveig, you’re home. You’re going to be okay,” he said gently. She fidgeted against his hands until he let her go. Her arms fell limply to her lap. There was no sign of recognition on her face when she scanned the room. Gerrie approached her slowly.
“Solveig, it’s Gerrie.” Empty eyes stared back at her. “You’re home now. No one is going to hurt you.”
Solveig blinked and furrowed her brows. A little of the tension in Latham’s shoulders released. Laeknir came up behind him and held out a cup for her.
“Drink this. Your body is in shock.” Solveig narrowed her eyes at the cup and did not reach for it. Latham took it out of Laeknir’s hands and offered it to her again.
“You need to drink, Sol. You’ll feel better once we get some sustenance in you.” He held it out to her and when she still didn’t move, he slowly reached out to take her hand. She flinched at his advance, making him pause, but when she didn’t retreat, he continued.
Solveig allowed him to take her hand in his and guide it to the cup. Her fingers curled around the tall, narrow clay and she peered inside. Green liquid sloshed inside as she pulled it towards her. Recognition flashed in her eyes bringing a smile to Latham’s face.
The substance was disgusting, but all Vanir understood it was worth choking down.
Halfway through battles, soldiers would grimace as they chugged their waterskins full of the putrid smelling drink.
It was revolting but full of nutrients that replenished the body’s depleted energy stores.
Even without magic to enhance it, it worked wonders.
Solveig brought it to her lips, nose wrinkling in disgust. She hesitated to drink.
“Remember when we were witchlings and we dared each other to drink as much as we could? I think it was one of the last times I beat you in something. You were vomiting for days,” Latham said softly.
Solveig’s eyes met his and a small smile tugged her lips.
She brought the cup to her mouth again and this time did not hesitate to take it in all at once. Latham chuckled.
“Still can’t stand to have me beat you?” He knew he’d said the wrong thing when her eyes went cold, along with his insides. She had beat him the morning she was captured, and he had not honoured the terms of their agreement.
Latham dropped to his knees in front of her, removing the cup from her hands and grasping them tightly in his. He shuddered at how weak and cold they were.
“Solveig,” he said, sobbing. “I’m so, so sorry.
I never should’ve followed you, and I never should’ve let them take you instead of me.
” Tears rolled down his face. Gerrie and Laeknir busied themselves around the tent, trying to give them some privacy.
Solveig wasn’t looking at him anymore, but she didn’t push him away.
“Please forgive me. I’ll do anything. Please,” he begged, gripping her limp hands. She faced him, and for a moment he thought a light flashed through her eyes, but he blinked and it was gone. Her hands trembled as she pulled them from his grasp. His heart broke at the dismissal.
“Solveig—” he started, but Gerrie cut in.
“That’s enough, Latham. Give her some space.
” He didn’t think Gerrie had ever spoken to him so kindly—it only made him feel worse.
He stood and stepped away from Solveig, his apology going unaccepted did not sit well with him.
She had to know. She had to know he never meant for any of this to happen.
Laeknir began dressing her wounds, rubbing antiseptic ointment on her skin and wrapping gauze around the injuries.
Latham couldn’t watch anymore. “I’ll be back in a little while. Inform me if she starts speaking before I return.”
Gerrie nodded and as he turned to leave, she reached out and gripped his arm. When he met her gaze, she stared at him with a hard look. His back straightened. Defensive, he gave her a curt nod before yanking his arm from her grip and exiting the infirmary.
He bristled as he walked back to his quarters. How dare she reprimand him like that. As if he didn’t already feel like the lowliest piece of scum in all of Yggdrasil. He thought over every decision he’d made since Solveig was taken.
Those first few weeks when he barely ate or slept, driven by his guilt and terror to find her.
She’d disappeared without a trace, but he’d flipped over every rock, dug out every hiding place, waded across the river and back.
His knees had been raw from praying to the silent gods day and night, the scar on his palm jagged and infected from offering his blood so many times.
Yet he could not find her.
He walked slowly to his tent, dreading his sentence. The shock and relief of seeing her on the riverbank was fading and instead, dread curled around his spine to replace it. He would have to face every single decision he’d made over the last three months and pay for each of them.
And it would never be enough for how he’d failed her.
Latham reached his tent and took a deep breath before entering. It was late and he was exhausted. The need for sleep overwhelmed him—he needed strength for the coming days. He doubted he’d be able to, though.
He entered his tent and undressed as though in a daze, falling onto the bed of furs. His eyes closed and his stomach sank even lower as a warm body, so familiar to him now, curled around him, holding him close.