Chapter 28 Solveig
Six more groups of Fae joined them in the following weeks, and only one did not instigate a confrontation with Solveig.
Each time a group arrived, terror seized Solveig as she searched for familiar body shapes among the new arrivals. More than once she’d thought she recognized Stick’s stiff gait before realizing most Fae males moved like they had sticks up their asses.
The females all had the grace of Water, so she could not distinguish between them either.
No matter how many times she searched for Fear’s silhouette, he was a ghost, everywhere and nowhere at once.
It was only when Gerrie put her flat on her back during one of their private training sessions that Solveig accepted that she wouldn’t recognize her captors, even though she’d studied them for months.
She would have to be lying down in front of them to even have a shot at distinguishing their frames. No chance in Hel that was happening, so Solveig’s anxiety swelled.
They could be speaking with her right now and she wouldn’t know, given they all had tried to hide the tenor of their voices. Each tall and muscular Fae had the potential to be Fear, and her magic responded accordingly.
Dark, roiling clouds and thunderstorms were a daily occurrence, but Solveig threw herself into training regardless of the weather.
Physically she was almost back to her pre-captivity strength, bolstered by Laeknir insisting she take the Drink at least once per day. She hated to admit that it helped because it never got less disgusting. But she wasn’t a witchling anymore—she could suffer through it without whining. Mostly.
She wanted to spend most of her time away from the Fae but knew she had to be seen. It rankled that she had to vie for the position that had already taken her a hundred years to earn and had been rightfully hers for another two centuries.
Three months of being held against her will, giving away nothing, and this was her reward?
Solveig tried to keep her emotions in check, only letting them loose when she was alone. Her fear was a constant, unwelcome companion, determined to undermine her at every turn.
The last group of Fae were set to arrive that evening. This would be the last time she would have to dread their arrival, and there was some comfort in that. It was almost over.
Her shieldmaidens had kept her informed of everything they’d learned from the Fae. Given their propensity for spying, they were able to unearth a wealth of information about those who’d arrived so far.
Even if they were unable to glean any information about her captors, they were well on their way to infiltrating the key players. But without the knowledge she needed, Solveig’s patience was being tested.
The breathing exercises Laeknir had given her helped somewhat.
She’d been surprised when he asked how she was doing mentally and whether she had tried meditation. She couldn’t picture the gruff witch sitting cross-legged on the ground making humming noises.
When she told him as much, she earned a well-deserved whack of his spear on her arm. She laughed at the memory, the levity helping control her fear. She needed to get this over with. Her magic hadn’t been this frantic since the first Fae arrival. It was making her restless.
Solveig was staring so intently at the front gates that she hadn’t been aware that someone had stepped up beside her until he started to speak.
“I’m sorry, General Tordottir.”
She jumped at the sound of the male voice. Sten stood beside her, peering at her with guilt in his eyes. She hadn’t seen him since the night she was taken.
“Sten, whatever are you sorry for?” she asked, genuinely confused.
“I should’ve stopped you that night, but I didn’t know what was going on.” He broke her gaze and hung his head. “I’ve been avoiding you since your return.”
“There was nothing you could’ve done to stop me. You would’ve had to overpower me, and you and I both know that wouldn’t have happened.”
“But I could’ve told you . . .” He paused and Solveig waited for him to continue, but he closed his mouth again.
“Told me what?”
Another pause and a hard swallow. “Told you what I Saw.”
Solveig blinked rapidly. “What do you mean, what you Saw?” she asked slowly.
“I didn’t know what it was at the time—I’ve barely had any experience, and it wasn’t like when I had Seen things before. It was still muted. I felt it more than I Saw it, I guess.” He shrugged, furrowing his brow like he’d thought it over endlessly but was still confused. Solveig stared at him.
“Do you mean your magic has awakened?” she asked carefully. How many of them were walking around with magic thrumming under their skin?
“No, just that one time before you . . . left. And then . . .”
Her gaze snapped to meet his. Fear shone in his eyes like it had that night. She had thought it was because of the raid, when he had grabbed her arm. But he had been scared for her, not himself.
“And then what? You had another vision, or feeling I guess?” He nodded. “Was it about me?” He nodded again, and her magic burned through her as thunder boomed overhead.
Just then, hooves sounded outside the gates. The last party had arrived. “Tell me everything you can,” she ordered.
“I don’t know—it’s not a real vision. I just have this feeling that you need to be careful.” She took a steadying breath through the pain of her magic.
“Be careful of what?”
He looked at her again, concentrating hard.
“Is it this new group of Fae?” she asked.
His face scrunched up, but he shook his head slowly. She relaxed a fraction.
“Then what do I need to be careful of?”
“I think . . . I think you’re in danger.” He furrowed his brow, his irises growing pale. A tear trickled down the side of his face. “From someone close to you maybe, I can’t be sure, but I think they’re already here.”
Too shocked to speak, she said nothing as he walked away, rubbing his temples.
There wasn’t much time to recover as the gates opened and Latham stepped forward to greet the newcomers. She would have to deal with this new development later.
Pulling her hood over her head, she snuck close enough to inspect each rider as they came through without being seen. She was relieved this was the last arrival and Sten hadn’t warned her about them.
Still, her magic was out of control, so much so that when she went to grip her sword, a visible white spark left her fingertips, stinging her skin as though the current was alive. The light absorbed into the feather-shaped hilt and she froze.
What on Yggdrasil is happening? She didn’t have time to dwell on it because a hush had fallen over the crowd. Solveig refocused to see what the fuss was about and all thoughts of her magic faded away.
At the very end of the largest group they’d received these past seven weeks, a sizable Fae rode atop a massive steed.
The horse was pure black with eyes as dark as midnight. And the male riding this impressive beast made her jaw drop.
Though he was seated, she could tell he was tall. His long, strong thighs gripped the horse expertly. She slowly dragged her eyes up as she took in the rest of him.
His broad chest was clad in a well-fitted dark grey vest. A black bandolier slung across the expansive area, filled with beautiful, showy gold knives and a bow strung across his back in the opposite direction only accentuated his size.
The cream tunic he wore was a stark contrast to his otherwise dark clothing.
The sleeves of his shirt were partially rolled up, showcasing muscles cording down his forearms, an indistinguishable tattoo from this distance following the lines.
Large, scarred hands gripped the reins, sending ripples through the muscles in his arms.
After Solveig got over the shock of how massive he was, she eventually moved her eyes to his face. His Fae features were sharp and angled, his dark beard shaping his square jawline.
His olive skin was weather worn and his full eyebrows framed hooded eyes that were a dark emerald green. Shoulder-length black hair was half pulled up, tied in a loose bun, surrounded by intricately woven braids to keep the strands from falling in his face, exposing his pointed Fae ears.
He was a work of art, but what shocked her the most was the gold circle atop his head. A royal Fae of Idavoll.
They had not been warned about receiving such a guest.
The queens had raised Solveig not only to be a warrior, but also to be their general.
She’d had to learn the ins and outs of each realm’s governance and had been sent on diplomatic meetings, posing as a delegate for Asgard, when in reality she was gathering information as their general.
Her hidden identity made it possible for her to disguise herself.
She had met the king and queen of Idavoll, but not their two princesses, the elder being the heir to the Forest Fae throne. Likewise, the two princes were never present when she visited Idavoll, always off on their own missions until the elder prince died in the war.
This male must be the youngest heir.
Without allowing herself to be distracted by his appearance, she reassessed him under a different light, taking note of his highborn mannerisms. He sat regally, face void of emotion, and did not make eye contact with any of her people. She hated him already.
She was about to approach when her magic flared white hot. Whirling away so fast, Solveig did not see his head snap in her direction. Her cloak whipped behind her as she disappeared into the crowd.