Chapter 31 Westley/Solveig
Ahooded figure stood in the doorway.
Whoever it was waited for a split second before entering the room. When they reached to pull their hood down, loose waves of auburn hair flowed forward, framing a face set in fierce anger.
A long, thin scar ran from her temple to her jaw. Westley’s heart stopped for a beat before resuming with vigour, his magic growing frantic.
Though she was distractingly beautiful, he didn’t drop his weapons or his guard. He couldn’t, rooted to the spot like the rest of them. She walked into the room, all eyes following her.
The air became charged with tension, the hairs on his body rising as she made her way over to a fallen body.
“Laeknir,” she called, and the bald male Westley had regarded earlier sauntered over. They knelt down, the male feeling for a pulse. He shook his head. The female stood, and Westley noted she was taller than the other female Vanir and some of the males.
“Who landed the killing blow?” she asked the crowd. Everyone avoided her attention as she swept a searing gaze around the room. Westley thought no one would own up to it, but a young female witch raised her hand.
“Come forward,” she ordered. The young female obeyed without hesitation. “Liv, what cause did you have to kill this Fae?”
For all her youth, Liv’s voice was not weak. “He tried to take me and I defended myself. He said he would . . . defile me.”
The tall female nodded and confronted the crowd. “Can anyone substantiate her claim?”
Captain Arlanson crossed to the red-headed female and whispered in her ear. He was foolish if he thought whispering would stop the Fae from hearing his words.
“What are you doing? It’s a Fae, not one of ours,” the captain said to her. The female studied him with her piercing copper eyes and then turned away without answering.
“A life is a life. I care not if you are Vanir or Fae—if a kill is unjustified, it will not stand. I ask again, can anyone substantiate Liv’s claim?” A few hands rose, and Westley was surprised to see some of them were Fae.
“Did anyone else try to assist this Fae in taking you?” she asked Liv. The young female paused but pointed towards another male Fae that Westley did not recognize.
The male tried to shrink into the crowd, but two Vanir soldiers caught him by the arms. The Vanir female strode towards him, her steps silent. Without taking her eyes off the Fae, she asked the crowd again, “Did anyone witness this male’s attempt to take Liv?”
More hands rose.
“Six,” the male called Laeknir said gruffly.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” the witch asked the Fae.
“That whore is lying! She asked us to take her to bed! She wanted us to stuff her—” His words were cut off by her hand moving with lightning speed to grip his throat.
“Enough. Does anyone wish to speak on behalf of this male?” No one stepped forward.
“Very well. May Garmr drag your soul to Helheim.” And then she slit his throat.
Westley’s magic purred at the vicious sight.
The Vanir soldiers dropped the body as it convulsed, blood flowing like lava onto the floor.
She stepped over the body, boots carelessly stepping through the blood, and made her way back to the door.
Before she exited, her hand resting on the handle, she spoke to the room again.
“If anyone, Vanir or Fae, attempts to take another against their will, they will suffer a far worse fate. No one leaves until the hall is cleaned up.” She left with a swing of her cloak and shut the door quietly behind her, taking her strange energy with her.
The room let loose a collective breath.
Conalle stepped up beside Westley. “General Solveig Tordottir.” He said her name with reverence.
“Yes, I gathered that,” Westley whispered, his eyes still glued to the door where she left. “She’s . . .” But he had no words. He didn’t think his heart would ever beat properly again. Conalle chuckled.
“She has that effect on people.” He nudged Westley’s arm, shaking him out of his trance.
Conalle spoke up. “Well, you heard your general. Let’s get cleaning.”
Solveig exited the dining hall and fell to her knees. Her legs trembled, and her hands, now covered in blood, trembled. It had taken everything in her to put on that show of strength.
Her magic blistered her veins as she tried and failed to take deep breaths. When Liv said they’d tried to take her, Solveig’s mind clouded with memories, transporting her to the moment the Fae had grabbed her. Adrenaline rushed through her, her magic propelling her to act.
A wave of sickness surged, so strong she had to race to the bushes beside the building. She emptied her stomach, grateful no one was around to witness this less-than-flattering display.
Straightening and wiping her mouth with the back of her hand, she walked slowly to the stables to visit Helle, her legs still shaky and weak.
She managed to make it there without anyone stopping her and slipped quietly into Helle’s stall.
She leaned into the warmth of her horse, pulling strength from her.
It was too late to take her for a ride, so she grabbed the brush hanging on the hook outside the stall and methodically groomed Helle’s coat. Slowly her breaths came back to her, deep and even, her magic calming.
She didn’t know how long she stayed there, but she finished brushing Helle, giving her some oats and making her way out. As she passed, she caught movement in the stall next to Helle’s. It was usually empty since Helle could be unpredictable—her previous neighbours had suffered some nasty bites.
Solveig moved closer to inspect the shadows and a dark horse came forward to greet her.
He was the massive steed the prince had arrived on. Solveig let him come closer, the horse sniffing her. The beast stuck his head out and bumped her with his nose. She smiled at him.
“Well, hello there.” She reached up and stroked his face, his coat silky and smooth and well taken care of.
“You’re a beauty, aren’t you?” Helle grunted beside her and Solveig rolled her eyes.
She tipped her head towards Helle. “Don’t get on this one’s bad side.
You may be bigger, but she’s meaner.” Then she looked at Helle.
“Play nice.” And with another stroke of both Helle and the black horse, she left the stables feeling lighter.
When she reached her tent, Gerrie was already there cleaning herself up after the dining hall fiasco.
“How bad was it?” Solveig asked.
“The mess wasn’t too bad, but the blood took forever to scrub off the floor.”
“You cleaned the blood?”
“Hel no, I made the Fae do it.”
Solveig grinned. “Good.”
“You did the right thing,” Gerrie said quietly.
“I know. I just wish I had been more in control.”
Gerrie scoffed. “Solveig, if you had more control, you’d be a goddess.”
“Goddesses don’t vomit in the bushes after they exact justice.” She gave Gerrie a pointed look.
“And how would you know that?” Gerrie raised an eyebrow.
“Everyone knows they force other people to vomit for them.”
“Smartass.” She grinned at Solveig. It was good to joke around a bit.
They readied for bed in silence. Solveig put the lanterns out one by one and sank into the soft, comfortable pile of furs and blankets. It was big enough for the two of them.
“What do you think of this last group?” she asked Gerrie.
“They’re all the same to me. Although it was surprising to see a prince.”
“Yes, I was surprised as well. I heard he joined the party late. I wonder why?” she muttered to herself.
“Such a pity about his face, though,” Gerrie said with an exaggerated sigh.
“What about his face?” Solveig hadn’t been able to find a single imperfection. It had taken quite a bit of restraint to ignore him in the dining hall.
The small glance at him she’d allowed herself before stepping into the room was distracting enough. His strong, bloodied hands held daggers in a firm grasp, chest heaving from exertion, jewel eyes wild from the fight. A chill wrapped around her spine at the memory.
“Just a pity it’ll probably never be between my legs.”
Shrugging off a strange pang at picturing Gerrie with the prince, Solveig snorted and they both started laughing uncontrollably. It had been a while since she’d laughed that way.
“That is a grave misfortune indeed.” The two of them smiled at each other. Gerrie reached out and grabbed her hand.
“How are the nightmares?” she asked.
“They come and go. Thank you for being here.” She squeezed Gerrie’s hand.
“Of course. I’ll always be here if you need me . . . except when I can’t be.” She smiled weakly, guilt in her eyes.
“What’s wrong?” Solveig asked, alarmed at Gerrie’s tone.
“Nothing’s wrong, but a message arrived for me with the last caravan. It was from the queens requesting I join them in Asgard for a season to train their newest witchlings.”
“Oh.” Solveig let out a sigh of relief. “There’s no need to feel guilty—you go every few years.”
“Yes, but you only just got back and you’re still . . . well, suffering. You need me here.”
“I won’t lie and say I don’t, but the witchlings need you too. You can’t deny a direct request from the queens. They’ll have my head.”
“Your head? Wouldn’t they be after mine?”
“Of course not, you’re too valuable. And they would know you stayed behind for me, so therefore it would be my fault.”
Gerrie chuckled. “You’re probably right.”
“I am most certainly right.” They were silent for a while. “It’s okay, Ger, you need to go. I have to learn to function alone again at some point. When do you leave?”
“In two months, right after the vote.”
“That’s plenty of time. Plus I’ll probably be back to my old self again. Kicking Latham’s ass will be cathartic.” She smiled darkly and Gerrie returned it. Soon Gerrie’s breaths became even with deep sleep.
Solveig rolled onto her back and stared into the inky-black darkness of her tent. Gerrie had been sacrificing her own needs for her sake, and she was grateful. The nightmares were few and far between now.
The odd time Gerrie snuck out to be alone with whichever lover she was taking that night, Solveig fell to sleep dreading the visions that would come. And sure enough, she would wake up screaming in a cold sweat.
She had to deal with this—especially with the prince around. Idavoll’s relationship with Asgard was precarious at best. It was surprising they had sent a royal representative here at all. There must be another angle.
The Fae had not always been divided in two. Before Asgard was fit for habitation, the Fae had all resided in the Idavoll forest. As their numbers grew, the land was unfit to house so many.
It was around this point in history when the decree was made that Fae would rule over the Trifold and subsequent alliances with the other realms.
From what Solveig could remember from her history lessons, there had been a civil war between two families vying to rule in Asgard. A monarchy had been decided upon, but selecting the royal bloodline was the catalyst to the split.
Alfheim remained impartial, but Vanaheim joined the group of Fae that eventually won the war. That family and their followers moved from the forest and into Asgard. The remaining Fae were ruled by the family who’d lost the war and stayed to live in Idavoll. Thus the division stood.
It had taken decades, if not more, for the animosity to cool, younger generations finally allowing an alliance to form between Asgard and Idavoll.
Solveig drifted off into an uneasy slumber as another storm rolled in.
They had entered the rainy season early this year, much to Solveig’s delight.
She let the sound of the thunder and rain lull her to sleep as she tried not to think of the male with bright green eyes who slept only a few rows away from her.