Chapter 70 Solveig
The ground shook between them and they jumped apart, Solveig’s weapons already in her hands before she even registered what was happening.
The prince swore under his breath as he muttered, “I swear, the number of times I’ve been interrupted in this godsforsaken realm . . .”
Whatever was left unsaid writhed between them, but there wasn’t time. They ran towards camp, where the explosions were coming from.
BOOM.
Another blast sounded closer.
“The dungeon!” he said at the same time she yelled, “John!”
They sprinted towards the Vault, the prince’s long legs and Fae speed kicking in.
He got there a few seconds before she did, allowing him to open the door first so Solveig didn’t have to hesitate.
She threw herself into the building, another blast nearly taking her out as she went through the back door.
Try not to get yourself blown up, the prince silently called to her as he followed her in.
Well, there goes my grand plan.
Maybe I should lead since my eyesight is better than yours. The prince moved to get in front of her and, after a moment of hesitation, she let him.
Probably a good idea, she thought as he passed her.
He twisted with a look of astonishment. Did you just agree with me?
If you’re ahead of me that means anyone who attacks us will get you first. It’s a matter of survival.
Fuck you.
They raced down the short set of stairs and into the small room where John was kept. The mortal’s shrunken form was curled into a ball.
“John. John!” She ran over to him and shook his body, exhaling a relieved sigh when he stirred.
“What’s happening?” he croaked.
“I’m not entirely sure, but I think someone is either trying to kill you or rescue you,” she said lightly.
“If they’re trying to kill you, they’re doing a great job. If they’re trying to rescue you, their plan has some weak spots,” the prince said dryly.
Solveig shot the prince a look. Really? Jokes?
He smiled at her as he helped get the mortal to his feet. They were preparing to carry him towards the front entrance when they heard footsteps on the stairs. With a quick glance at each other, they switched their direction and headed for the back door.
Before they could escape, it burst open and three mortals ran in, stopping short when they spotted John being carried by a Fae and a Vanir.
“Well, what have we got here?” the first one said in a nasally voice, his blond hair sticking up all over the place, streaks of black soot smeared on his face.
“Looks like we got ourselves a couple of chickens in this hen house,” the second one replied.
John lifted his head at the voice and a bloody smile bloomed over his face. “Nice of you rednecks to show up.”
“We wouldn’t miss it for the world, Johnny boy.”
“It’s a shame we have to end the party,” the second one said with a sigh.
“Hurry up, we don’t got all day,” the third one whisper-yelled from the doorway. “Kill ’em and let’s go.”
John turned to Solveig. “I’m sorry there, Solveig. I wish it were different.”
“I wish it were different too, brother,” the blond one said as he plunged a knife deep into John’s chest. The force was so strong as the magical weapon expanded that his body slammed into Solveig’s, knocking them both against the wall and onto the floor.
The shock of seeing the blade actually pierce John’s skin stunned Solveig. There was a weakness to their magic, clearly. She tried to sit John up as much as she could while the prince stood in front of them, blocking them from the three mortals.
John gasped in pain, betrayal and confusion written all over his features.
“Why?” he rasped.
“I’m truly sorry, Johnny. You’ve been here too long—we can’t risk it,” the mortal who stabbed him said, remorse evident in his tone even as he readied another weapon to finish them off.
“Tell me who you’re working for,” the prince called roughly from the shadows. Solveig’s eyes closed, breathing through her body’s reaction to his voice.
The mortals laughed.
“Hate to break it to you, pal, but we got y’all surrounded. No making it out alive, I’m afraid,” the second mortal drawled.
John’s blood spilled from his body, pooling around them on the floor as he tried to catch his breath. Solveig held him tightly.
“Last chance,” the prince growled at them. Solveig’s heart raced at the sound.
The three men attacked with such speed, the prince had to retreat a step before launching himself into the fight. He twisted and whirled around the mortals, his weapons never finding purchase while they laughed, taunting him.
“They . . . have . . . magic,” John wheezed through laboured breaths.
“We know, they have some sort of shield spell.”
“Different . . . magic. Not the shielding . . . kind.”
“What kind of magic?” Solveig asked him, desperate for as much information as she could get.
John’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. Solveig panicked, shaking him lightly, the pain of the wound jostling him awake. “What kind of magic do they have, John?”
“Stone . . .” he said quietly.
“Stay with me, John. What stone?”
He mumbled something, but she couldn’t understand him.
“Check for Shield Stones!” she yelled to the prince, but he couldn’t hear her through the laughs and jeers of the mortals. He hadn’t been able to hit them yet but had done a fair job of evading their advances. A Shield Stone would explain the village’s protection but not their current predicament.
“We’ve got a fighter, boys!” the second mortal snarled.
Another blast hit the building and rubble rained from the ceiling. The third mortal stuck his head out the back door and yelled to his companions. Five more mortals entered the small room, but the prince held his ground.
“Not . . . Shield Stones,” John corrected her. “Blood Stone.”
Her eyes widened. “Where did you get a Blood Stone?”
“Made . . . a deal . . .” John sputtered, blood leaking from his mouth.
Solveig nodded in understanding.
“Hey, General, planning to help me over here anytime soon?” the prince shouted back to her. She rolled her eyes and he smirked.
Her mind lit up with his voice. You know that’s my favourite expression.
You look like you’re doing just fine. It’s good practice for you, she replied as the prince’s attention returned to the eight mortals now surrounding him. She waited until he had knocked five of them down and they paused to regroup.
You may want to look for a Blood Stone.
His eyes widened but he nodded in understanding.
Didn’t want to mention that before? he asked, ducking and rolling to where she sat with John. “But seriously, are you really not going to help?” he said out loud.
“I’m a little occupied at the moment.”
“Yes, babysitting a dead body, how busy of you,” he quipped, tacking on as an afterthought, “no offence, John.”
“None . . . taken. She’s . . . stabbed,” the mortal breathed out.
The prince whirled on her, rage filling his eyes. “How the Hel did you get stabbed?” he roared. She waved him off, trying to adjust their position on the floor.
“Unfortunately the knife was imbued with magic and it grew to be a little longer than we initially saw. It went through John and barely grazed me.”
“Sticking . . . into . . . her.”
“Tattletale,” Solveig muttered as the prince directed his rage towards the mortals.
Even with the power of the Blood Stone they had hidden somewhere, they couldn’t compete with a Fae warrior. He broke through their barrier and landed some fatal blows before being blocked back out. Solveig marvelled at his skill.
Watching from the sidelines was different than being on the receiving end during training. If they got out of here, she planned to give him shit about holding back on her.
The mortals backed off to move their fallen out of the way, and the prince came over to them. He only had a moment.
“So you’re currently being stabbed by the sword through John’s chest.”
“I don’t know if stabbed is the word I would use.”
“And why haven’t you moved it?”
“It’ll kill him.”
“S’okay, Sol, I’mma goner anyway,” John mumbled.
“Be quiet and save your strength,” Solveig hissed at him.
“You heard the man.” The prince pinned her with a look. She was delaying the inevitable.
“Since they ran you through with a sword, would you like your dying words to be the truth?” Solveig asked John. He tried to chuckle, but it came out as pained gurgling.
“It’s mean . . . to . . . tease . . . a dead . . . man.”
“You’re not dead yet. You can still help me end this war. End this death,” Solveig insisted, holding the man to her even as the blade pierced her right below her collarbone.
“Solveig, we need to go,” insisted the prince. They could hear the mortals coming back, heavy footsteps pounding on the stairs.
“John, please,” she begged. “Who did you make a deal with?”
He coughed as blood poured out of him. He gave one nod of his head, gasping for air.
“R . . . Ra . . . Ragnvald,” he sputtered out.
Solveig’s blood ran cold hearing the King of Hel’s name. She met the wide eyes of the prince, her own shock mirrored in his expression.
“No. You’re wrong. That can’t be,” the prince whispered, denial written all over his face.
John squirmed and Solveig brought her attention back to the dying man in her arms. “We made . . . a . . . deal . . . so our . . . souls . . . would rest . . . with the . . . gods.” Solveig couldn’t even register those words.
“Now . . . I know . . . it . . . was . . . a lie. I . . . don’t feel .
. . the gods . . . with me . . . now.” Tears leaked from his eyes. “I’m sorry . . . we believed . . .”
Solveig’s own eyes stung at the words of the dying man.
He clutched her arm. “Don’t . . . make .
. . the . . . same . . . mistake. Don’t .
. . trust . . . them.” His breathing grew more laboured and his coughing became violent until it stopped abruptly after one last gargled choke.
The body Solveig clutched to her own slumped.
“We need to go,” Solveig whispered. The prince was a statue in front of her. All this time he’d thought that the Vanir were responsible. But the fucking King of Helheim? There were so many questions buzzing around her head, but it wasn’t the time to spiral.
She reached out her hand, covered in John’s blood, and touched the prince’s face. The jolt between them forced the prince from his stupor and his eyes snapped to hers.
“Let’s go.” He helped push the body off her and with it, the sword that had gone clean through her chest. The prince gaped at her.
“The blade grazed you, did it? Remind me never to ask you to accurately diagnose wounds.” He pulled her to her feet, but she bent down and closed John’s eyes.
“Thank you,” she whispered to John’s lifeless body. “May the Valkyries guide you home.”
She followed the prince to the hallway that led to the front entrance, rolling her shoulder as her wound stitched itself back together. Thank the gods that blade wasn’t poisoned.
Her mind still reeled with the new information.
She wasn’t sure how to come to terms with what this meant for her people or for the Fae.
If Ragnvald was behind all of this, if he’d been in league with the mortals, what did that say about Idavoll?
Given the prince’s shock, he hadn’t been aware of the King of Hel’s involvement.
They stayed glued to the wall, hidden in the shadows as the door slammed open and countless footsteps paraded into the dungeon. The mortals ran right past them. Solveig and the prince shared an exasperated look. It was pitiful that this senseless race had defeated them for so long.
Quickly and soundlessly, they made their way to the door and let themselves out of the dungeon. The devastation around them stopped them in their tracks.
Thick smoke billowed through the sky, mixing with the latest storm clouds overhead to create a vortex of swirling grey fog. The surrounding forest was alight with flames, the fire spreading to the camp.
Bodies lay discarded, half burned on the pathways. She couldn’t see through the fog and smoke to the other side but hoped the civilians were able to escape the carnage.
Rage surged inside her and magic scorched through her veins.
“Solveig, the stables!” the prince yelled, drawing her attention to the direction of the horse pasture.
Black smoke rose like tidal waves of death from the building, and Solveig’s heart lurched, tugging at the raw edges of her freshly healed scar. They bolted towards their horses, racing as fast as they could when her side flared with a sharp pain that almost brought her to her knees.
Her hand flew to the spot but found no wound or even any blood. She turned to see the prince had dropped to his knees. An arrow jutted from his side, pain lancing across his face.
“Run, Solveig!” he tried to tell her, but the pain was too much to bear and he buckled over onto the ground.
She started back towards him as three mortals advanced towards him from behind.
“WESTLEY!” she screamed, forcing him to lift his head and see her pointing behind him. He rolled onto his back just as the mortals descended.