Chapter 16
Solveig watched as the guards led Westley and Noren away before turning back to her adoptive mothers.
“He didn’t put up a fight,” Koa remarked with a tilt of her head.
“I would suspect that stupidity is not one of his faults,” Aelfsi mused.
Solveig smiled broadly, wishing they’d said that in front of him, if only so he would see her laugh at his expense. “I could make a case against that.”
“Come, Solveig, we must discuss.”
Koa and Aelfsi led her into the palace, Gerrie falling into step beside her out of habit, while Conalle and the queens’ guards took up the rear.
“You and the prince seem . . . closer,” Gerrie muttered under her breath as they walked through steel and silver doors to the polished interior. The gilded marble hallway was a glaring contrast to the rough, natural stone of the exterior.
The queens led the way to their personal chambers, where they would have the most privacy.
“We’ve reached a truce of sorts.”
Gerrie waggled her eyebrows. “Is that what we’re calling it now? If that’s the case, I can’t wait to tell you about the amazing truces I’ve struck since I arrived.”
When Solveig snorted, Koa turned to look at the pair, amusement in her eyes. Solveig shook her head discreetly, elbowing Gerrie when Koa bent to whisper something to Aelfsi. Gerrie just snickered as Solveig hooked her arms through her friend’s, tugging her in close.
“You’re truly okay?” Solveig whispered.
“If you call training a bunch of useless noble younglings okay, then yes, I’m alright.” Gerrie studied her. “You seem different.”
“I feel different,” Solveig admitted.
Gerrie started at her frank response. “What, no dismissal? No pretence of strength? My, Solveig, you are becoming soft,” she teased.
“Fuck you,” Solveig retorted with a grin. Gerrie was right though—she was going soft.
She decided to blame the prince for that.
Guards remained outside the queens’ quarters as Koa and Aelfsi led Solveig, Gerrie, and Conalle into their sitting room. Solveig took a deep breath, the familiar scent of her mothers washing over her. Expecting the scent of home, she was surprised to find only comfort and familiarity.
Not home.
Had something changed? The same deep reds and golds contrasted against the cold marble floors, heavy carpets adorning the surface. Nothing was different about the configuration of the room, no new furniture that she could discern, and yet something had changed.
Thick gold curtains opened, revealing a view of the city below. The heavy doors shut behind them and the silence of the room pressed in on Solveig.
All formality seeped out of the queens as they fell gracefully onto the couch. Koa reached under her skirts to unstrap the long blade she’d attached to her thigh, and Aelfsi unhooked the sword she had hidden down the back of her dress.
“Okay, Solveig, what the Hel is going on?” Koa asked sharply.
“Last we heard from you was that pathetic piece of parchment you called a letter, telling us that you were okay, a week after you escaped from imprisonment,” Aelfsi supplied, her hand reaching for her wife’s.
They gripped each other tightly, the anger in Koa’s face fading with the contact of her mate.
Solveig gaped at them. “You truly believe I haven’t been sending letters for months? I wrote weekly with updates and questions. The replies I received were vague at best.” Solveig let a trickle of frustration bleed into her voice.
“Have you not had my letters either, Your Majesties?” Conalle asked.
“No, Lord Conalle, we have not,” Aelfsi answered tersely.
“The only news we’ve had was when Gerrie arrived, and she was distinctly lacking in knowledge.” Koa tossed an irritated look at Gerrie, who tensed in her seat. This was probably not their first conversation on the subject.
“The Asgardian soldiers we sent to check on you never returned either.”
“No Asgardians ever showed up in the Southern Wilds,” Solveig countered.
The queens shared another look. “It seems there is more going on than we thought. It’s time we heard it all, Solveig—spare no detail.” Her mothers turned to her expectantly.
Solveig took a deep breath and started from the beginning.
She wasn’t sure what Gerrie had shared with them, so she began with the raid in the mortal village, the night she was captured, explaining her imprisonment and torture in as much detail as she could bear.
Gerrie came to sit beside her as she recounted each day and her escape.
Then her subsequent nightmares, Latham and Trella, Maddock’s involvement, every small thing she could think of. Conalle helped supply any detail she was fuzzy on, until she came to the day the Southern Wilds had been attacked.
She told them about the chasm opening up in Vanaheim, the destruction of her legion, Idavoll and Ragnvald’s scheming. Laeknir’s betrayal and execution. Tears spilled from the queens’ eyes as Solveig recounted what happened. Laeknir had been dear to them as well.
Hours passed while she exhausted her tale. Conalle left at some point to get food and returned with a full tray just as Solveig was explaining how Noren tried to kill her.
“And what of Prince Westley?” Koa asked in a quiet, contemplative way.
Solveig had told her mothers everything, except for Westley’s involvement and her conflicting feelings for the Prince of Idavoll.
Knowing she wouldn’t be able to keep this from them, she told them how he was Fear and had captured her, how her magic had awoken and so had his.
How he’d helped her escape and saved her life after Noren stabbed her.
Her mothers knew Idavoll’s beliefs and were not surprised to hear of the prince carrying out his duties in the name of the gods.
The silence was loud as Solveig finished, her voice hoarse from hours of speaking without rest. Conalle poured her a glass of red wine, but she shook her head, instead filling a goblet with lavender water. She wanted her head to remain clear.
“So his allegiance lies with you now?” Aelfsi asked.
“I believe his allegiance lies with Asgard, yes,” Solveig corrected. Something passed between her mothers—an acknowledgement? Judgement? She didn’t know.
“That remains to be seen. For now he will stay in the dungeon, at least until after Noren’s execution.”
“What?” Conalle and Solveig said at the same time.
“Solveig, while I understand the complicated scenario at play, you know an attempt on your life cannot go unanswered.”
“The attempt was justified. And only the people in this room and the two in the dungeon know of it. I must ask that you stay your hand,” Solveig insisted.
“You ask for mercy and yet you executed Laeknir with no hesitation?” Koa asked sharply.
Solveig braced herself. “Laeknir betrayed us, leading to the slaughter of our people. Noren is an enemy with the potential to become an ally, especially considering his loyalty to the prince. It’s not mercy, it is a chance. One chance.”
“If I may,” Conalle hesitantly interrupted, easing some of the tension in the room.
“Not all Idavoll Fae are allied with Ragnvald. The king and queen are, yes, but Princess North wants a better world, and Princess Easta supports her sister in this. I can almost guarantee that once they find out the whole truth, they will fully join our side. If North ascends the throne, Noren’s allegiance will be with her. He’ll come around.”
“Are Erik and Alvida planning to step down?” Koa asked.
“That has yet to be decided. Westley expects it to happen soon, but I’m not so sure,” Conalle answered truthfully.
“Very well,” Aelfsi said, addressing the lord. “Lord Conalle, will you please check on the prisoners? I’d like to see how they’re faring.”
“Of course, Your Majesties.” Conalle stood and bowed to the queens, giving Solveig a quick glance before leaving the room.
Once he was gone, Aelfsi turned back to Solveig. “How do we ensure that North sits on the throne? We do not have much time.”
Solveig looked between her mothers. A pit of dread opened up in her stomach. “You mean to kill the king and queen?” she asked slowly.
“That would be the last resort,” Koa stated.
“First, we must meet with them and see if we cannot . . . push them along,” Aelfsi added.
“Are we heading to Idavoll?” The thought of going back when they’d just arrived, and when she knew what Westley’s parents had planned for her, didn’t make sense.
“Of course not. We will invite them here.” Koa beamed.
Solveig’s dread burrowed deeper. “You’re going to plan a ball, aren’t you?” she asked, hanging her head in her hands.
Gerrie snickered, and Solveig shot her a sidelong death glare. Her friend laughed harder. It was a well-known fact that Solveig avoided balls at all costs. However, her meddlesome mothers loved to thrust her into situations they considered beneficial to her.
Many a time, Solveig had attempted to escape certain noblemen she’d been coerced into dancing with, only to end up insulting their fragility in some way.
While she wouldn’t go so far as to say she’d prefer the cave, being laced into a dress that barely permitted the ability to breathe while suffering through endless small talk and pandering to said fragility—it was its own form of torture.
Koa and Aelfsi loved to use it as a punishment when Solveig would misbehave. A practice they had clearly yet to abandon. It shouldn’t have been a surprise.
When she turned her attention back to Koa, her sister was smiling, mischief tugging at her lips.
“And what a perfect excuse we have. Our daughter has returned home,” she said, clasping her hands together, a wicked gleam in her eyes.
Solveig sighed. This was not a battle she was going to win.