Chapter 19
Solveig flew down the flights of stairs and out into the courtyard, Westley and Gerrie on her heels.
The queens met them in the foyer of the palace, and though her mothers narrowed their eyes at the prince’s presence, they said nothing as they all went out to greet the Southern Wilds convoy.
Relief flooded her heart when she counted the heads. All sixty-three survivors were accounted for. She rushed forward, embracing Quillon and his family, kissing the witchlings on the head and hugging Quillon’s wife.
The whole group looked a little worse for wear, the witchlings tired and crying. Families were immediately ushered off to get cleaned up and fed. Her heart lurched as she took in Sten’s dishevelled form, hoping it was only malnourishment that made him look so grave.
She’d have to speak with him later.
Once her people were taken care of, she turned to face the only two who remained.
Solveig’s shoulders tensed at the torrent of her magic. It swelled with the desire to be let free at the sight of Latham and Trella. The Asgardian soldiers encircled the pair, ignoring Latham’s look of haughty disbelief.
“What’s the meaning of this?” he demanded.
“Your Majesties.” Trella curtsied deeply, a silky smile plastered on her face. “It is good to see you after such a long journey. Would you please have someone show us to our room?” She addressed the queens as though they were old friends and not traitors surrounded by ten armed Fae guards.
“Trella Ebbedottir,” Solveig said with authority. The courtyard hushed at Solveig’s tone, her simmering rage permeating the air.
Trella coughed. “Um, yes, Solveig?”
“That would be General Tordottir to you, Miss Ebbedottir,” Aelfsi corrected.
“Yes, Your Majesty, of course. What can I do for you, General Tordottir?” she asked like the words were poison on her tongue.
“Solveig, what’s going on?” Latham asked, taking a guarded step in front of Trella. The choice to not use her title, even if she no longer carried it, was not lost on anyone.
“Trella Ebbedottir, did you knowingly and repeatedly forge letters from Queen Koa and Queen Aelfsi to their war general, impeding the aid of the Southern Wilds and causing the slaughter of your people?” Solveig asked, the role of general slipping over her like a familiar second skin.
Latham turned to Trella, his face sketched with confusion that morphed into fury. Which he directed at Solveig. “How dare you accuse her of such a thing! Does your jealousy know no bounds?” he raged. The guards stepped closer, as did the prince, but Solveig did not move.
She didn’t acknowledge him.
“Answer, Miss Ebbedottir,” she ordered.
“Of course not!” Trella shrieked.
This time Solveig stepped forward and the guards parted for her without command, making a path directly to Trella. Solveig reached her hand out and gripped Trella’s face, fingers digging into her cheeks to bring her close. Before the guards could stop him, Latham stepped towards the females.
Solveig sent a lazy stream of light to knock him back. Shocked whispers at her display of power rippled through the crowd of onlookers. Even her own people hadn’t known she was capable of such a feat. Perhaps it would have been prudent to continue concealing her magic until a more appropriate time.
Latham gaped, but her attention was on Trella.
“I warned you when I found you sneaking around my tent that I would not be merciful a second time. Do not lie to me. Was it you?”
Terror entered Trella’s features. Using her last nerve to shift her eyes, she looked to anyone for help—and found none. Her whimper was quiet. “Yes.” Even the wobble of her lip did not deter Solveig. Quite the opposite.
Her lips curled into a cruel smile. “I am going to enjoy every second of your death.”
She plunged her dagger into Trella’s heart, holding it there.
Trella gasped at the sudden attack, nails clawing at Solveig, but Solveig’s grip was too tight.
Her smile widened as she twisted the knife, and as she promised, she enjoyed every one of the traitor’s screams before finally wrenching the blade out and tossing the female to the ground.
Trella’s body convulsed, twitching and spasming, but no one moved to help her. Even Latham remained rooted to the ground in shock.
At last—but not nearly long enough to be truly satisfying—her final breath gargled out, her eyes wide and staring at nothing, no longer able to see.
Westley’s hum of delight caressed her mind, sending tingles through her body for only a moment before it was cut off, like he hadn’t meant to let his walls down.
Solveig turned to the crowd of Asgardian citizens that had gathered, the bloodied knife still in her hand.
“Let this serve as a warning. There are traitors among us, and each conspirator we find will meet a worse end than the last. If you have decided to cross your people, you should know you’ve been lied to.
You’re no more than a puppet in a game for power.
I suggest you reevaluate your allegiances.
” Solveig’s voice rang through the crowd, cold and unforgiving.
Koa took over, Aelfsi at her side. “Those who come forward of their own free will will be spared.”
As one, the denizens of Asgard bent their knees and bowed to their queens, Westley following suit. Solveig stood on the step below her mothers as they surveyed their people.
“You have been lulled into a false sense of security,” Koa stated, firm but kind. “The War of Realms has prevailed, waged in the shadows and on the battlefield of our minds. It will not stop until we restore magic and defeat those responsible for stealing it.
“The King of Hel has taken liberties with his power. While we are unsure of his end goal, it has come to light that he has orchestrated this war.
“He has been the puppet master behind Midgard’s success and has used the mortals to fulfill his dark agenda,” Aelfsi explained. Shocked whispers migrated through the crowd.
“They were as deceived as we were. Asgard will retaliate against Hel and those aligned with Ragnvald in full force. Prepare yourselves, for a new battle is about to begin,” Koa finished.
And with that ominous message, they turned and made their way back to the palace to prepare for the first step in the next battle.
A ball.