Chapter 39
While the day’s fights had been more promising, she still hadn’t met her match. To their credit, each soldier she’d faced had been better than the last. Gerrie and Conalle were like youths, betting and cheering with the rest of them.
At one point she wondered if the soldiers were performing poorly on purpose to give their princes a clear shot at her hand in marriage. If she’d been fighting Fae, she would’ve taken the thought seriously. They were smart and not too full of pride to follow through on a plan like that.
But Elven were not as cunning. Though ethereal and gentle, the Elven thought themselves better than their savage allies. Their pride would bar them from not competing fairly.
The last challenge of the day had arrived just in time. Solveig was bored. The warrior she currently fought was second in command to their general. He was quick on his feet, his lithe body graceful as he twisted and turned.
She had to give him credit—he was doing well.
Njal managed to get in a few decent hits and had dislodged one of her daggers. The success had rejuvenated the crowd.
A whoosh of magic that was not her own left her, leaving her oddly empty. She hadn’t realized that, even with Westley’s distance and the walls they’d both erected, a current of it lingered. A dull hum in the background only noticed once it was gone.
She panicked, causing her to misstep—Njal managed to trip her. She thudded onto her back, earning a gasp from the crowd and a cringe from the sidelines, but she wasn’t seeing the fight in front of her.
Her body continued to move against Njal as the prince flooded her mind with images. Her anger swelled and with it, her magic. She blasted the soldier across the stage before sending as much energy as she could to Westley.
Njal stood, shaking his head from the disorientation, and charged at her again.
She’d sent too much magic to the prince to be able to do Njal any harm, but she was done.
The warrior, though skilled, wasn’t worthy of her hand in marriage, so she shut it down.
She gripped his wrist, sending shockwaves of power into him.
He collapsed to the ground and tapped the stage.
Solveig hurried to exit the theatre before the audience could grasp the abrupt end. She made it outside and collapsed, only vaguely aware of Gerrie and Conalle chasing after her.
They found her on the ground, head between her knees as she breathed through the nausea. She was severely low on power and was trying to hide it from Westley. He had to escape, and she would only be a distraction.
Thank you, his voice sounded in her mind.
I’m sorry your meeting didn’t go well.
Doesn’t look like there’s any hope of getting the mortals on our side. A vision of the president’s face filled her mind.
They are in far too deep.
If I can escape it, so can they.
Her breathing hitched at his words. The dark, cold bite of Westley’s surroundings felt strange as the warm fall air blew across her face, carrying away the bitter taste of iron and replacing it with the sweet scent of ripe fruit.
Have you? Escaped it? she asked tentatively. They’d hadn’t spoken of what he’d read in Asgard.
I’m getting there.
Solveig smiled and pulled herself back from Westley’s mind, her head spinning. A soft wave of his magic came into her, helping calm her body.
Don’t do that again, he censured. She sent him her middle finger and his chuckles curled around her heart.
“You okay, Sol?” Gerrie asked, feeling her forehead.
Solveig waved her off. “I’m fine. Just used a little too much power.”
“It didn’t look like Njal was putting up a hard enough fight to drain you,” Conalle said hesitantly.
“The Idavoll heirs were in a bind. I had to help them.”
“Are they okay?”
“For now.”
They helped Solveig to her feet and guided her back to the palace. Once she was settled in bed, she ordered them to leave her alone, sinking back into her covers. Her stomach roiled as she picked at the tray of food Conalle had left.
Tomorrow was the last day, and there were only two fights scheduled—the princes.
Though she’d assumed it might end this way, it didn’t bode well for the war if the soldiers she’d seen were Alfheim’s best. Maybe the married ones or those who preferred males and hadn’t been interested in marrying her would be better.
She had trained and fought with the Elven princes before, so she knew she was going to need her energy.
Where Vali was strong and demanding, Steffen was calculating, less obvious about his skill. She’d have to watch out for him.
She had dinner in her rooms that evening, still trying to recover from the amount of energy she had drained for the prince, despite the power he’d sent back.
Even the Drink wasn’t able to fully replenish her, given that it lacked its usual magical properties.
It recouped her physical strength but not her magic.
Only her emotions could do that.
This was a problem, because she was trying very hard to not feel any of her emotions.
She had no choice—the more drained she was, the more her walls weakened. She sank back into her bed in a final attempt to avoid the tumultuous feelings rising to the surface.
Light filtered in through the narrow, arched windows, giving her a view of the darkening sky.
Solveig swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to quell the rising panic as she scrambled off the bed.
Her feet touched the warm, smooth floor, dark, even planes of wood covering the area.
She raised her arms above her head and walked the length of the room, proving to herself that the phantom shackles that gripped her wrists and ankles were just that—a figment of her imagination.
It was no use. Her emotions were too great. She let her feelings break the dam as the clouds rolled in, blocking the sun. Soft raindrops tapped against her window, and with each splash, her heart beat faster.
Her confusing feelings for the prince.
Her hurt at Laeknir’s betrayal.
Her anger at Latham.
Her frustration at herself.
Her lingering fear.
Her thirst for revenge.
Her grief over her fallen legion.
Veda, Signe, and Idunn.
She had not let herself feel their deaths. As the pain of it gripped her chest, her hand flew to clutch at her aching heart, like that could soothe the wound that would never heal. She wanted to rip it out.
So as to not alarm anyone, she dropped her jaw open in a silent scream, her eyes clamped shut. The rain outside intensified as the storm picked up.
Flattening her palm over her heart, she wept for them.
She welcomed the tumultuous feelings, let their waves crash over her, tears streaking down her face, mirroring the rain on the windows. She let them move through her body, recharging her magic. It wanted more—she needed more. So she let herself feel.
Her relief at Gerrie’s safety.
Her gratitude for Conalle’s friendship.
Her love for Koa and Aelfsi.
Her pride at her own strength.
These emotions chased the darkness through her veins, giving light to her soul.
She was two sides of the same coin.
One in shadow, where she felt most at home, feeding a small part of her she had long forgotten.
And the other in the sun, where she chose to live. She chose to breathe in the light, even when the darkness threatened to win.
Raw energy overwhelmed her senses until something new blossomed—a tidal wave, recharging her magic until her hands began to glow. Lightning cracked outside her window.
Her passion for the prince.
As soon as she allowed it, it overtook everything else, even the feeling of the bed as the weight of the emotion buckled her knees, bringing her crashing down onto her mattress. It consumed her. Her need drove the blood through her veins, pumped through her heart, settled in her lungs.
She ached without release, without him.
His words on the beach came back to her.
Alarm and then a wave of pain crashed into her, shaking her out of her lust-filled fog only for a moment before it was cut off. Solveig took three breaths as that unfamiliar pain lingered until she understood.
He thought she was with another.
She smiled.