Chapter 72
Westley dove to the side, narrowly avoiding being skewered to death by an enormous serpent fang.
Jormungandr lunged again and again as he continued to dodge its advances. They were losing the fight, and quickly. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep the ship from falling to pieces.
Though his magic was constantly replenished by the sea, there was little he could do as the monster whittled their sturdy ship to splinters bit by bit.
The serpent alternated its attacks between Westley and Solveig, never giving them enough time to fully recuperate. Solveig was trying to hold herself steady, throwing flashes of light at it.
Each burst cost her valuable energy, and her attacks weakened every time. Westley realized she couldn’t fuel her magic, sick as she was. She was probably more focused on not dying than feeling anything.
Adrenaline did that to a warrior, but the Vanir trained to not shut down entirely. He’d never given thought to what that might cost a Vanir soldier, to keep their emotions at the forefront in battle.
He’d spent his time with the Riddari, nearly heartless, and he couldn’t remember the last major battle he fought in—couldn’t remember what it felt like to take so many lives. He felt like the monster that attacked them now, without abandon, mindlessly going for the kill.
His stomach roiled.
Solveig threw a powerful blast of magic at the sea serpent, reaching out with tendrils of light, wielding lightning itself as the storm raged on. The scent of burning fish filled his nostrils as the scales sizzled from the attack.
She didn’t let up, using all her reserves to strike again and again, burning every exposed inch of the monster she could reach. Even as he tried to turn the sea against the monster, Westley funnelled the emotion of seeing her fight, his mate, into her, hoping that would bolster her attacks.
The serpent shrieked, the sound akin to frustration, as it was thwarted every time it tried to retaliate. But Solveig didn’t stop. He felt the weariness in her soul.
Jormungandr hissed and dove under the water, giving them a moment’s reprieve. Westley ran over to Solveig—she had dropped to her knees, breathing heavily.
“Get up, General,” he ordered.
She stuck her middle finger up. A laugh burst from him, lighthearted despite their current predicament. Only she could make him laugh at a moment like this.
“You want to die?”
Light flared in her eyes. “No, but I’d settle for your death right now, Prince, so you’d leave me alone.”
“I thought we were past those lies,” he said with a smile, kneeling beside her.
He pushed his magic into her, helping heal her wounds and settle her stomach. She took a steadying breath, and relief washed over him as colour returned to her cheeks.
“What do you need?” he asked as she continued to suck in deep breaths. His body itched with the need to help her, but there was very little he could do.
“Just hold me.” Her voice was so low he almost didn’t hear her.
His arms were around her in half a second, wrapping her trembling body up as tightly as he could.
“I have you,” he whispered, kissing the top of her hair.
The wave of emotion that filtered through their bond at the words brought moisture to his eyes.
Those words were bittersweet, he knew that. But she felt them, and that’s all that mattered right now. That swell of emotion helped strengthen her magic, and when her trembling stopped, he released the tension in his shoulders.
They sat like that, a moment’s peace in what had to be the most unbelievable fight of his life.
Fucking Jormungandr.
He was under no illusion that the serpent was defeated. Most likely swimming to the depths to lick its wounds, as they were, before round two. How were they going to defeat it?
As he suspected, their respite was short-lived.
Jormungandr’s head broke the surface yet again, its shrieking filling the darkening day. Solveig cringed.
“Here we go,” she said, getting to her feet, steadier than she’d been only moments before.
He gripped his sword, preparing for the next attack. “Remind me to kiss you when this is over.”
She laughed and shoved him playfully.
Despite the monster looming over their heads, Westley turned and took her face in his hands, brushing his thumb over her bottom lip, and forced his love for her into her body. He threw every feeling he’d ever had for her—the hate, the confusion, the respect, the desire, the love.
Everything he had was hers, and he made sure she knew it.
Solveig’s eyes widened as the emotion fused with her own, riling it up so her magic could recharge. He watched with fascination as strength grew within her.
Her eyes stared into his soul, into the very depth where he kept his own darkness. She saw it and did not flinch, for she had her own. Their souls were twin suns, mirrors of each other.
Their fight was to save their people, but they could just as easily destroy the world if they chose. There was also hope, a seed of it buried underneath the shadows. Hope of a better world, where the shadows were banished and light overcame the darkness.
He couldn’t resist—though Jormungandr flailed above them, preparing to attack, he slammed his mouth against hers like it was the last time he would ever get the chance.
As the serpent’s head dove down, the ship rocking on the waves and the monster’s tail moving beneath them, it could very well be the last time.
It won’t be, she said as she jumped away, slashing her sword, powering her strike with her magic. She connected with Jormungandr’s head, spilling blue blood over the wrecked deck.
Their fight raged on even as the storm blew across the sea. Despite their strength, it was a losing battle. They couldn’t keep up with its attacks, especially not from below.
He knew the legends—well, he thought he knew. Thor had supposedly killed the beast, but that was obviously just a story.
During Ragnarok, the god had finally defeated his enemy, striking the serpent down with the power of Mjolnir. There were drawings and artworks depicting the moment.
Jormungandr’s venom would kill Thor minutes later, but he was still able to deliver that killing blow—from above the serpent’s head. Though it was only a legend, as it was clear Jormungandr was very much alive, it sparked an idea.
Solveig was magnificently holding her own against the monster. The idea grew into an almost plan, one that rivalled Solveig’s vine across the chasm.
Rain fell on the mighty warrior as she battled the sea serpent amid the crashing waves of the unforgiving ocean. Westley dug deep within himself and pulled a tidal wave from its depths, rocking their ship but also throwing Jormungandr off balance.
It screeched again, thrown off its next strike, and plunged back into the sea, giving Westley a moment to replenish and prepare for what would probably be his death. As long as Solveig survived, that’s all that mattered.
Even before the Block, he’d had very little success changing the form of the magic he controlled. It was easier when Easta fought alongside him, using her wind to freeze his water. But water was his element, his to master, and that meant in all forms.
It may be foolish, but he closed his eyes and pictured what he wanted to happen, visualised it so he was prepared when he called to Solveig’s mind.
I have an idea. He showed her his plan.
That looks about as stupid as my swinging vine across the chasm.
He laughed at the similarity in their thoughts. It worked, didn’t it?
She shook her head, a playful smirk appearing on her perfect mouth before she turned her focus on the water.
When Jormungandr resurfaced, Westley threw all his might to raise wave after wave, each one reaching higher and higher. He froze them one by one so Solveig could climb to the top.
She jumped from frozen wave to frozen wave, barely touching one before leaping to the next. Westley’s heart lurched and his magic gave way as she slipped, his lack of concentration thawing the ice. Westley strained, doubling his efforts as he caught her and sent her to the next wave.
Up and up until she was a Valkyrie, flying through the air.
Just one more, she directed.
His body was weak with exertion, but he pulled more from his nearly empty well of magic, using every last drop he had.
Jormungandr tried to attack the wave of water that practically reached Valhalla, it was so high. As soon as Solveig leapt onto it and then onto the sea serpent’s head, Westley let the wave go.
It came crashing down, but he had nothing left to control its flow. The ship was thrown with the momentum of the tidal wave, sending him flying. He was in the air, helpless as he watched Solveig raise the small hammer she’d taken from Booth.
Lightning from the storm seemed to connect to her, to the hammer, and straight into Jormungandr’s head as she brought it down. The serpent’s entire body lit up with the electricity, and its shrieks were the last thing Westley heard before he crashed into the sea.
Solveig braced herself atop the electrified serpent’s head as it flailed, squirming from the strength of her attack.
Her heart followed the trajectory of Westley’s plummet into the water. She needed to get to him. This was the stupid part of the plan. She had no way down.
She knew that if she dove from this height, the impact would be like colliding with stone, killing her instantly. Her quick healing body wouldn’t have time to work its magic. There was only one choice—she could not let her mate die.
Taking a deep breath, she counted. One. Two. Three. Without giving it a second thought, she launched herself down the still-thrashing sea serpent’s body.
The wind picked up, and her momentum grew as she used its body like a slide, careening towards their ship’s scattered remains. Wind whistled in her ears, the sound deafening as she flew down with accelerating speed.
To slow her descent, she palmed her dagger and stabbed it into the snake, dragging it along its body as she plummeted towards the sea. Its roars of pain grew louder, and Solveig didn’t know how that was possible, but she didn’t care. She was singularly focused on Westley.
Bracing herself to jump off when she reached the water, she brought light to her hands. The serpent’s tail curled upwards and she was forced to continue its trajectory, whipping upside down until she too was falling into the depths of the ocean alongside the dying legendary monster.
Solveig hit the water, remembering at the last second to take a deep breath. Westley had been down for a long time—hopefully he’d had enough magic to create an air bubble for himself so he could breathe.
The waves of the stormy sea kept crashing into her, trying to swallow her whole. Cold seeped into her bones the deeper she went, but it was no use struggling against the grip of the sea when she didn’t know which way was up.
She had one chance to escape the watery grave.
Igniting her hand in light, she shot it in every direction. When the way up illuminated, she kicked like mad, her legs screaming with exhaustion, lungs burning for breath. Her vision sparked with dots, and just as she felt the hazy edges of unconsciousness, her head broke the surface.
Never would she take breathing for granted again as she sucked in the rainy air in big gulps.
“WESTLEY!” she screamed into the abyss of dark water. Solveig whipped her head in all directions, her sopping wet hair slapping against her face. The waves continued to crash into her, making it impossible to stay above water for long. Each time she resurfaced, she was disoriented.
“WESTLEY!”
She continued to shout his name, her voice hoarse from the salty water.
Wave after wave tried to claim her to the dark, briny deep. She screamed until she couldn’t any longer, until her voice gave out and her body couldn’t fight the torrent of the ocean.
She called for him in her mind, but there was no answer.
The sea was littered with debris from the wreckage of their ship. Without Westley there to keep it afloat, it descended into the inky black depths, finally giving way to the damage. Solveig swam against all odds to the nearest plank of wood and held on for dear life.
“FUCK YOU!” she screamed at the gods.
A strike of lightning was her only answer.
The rain was indistinguishable from tears as fear wreaked havoc on her body. She used it to push forward, to hold on, to cling to hope that Westley was not dying in the ocean.
The Sea Prince of the Riddari, Aegir himself, could not have died such an ironic death.
Solveig threw light constantly until she could no longer feel. Until the cold and fear made her numb—until the sea drained her of all her energy.
She didn’t know how long she tried.
Days, weeks, years.
The moments blended together as she alternated between screaming for her mate and throwing light so that even if he couldn’t answer, he could find her.
Her lips cracked and bleeding, stinging with salt from the sea, her body so full of water she might explode.
Eventually the storm died down, but not the one that raged inside.
She couldn’t pull enough energy together to feel anymore as she drifted along the water’s surface, alone. With not even fear to keep her company, she resolved herself to her fate.
The mists descended around her, the clouds overhead morphing into fog so thick she couldn’t see. She couldn’t see anything, only Westley’s last plunge as he fell into the sea.
She couldn’t feel the change in the water from salty and tumultuous to calm and thick like oil. She did not feel it when her deteriorating plank of wood drifted peacefully onto a rocky shore.
She felt nothing.