Chapter 88
“What are you doing, Gerrie?” Solveig asked, voice shaking. Her mind was blank—she couldn’t come up with a reason, let alone a good one, why Gerrie would be here.
Solveig could do nothing but watch as Gerrie took Thor’s chains in her free hand and squeezed, breaking them off. Once one set of chains was released, Thor’s smile widened and he closed his eyes.
His freed arm began to glow until the other chains shook.
Three betrayals. One ends in death, one in forgiveness, and the other in Hel.
Westley and Solveig stood rooted to the spot as the chains rattled. With a blast of power, his shackles blew off, sending all of them flying backwards. With the snap of the chains, the blood oath Solveig had been bound to, lifted. The leash on her tongue loosened as she hit the stone floor.
Solveig was on her feet immediately, turning to look for Gerrie.
They locked eyes as her shieldmaiden got to her feet. Solveig thought she’d never be whole again, for her heart was breaking, shattering into millions of pieces—obliterated in an instant like Thor’s chains.
How had she even managed it? The chains were made by the Dwarven of old. Only Fenrir had broken through Dwarven chains.
She made to move towards Gerrie, but her friend, her betrayer, only gave a sad smile before vanishing in a flash of golden light, leaving Solveig in Hel, her soul darkening with despair.
“We have to go,” Westley said, bracing his hands on her shoulders and turning her.
“She . . . She . . .”
“I know, and I’m so sorry, but you can fall apart once we get out of here.”
Solveig took a deep breath and nodded—he was right. While Thor marvelled at his new-found freedom, they moved as slowly as they could towards the entrance of the cave.
Thor’s eyes snapped open, and in a flash of a shadow, he vanished and reappeared in front of them, blocking their way out.
“Not so fast,” he said, stalking forward, each step a calculated move until they were backed against the black pedestal.
“You’re free. What else do you need?” Solveig asked, her mind scrambling to come up with a way out.
“Funny you should ask that, daughter, because what I need is you and more specifically, your magic.”
“Why do you need my magic? You clearly have your own.”
“It’s not as strong as it once was, but there is one small problem.”
Westley took her hand in his. In his palm was a hidden dagger and the meaning was clear. A simple stab wound wouldn’t kill a god, but it may distract him enough for them to get away.
The fact that Thor could move through shadows was disheartening—she’d had no idea how strong he was, nor how far that power would render him. If they had any chance of escape, she’d have to make one stab count.
“Why do you need my lightning?” Solveig asked. “I inherited that from you.” She was trying to distract him but felt Westley stiffen, his eyes widening.
Your light . . .
Is lightning, she finished.
How have I never noticed?
It was part of the curse that held Thor captive. I had to hide what my magic was. The Block helps because it tempers my power, and when it’s weak, it just looks like light.
She watched him think over the times she’d used her magic, and a feral gleam entered his eyes.
You mean to tell me that you are more powerful than what I’ve seen? Fuck, Solveig, you are amazing.
Why did you think I earned such a notorious reputation as the general?
Solveig breathed a sigh of relief. She’d been with males who were intimidated by her power and tried to prove themselves to her. It was exhausting. There was no way they’d be more powerful than her given she was a—
Holy fuck.
Just putting the pieces together now?
“Yes, yes, she’s a demigod.” Thor’s wicked smile curled with a hidden secret. This was the worst part of her father, though not much was good about him to begin with. He was almost always one step ahead, always scheming and plotting.
With the exception of his daughter putting him in a prison of his own making, he’d always had the upper hand.
“Now, back to what I need,” he said. “The problem, my dear Solveig, is that as a fallen god, unless magic is gifted to me, I have none.”
“Isn’t it a bit rude to ask for presents?” Solveig snarked, causing Thor to laugh.
“I haven’t cared about being rude my entire existence, and it seems I have passed that trait on to you. It does have to be gifted, but not freely. So you see, I can force you to give it. But that would not be so good for you.”
Solveig and Westley stood tall, bracing themselves for whatever he was about to say or do next. She tried to steel her heart, but she could not get Gerrie’s betrayal out of her mind, the look in her eyes.
Forgive me, Solveig.
Forgiveness. So much easier said than done.
Under all the emotions of Gerrie’s betrayal she knew there had to be some reason, some cause for the people closest to her to make decisions like this. First Laeknir, now Gerrie. None of it made any sense.
Knowing the reason wouldn’t make the sting of betrayal hurt any less.
Thor’s fingers sparked, but not with lightning—with a dark power, reminding Solveig of Ragnvald. She narrowed her eyes.
“We had it wrong,” Solveig whispered.
“What?” Westley asked, looking between her and her father.
“Your kind usually does,” Thor said with a sigh. He seemed content to let Solveig talk, apparently in no rush to steal her magic.
“We thought Thor would know how Ragnvald is getting magic, how to stop him. We thought he was the key.”
“Yes, a good thought. I do have the pulse of this realm under my fingertips.” His fingers disappeared into shadows. A yawning darkness woke inside Solveig at the sight.
“Ragnvald is working for you. Collecting realms and magic for you,” she accused.
“Almost, daughter, almost. You see, Ragnvald is too greedy to truly work for me, as you put it. But he was easy enough to manipulate.”
“How did you trick him?” Westley asked.
“I simply told him I would make him a god.” Thor’s eyes twinkled with mischief.
“You can’t do that,” Solveig said.
“You are very intelligent, daughter. I am proud.”
“Keep your pride,” she spat back.
“So if he can’t be turned into a god . . .” Westley trailed off.
“He’s a vessel for magic. He’s out there running around conquering all the royal families, keeping himself busy and amassing power. For me.”
Solveig laughed, big and full, at the utter preposterousness of the situation.
Thor pulling Ragnvald’s strings.
“You let Ragnvald loose in the world, knowing eventually we’d come running.”
“You are quite predictable, I’m afraid.” Thor took a step towards them.
There was nowhere for them to go—they’d have to fight their way out. Westley pressed his palm into hers, a silent reassurance that he was there and they would fight him together.
He had to be struggling with the thought that his grandfather may be innocent, infected by shadows that had turned his soul rotten. But the shadows were attracted to dark souls, like it was attracted to hers.
Only the force of her light had kept them out of her own soul.
When she was a witchling, she’d been drawn to the shadows. Even before her lightning manifested, she had loved the darkness—revelled in the feel of the night. And then her light came and her soul became a battlefield.
Koa trained her to use her lightning, to turn her back on the shadows, bury them deep where they could not hurt her or anyone else, for they were powerful and potent. Soon it had become second nature to ignore their calls, to let the light overwhelm that darkness.
Until the War of Realms, when they stirred. And then the cave, where the shadows comforted her, where darkness became a reprieve.
As she peered into the shadows in Thor’s eyes, they called to her.
“Now I must take that beautiful lightning back,” Thor said.
“Back?” Confusion took Solveig from her thoughts.
“Yes. You see, there’s one more thing you should probably be aware of.” Thor took another step towards her but made no move to attack them. She knew the look of calculation on his face.
But then Westley choked, his hand releasing hers as he clawed at his neck. He struggled with an invisible force. Solveig had never felt so powerless as she collapsed to the ground with her mate in her arms.
“West,” she cried, her hands fluttering uselessly over his body.
Thor stood over them, watching intently, his ragged blond hair shimmering. She couldn’t focus on her father. She laid her hands on Westley’s chest and pushed her magic into him.
There were shadows in his lungs, stealing the breath right from the source.
Solveig wielded her lightning, trying to banish the dark magic before it took root. He could not die in Hel—she would not allow him to cease to exist. She battled with Thor’s shadows and felt his power weakening.
Westley took in a heaving breath as the darkness left his lungs.
Her relief did not last long. She turned to find Thor crouching right beside her, his face a hand’s breadth away. She flinched.
“Very good, daughter. Now I know you are ready,” he purred.
Without warning he snatched her wrist, wrenching her to her feet. Westley was still catching his breath, coughing as he struggled to reach for her.
“Let her go.” His voice, though hoarse, was forceful and full of power.
Solveig struggled against her father’s cold grip, trying to use her other limbs to fight him off. His power surged through her, halting her movements.
Her own shadows and light abhorred the intrusion into her body and fought Thor’s magic off.
Again, Solveig thought she saw Thor shimmer, almost like the dead souls did—like a mirage.
His shadows were losing against her combined power until he sent another wave into her and took hold of her magic, beginning to drain it out of her.
It must take a large amount of power because Thor paled, his forehead beading with sweat.
Westley charged at Thor, his sword drawn, but was blasted back.
Not by Thor.
Solveig whipped out her magic and forced her mate back, throwing up an invisible wall to keep him away. Her magic was winning the battle inside her as she began using Thor’s magic against him.
His grip was weakening, and soon Solveig would be able to overpower him—but not if she had to worry about her mate getting hurt in the crossfire.
Solveig! he called to her.
She was about to answer when Thor shimmered again and the handsome god’s face began to change. His features rippled, melting like the frozen cream dessert she used to eat in the palace as a witchling.
“What—”
Solveig gasped, attempting to take a step back, but in her shock, her magic stopped fighting and she was gripped again by her father’s power.
Her father’s face and body morphed. Losing its glamour.
Long blond hair turned short and black, so dark it absorbed the light around him. His black eyes pierced Solveig, calling to the darkness. Her darkness.
The darkness she was born with.
“Surprise,” he whispered.
Not Thor.
A feline grin spread across his face.
Loki.