She bridled Helle and brought her to her tent to finish getting ready. When she entered, she pulled up short. Trella stood at the desk, riffling through the papers laid out there. Though Solveig kept nothing of importance out in the open, she bristled at the intrusion.
“What the fuck are you doing in my tent?” Solveig asked through clenched teeth.
The trollop smiled, holding a piece of paper in her hand. From what Solveig could see, it was a letter to Aelfsi expressing her concerns about Latham.
“This could be seen as treason,” Trella said softly.
Solveig smiled. “Treason implies Latham is a monarch. Did I miss his coronation?”
Trella cleared her throat and read the letter in an imitation of Solveig’s low-pitched voice. “‘Latham is in over his head. He lacks the foresight to make decisions that will benefit Vanaheim in the long run. I’m not sure what you and Koa are scheming, but I do not recommend promoting Latham to Asgard’s general.’”
Solveig scoffed, unbothered. “Is that supposed to be me?”
“That is the sound I hear when you speak, yes,” Trella replied. “This would devastate him,” she said, gesturing at the paper.
“As it’s addressed to one of the queens, I wasn’t planning on having anyone else read it,” Solveig said pointedly. She expected Trella to argue. When she didn’t, Solveig broke the silence. “I suggest you leave. I will not ask so nicely again.”
Trella scoffed. “There is nothing nice about you, Solveig. I never understood what he saw in you.” She placed the paper back on Solveig’s desk. “I came to ask something of you.”
“How presumptuous.”
“Stay out of our way,” Trella ordered, raising her voice. She was trying to sound commanding, but it fell flat.
Solveig laughed. “Ourway? I wasn’t aware you’d been promoted. Should I start calling you General ... What’s your surname?”
Colour rose to her cheeks. “Ebbedottir.”
“Ah yes. As I recall, your father was highborn, was he not? And tell me, how did he fare after he was caught smuggling mortal slaves to Jotunheim?”
Trella’s cheeks became splotchy and pink.
“I suggest you tread very carefully, Lady Ebbedottir, lest you meet a similar fate.”
“You dare threaten me?” She stood tall, but Solveig towered over her.
“I will end anyone who poses a threat to my people,” Solveig warned. “Now, unless you wish to tempt fate further by continuing your intrusion into my personal—”
“Your bark does not scare me,” Trella spat. As she walked away, she tried to knock into Solveig. It was the wrong move.
Solveig gripped her by the neck, spinning her around to trap the witch. Solveig held a knife to her throat from behind.
Leaning down to whisper in her ear, she hissed, “Be careful, lass. Do not think that I won’t bite.” She pressed the dagger in until Trella let out a whimper. Solveig held no pity for her. “Now empty your pockets.”
“Wh-what?” Trella trembled.
“Don’t play the fool with me. You and I both know you are smarter than you let on. Empty. Your. Pockets.” A trickle of blood leaked from where Solveig’s dagger dug into her neck.
Trella slowly lowered her hands from where they had gripped Solveig’s arm in an attempt to hold her off. She reached down and pulled a small black stone from one pocket and a letter from the other.
“Drop them,” Solveig hissed. The stone hit the ground with a hard thump and the paper gracefully followed.
“If I ever catch you skulking around again, in fact, if I find out you mean me or my people harm, you will not live to see the following morning.” Solveig released her with a shove.
Trella ran from the tent, clutching her throat to staunch the bleeding where Solveig had sliced her. The cut wasn’t deep enough to do any real damage, but it would leave a scar.
Solveig leaned down to pick up the items Trella had dropped.
The small black stone glittered faintly, and Solveig’s brows rose. A Listening Stone. How the Hel did that twat get her hands on a Listening Stone? Her attention flicked to the paper. It was the last page of a lettershe’d received from the queens, containing only wishes of health and their two signatures. What was she up to?
