There wasn’t time to dwell on it at the moment—she needed to prepare for battle.
She donned her leathers, then her armour before adding the Vanir runes. This familiar routine made her feel more like herself than she had in months. The safety behind this physical protection made her bold.
Her armour had been made for her in Svartalfheim. After Ragnarök, the Dwarven that remained had retained their ability to create magical objects, their legendary forge surviving the worst of their planet’s destruction.
The Dwarven who created her armour had asked what was most important to her in battle and she had listed the ability to move with as much agility as she did unarmoured, to be silent, and to protect herself from grave harm. They nodded like they had heard these requests before, so they rephrased the question.
“What do you fight for?” they had asked. At the time, Solveig was young—she hadn’t yet known what it was like to watch tens, hundreds of thousands of her people die. She hadn’t known what true pain was. So she answered, “I fight for victory.” She remembered thinking how impressive that sounded.
If she were to answer today, she would have saidfreedom.
She and the Dwarven had travelled to Muspelheim, realm of the Fire Demons, for approval to use the spark of light that had created their new Sun.
The Sun Spark had been used to light the fire that had burned the worlds during Ragnarök. It was the first time the fire had been lit since this new world, aptly named Yggdrasil, was created.
Solveig had to prove herself worthy, and in the end, they granted her permission.
Fire Demons had bowed to Solveig, praying to their gods for their swift return of the flame, warning her that the use was for her armour and her armour alone.
Their king had left her with a message.
“Solveig, whose name means Daughter of the Sun, this spark is yours to command, but not to keep. It will vanish the moment your armour is made, for its purpose is far greater than that of mere forging. We shall see you again, when you are in need of the light once more.”
The Dwarven brought the flame back to use in their forge and created the most incredible armour she’d ever seen.
A deep grey so dark it was almost black. It did not gleam or shine but was muted and soft, almost like leather. When she donned it for the first time, it became a part of her, moving with her with such ease she barely noticed it was there.
Gerrie had stabbed her with a spear when Solveig had shown her for the first time because she hadn’t believed it was metal. Solveig barely felt the impact of the strike. It helped to be underestimated in battle—if her enemies thought she was unprotected, it would be the last mistake they ever made.
The sun was setting when she finished getting ready, signalling it was time.
Solveig left her tent, head held high and clad in her armour. She carried her winged helmet fashioned after the Valkyrie of old, swords crossing her back, shield strapped onto Helle’s saddle.
Her hair was tightly braided on both sides of her head, the large plait at the top intertwining with the smaller ones that flowed into unbraided hair cascading down her back.
She adorned her face with runes drawn in kohl. The line on her forehead was made up of the runes for strength, freedom, and home. The skin spanning across her eyes was completely darkened, her eyesglowing amidst the shadow. A mask that matched the darkness that brewed within.
The vertical line through the middle of her lips and chin took the longest to draw. It was the last mark she made before leaving her tent.
Her hands had been shaky, and she’d had to redo the line several times so it would be straight.
Even now, as she untied Helle, her body trembled. But, as always, her dear companion’s presence steadied her and she rode out into the middle of camp, a war general on display.
Areverenthushrippledthroughthe camp as Solveig made her way to the gates—it was the reaction she’d hoped for. They immediately backed away, bowing as she passed.
She took a deep breath, making sure her features were schooled in determination before joining the others. When she came into view, she tried not to smile at the array of reactions she inspired.
Latham’s jaw dropped. Maddock shook his head in exasperation. Quillon nodded approvingly. Conalle gazed at her like she was coming down from the heavens, and Noren looked about as unimpressed as Solveig had expected. She wished Gerrie were here.
Gerrie would’ve told them all to stop gawking before making some joke about Solveig making a dramatic entrance.
Then she saw the prince.
The prince’s eyes fixated on her, her magic surged making it difficult for her to ignore. Power slid painfully through her veins, searching for escape, searching forhim.
When she met his gaze, there was an intensity in it she’d never seen before.
He deliberately dragged his eyes from her head to her toes and back up again. A phantom touch caressed everywhere his eyes lingered. As his gaze returned to hers, heat built in her core at the ravenous look in his eye.
