Helle’s size made it almost impossible for the mortals to reach her while on foot, and it made her job easier and less bloody.
In a fitting sense of déjà vu, she was in charge of finding the Lionhead. During their brief strategy session, they’d surmised he would come out when he heard the fight. So instead of breaking into the houses, they had to draw him out, taking as many mortal lives as they could along the way.
Charging ahead, Solveig discovered that although they bled, none of the mortals were staying down.
All the blood drained from her face as one of her Vanir soldiers stabbed a mortal right through the heart but the mortal kept fighting.When the Vanir removed the sword, Solveig expected the man to drop, but he went on like he hadn’t just been skewered through the chest.
Similar scenarios played out around her—the mortals were not dying. Panic throttled her and she urged Helle ahead, desperate to be out of this place as soon as possible.
She cut through the mortals, swinging her sword and catching arrows with her shield. She lost herself in the battle, her instincts taking over as her body fell into the familiar choreography of dancing with death. Though this time, her instincts had her keeping tabs on another as well.
The prince attempted to behead the mortal coming for him, but even though his blade went clean through the woman’s neck, her head stayed where it was, not a drop of blood to be seen.
A crease formed in his brow as he watched the blow he’d dealt a thousand times in his life not kill his opponent.
He kicked the mortal away instead and continued to fight through the swarm. Almost simultaneously, she and the prince dismounted their horses and sent them off, out of harm’s way.
There were too many mortals to be effective on horseback now. She and the prince fought back to back, covering each other’s blind spots. Their fighting styles complemented each other as they moved forward together. The feeling of an unspoken conversation played between them as they went.
On your right!she sensed him saying. She jerked her elbow back into the mortal coming at her from behind.
Couldn’t have gotten that one for me?she thought back.
He shot her a brief smile.I can’t do all the work for you.
Solveig launched a throwing knife, stopping the mortal who’d been about to strike the prince.You’re welcome.
I would’ve stoppedhim.
Sure. I think this means I’m winning.
The prince parried and swung at two more who came towards them.
In case you haven’t noticed, General, they aren’t dying. No one is winning.He grunted as he dislodged the woman who’d latched onto his neck. Solveig attempted to slice her open, but her sword just swiped through the woman without causing any harm.
I still think I’m winning,she said, kicking another mortal unconscious to prove her point.
Their internal dialogue was interrupted when a group of about fifteen mortals came at them. Trying to fight them off, they were separated by the swinging of swords and spears.
Solveig moved forward, realizing that knocking them unconscious was the only way to stop the onslaught. She wanted to tell the prince but couldn’t see him anymore. Her breath caught as she became aware of where she was.
Time slowed, déjà vu sweeping her under.
She stood at the edge of the village centre, gaping at the bloodbath that was sowing death only for her people and the Fae. The Lionhead charged into the fight, sword out, snapping her out of her panic. She started towards him, and as if on a phantom wind, she heard Gerrie’s voice.
“SOLVEIG!” the voice screamed.
She whipped her head around, a different scene playing out in her mind’s eye now—the same place, but a different time as she looked to Gerrie to see what was happening. Gerrie pointed towards the edge of camp and there was Latham, being dragged away by figures in black.
I got out. I got out. I got out, she tried to tell herself. But she was rooted to the spot.
This couldn’t be happening. Not again. She tried to blink away the memory, but it wouldn’t fade. Her breath came faster and faster, herhead dizzy. Pride was the only thing that kept her lucid. She would not allow Latham to be right.
She shook her head clear, and the present scene caught up to her just in time to duck under the swing of a sword. She somersaulted on the ground, grabbing a fallen bow and arrow before standing. Her aim was true as she let an arrow fly towards the Lionhead.
“SOLVEIG!” Someone yelled her name again, but this time it wasn’t Gerrie’s voice.
Fear seized her a moment before a sharp pain pierced her shoulder, knocking the bow from her arm. She tilted her head down to see arrow feathers, a black tip poking out behind her shoulder blade.
