“I do.”
Solveig stared at the man for a long period of time. Westley would’ve given anything to know what she was thinking. He didn’t have to wait long because she sat back down and leaned forward in her chair, resting her elbows on her knees, more urgency in her tone.
“I was captured recently. A few months ago. Taken on that last raid of your village.”
John’s eyes softened. “I remember that raid. It was much like all the others until the end—chaos unlike anything we’d ever dealt with.”
“I was their war general.”
“Was?”
“I was deemed unfit to lead when I returned. And I have been accused of treason,” Solveig said nonchalantly. “I was captured and kept in a dark cave, chained to the floor, the restraints so short I was unable to sit. I was tortured for unending hours every day by a sadist. I mean that quite literally. He got his pleasure from hearing me scream. I never knew what was coming, and he got ... creative.
“After I made a few escape attempts in the beginning, I always had one guard at the mouth of the cave. But every day whichever guard was posted would ask me the same questions. When I refused to answer, that’s when he would start, and he wouldn’t stop until the sun set. The horrors I went through I wouldn’t wish on my worst enemy.” When she stopped speaking, her hands gripped each other tightly. The mortal leaned forward as much as the ropes would allow.
“That wasn’t us,” he insisted.
“I know.”
The room was deadly quiet, and Westley’s heart restarted as his mind raced. If she knew it wasn’t the mortals, what else did she know?
“Why tell me this? To scare me? It won’t work.”
“No, John. Not to scare you, to plead with you. The cycle must be broken. You capture one of us, they capture one of you, we capture oneof you, they capture one of us, and we all retaliate in our own ways. The cycle of war and death and pain goes round and round. I’m sick of it, and I’d like it to end.”
“I mean no disrespect, but you already told me you are no longer in power. You have no authority to make such promises.” He slumped back in his chair, the kernel of hope flickering out in his eyes.
“I may not be their leader anymore, but I am not without power. I held the title of war general of Asgard for two centuries. And I am the adopted daughter of the Queens of Asgard, sister by our mother’s blood to Queen Koa,” she said as she stood. Gasps erupted throughout the room at her declaration. Maddock’s head reared back. He hadn’t known.
The mortal’s eyes widened before narrowing them. “How do I know you speak the truth?”
Solveig shrugged. “You don’t. But you know that I do not have the authority here, in this camp. If you do not wish to work with me, I have no choice but to leave you in the hands of these Vanir.”
“Threats do not frighten me.”
“It’s not a threat, John. It’s a warning.”
“What do you want from me?”
The whole room held its breath waiting for Solveig to answer.
“Freedom.”
He shook his head. “I cannot give that to you. If you are free, then my people are not. There is no other way.”
“Wrong. We just need to find a way. I am willing to try. Are you?”
Another long moment of silence.
“No,” the mortal whispered, apology clear in his eyes.
She showed no other signs of disappointment than the subtle fall of her shoulders.
“So be it.” Solveig lingered. “If you change your mind, ask for me and I will come.”
She didn’t wait for an answer as she strode out of the dungeon. Westley fell into step behind her, leaving Noren and Conalle in his place.
Once they were outside, Solveig leaned against the wall and put her head in her hands. Westley stood silently by her side and they listened as the screaming began.
