“And how the Hel do we know what the dead gods want?” Westley burst out, shock crossing both his parents’ faces.
“Westley,” his father reprimanded. “Do not let that female lead you into falsehoods. The gods speak to your grandfather.”
“I’ll be back,” was all he said, and he jogged out of the tent, chasing after Solveig.
Fromherhidingspot,Solveig caught sight of Westley running out of the council tent. He paused to look in both directions, and she held her breath, hoping her hammering heart wouldn’t give her away. She crouched lower in the cage-like roots of the tree, waiting for him to leave.
She couldn’t see or talk to him right now. Her mind raced, and her magic surged painfully through her body as it restored itself, feasting on her ever-changing emotions.
How had she not known that Ragnvald, King of Helheim, was the King of Idavoll’s father? Westley’s grandfather.
Westley had been in the dungeon with her when John spent his dying breaths revealing Ragnvald’s lies. And Solveig would bet Helle’s life that those lies were just the surface. Ragnvald cared nothing for mortals, which begged the question, what the Hel was he up to? Did Westley know? He had to be in on it, did he not?
She had let herself get too distracted, too caught up in the possibility that she was wrong about Westley—no,the prince, she corrected herself. It was likely that Idavoll had sent their prince to worm his way into her life. And she had fallen for it.
Solveig discarded any thoughts and feelings that had been brewing inside her.
Repeating the facts she knew over and over again to help wash away the emotions that had a harder time leaving. He was the Prince of Idavoll. She was the General of Asgard. Former General of Asgard. His family and her mother’s family had warred for centuries, and she could not trust him.
Idavoll had captured and tortured her people.
Solveig peeked out again and watched the prince take off in the other direction. She crept out of her hiding place, cursing him—he was going to the stables. She’d been planning to go there, to get Helle. She also had to find Laeknir, Sten, and her shieldmaidens.
Instead, she ran in the opposite direction, heading for the infirmary instead, hoping it was still standing.
There was a soft glow to the evening. Flares of light radiating from the chasm mixed with smoke still billowing from camp, painting the sky with reds and oranges as the sun descended.
It was eerily quiet, and Solveig crept through the remains of her people, taking care where she stepped. She assumed most survivors would’ve congregated at the medical tent, but coming up to it was more unnerving than she expected.
No one waited outside, and she tried not to dwell on the fact that she hadn’t seen any living Vanir yet except for Latham and those in the council tent.
Her steps slowed as dread bloomed in her churning stomach. Despite the gods and their absence, she prayed to hear the bustling soundsshe was used to the closer to the infirmary she got. Her prayer went unanswered.
Silence greeted her as she reached the main tent.
Walking inside was akin to walking into a mass grave. Bodies lay on the table and floor, some a mangled wreck after a hard-fought battle, others had clearly been casualties—civilians had been caught in the middle and had paid dearly for the mistakes she’d made.
The anger that had faded surged through her body, charging her magic as she took in the state of the Vanir, her people. Anger at Idavoll, at Latham, at herself. There was enough of it to go around. A torrent of heat washed over her, her body thrumming with the need to dosomething.
Her breathing grew shallow as she took in each of the faces, searching for Laeknir’s features among the masses.
Solveig drifted through the rows, closing eyes and drawing the Othala rune on each of their foreheads with her blood. A storm flowed through her veins as tears streamed down her grimy face. She stopped abruptly as she came to the next bed.
“No,” she breathed, dropping to her knees beside the body.
Veda’s black hair was matted with dirt and blood, the braids on the side of her head sliced clean through. Solveig could see her skull. “No.” Her voice cracked on the useless word.
How could she have let this happen? She’d been too late breaking the Blood Stone. Even a few more minutes could’ve given her people a chance. She’d failed them.
She bent over Veda’s body as sobs wracked her, shaking with the force of her grief. A scream threatened to burst out of her, but she held it in. She was not safe here. Solveig took a dagger from her belt, her hand grazing that godsforsaken hammer she’d taken from Booth. It stole her attention for a moment before she refocused on Veda’s lifeless body.
“Lo, there do I see my father.
Lo, there do I see my mother, and my sisters, and my brothers.
Lo, there do I see the line of my people,
Back to the beginning.
