Her torturer would bring her to the verge of death, but when she woke the next morning, she would be mostly healed. There were visible scars on her body, and her face still hurt from the first time he cut her with her own dagger. But otherwise, she woke up intact, ready for a fresh new Hel.
She formed a few theories about how she was healing.
When she was unconscious, they could be using a healing salve. This theory was the least likely because magical healing solutions were incredibly rare and expensive. No new salves could be made with theBlock in place, so the finite stores of magical remedies were hoarded and protected at all costs. It was futile to use such a valuable product on her.
Her second theory was one of her guards—or maybe an unseen person—still had magic. She would’ve thought this impossible, but her own magic pulsed under her skin as proof. Maybe others had found a way to break through the Block as well.
The third theory was the most likely. Her magic was strong enough to repair any life-threatening damage. It made sense since she still woke with scars and bruises but her bones and internal wounds healed overnight. If this theory was correct, her captors would be just as confused as she was, making her more interesting to them.
She had no point of reference for how long they kept their previous captives alive, but nearly three months seemed excessive. Her people had never kept anyone they captured alive that long.
They also didn’t have a sadist torturing their prisoners. Like her thoughts conjured him,hestrode into the cave, a little spring in his step as the sun began its dreadful rise.
Day eighty-eight.
Solveig hadn’t named him. She knew the way he smelled, like a mix of her blood and dog piss. Her magic froze in her veins at the sight of him, unadulterated hatred frenzied her magic, desperate for revenge. She didn’t need to name him. He was a dead man, and when Latham finally found her, she would buryhimalive.
“Good morning, puppet!” he greeted her cheerfully. She could hear the smile in his voice but didn’t respond. She knew the drill. Whoever accompanied him this morning would ask her the same questions.
“Who is the general of the Vanir legion known as the Southern Wilds?”
“Where is the Vanir camp located?”
“What orders do the queens give to the Vanir general?”
“What were you looking for in the mortal villages?”
Those same four questions. Every day they asked, and every day she stared at the top of the cave. The only sounds she gave them were cries and screams. Sometimes when she was feeling particularly salty, she’d raise her middle finger at them.
She’d learned this gesture from one of the mortals she had captured. She gathered it was meant to be insulting and took a liking to it. She almost laughed the first time she used it here. They’d thought she was communicating something to them and tried to decipher the gesture. So she played with them.
Each day for a week she gave them a new signal and started to create a pattern. It gave her a little bit of joy to think about them discussing it. Eventually, when they caught on that she was giving them nothing,hebroke all the bones in her hands and each of her fingers before nearly cutting them all off. They healed themselves the next day, to Solveig’s relief.
Her stomach dropped in terror when he walked in alone on the eighty-eighth day. He was so much more ruthless when he wasn’t being kept in check. However, he was also chattier, and the small tidbits she’d gleaned about where she was and who they were only came when he felt free to talk her ear off as he skinned her alive.
She’d learned they were Forest Fae of Idavoll, not Asgardian Fae, and were keeping her north of the Southern Wilds, somewhere close to where Vanaheim bordered Idavoll. Not much to go on after eighty-eight days, but it was something.
Todayheswaggered over to her, an extra bounce in his step Solveig was wary of. She tried to keep her breathing even since it riled him up when she didn’t respond, and she was feeling defiant this morning. Solveig made eye contact with him for the first time in several weeks.
“Whoa, look who woke up with some fire in her belly this morning! Ready to play, puppet?”
I’mreadyifyouare,she thought. She flipped him her finger and he chuckled in response. He was in a very good mood if this did not upset him.
“You know,” he said, “I was sure you were someone important. Your kind never searches for ourvisitorsvery long, but for you? They lasted the longest.” Her heart rate quickened. She tried not to look relieved, not that he was paying attention to her.
“We took you farther from the mortal village than we usually do. It was disappointing because I love watching your people scurry about the forest for a couple of weeks.”
Two weeks. That was the time frame they allotted for any missing soldier. They couldn’t afford to take any longer. But Latham would continue to search for her—they’d promised each other. She just had to wait for him.
“Much to our surprise, a search party was found still roaming the forest well past the time when they should’ve forgotten all about you.They even managed to get pretty close. We were worried they might hear you scream, so I had to go a little lighter on you.”
Solveig wracked her brain, but the days bled together—she couldn’t recall any length of time whenhehadn’t visited her. This time, he noticed her reaction.
“Ah, puppet, I must not be doing my job right if our time together is not seared into your pretty little brain. You see, I know what makes you scream now.” He reached down to caress the scar on her face. “It was easy enough to hold myself back while your vile people scoured this area. The river creates a decent sound barrier, but the others decided it was too risky.”
Oh, so there’s a river? If you usually stay close to the village and this time you only went a little farther north ...Clarity filtered through Solveig’s mind. With the other hints he’d dropped about the area, she had a faint idea of where they were. He continued on like he hadn’t just given her a vital piece of information.
“It was a boring week. I missed the sound of your voice, puppet. Shall I refresh your memory?”
