The other council members hushed as she studied them. She was certainly not the youngest member, but she had created an illustrious name for herself. In the two centuries since becoming Asgard’s war general—though her identity remained hidden to most, a plan instituted by the Queens—she’d garnered respect among the leaders and a violent reputation throughout the realms.
“As I have already mentioned, Commander, our queens have not sanctioned such an act,” Solveig responded, barely disguising her contempt. “With the continuation of missing persons, we have decided that all raids will be carried out by a small group of covert soldiers.”
It was taking all four hundred and twenty-five years of her life’s experience in patience to not kick this male’s ass, sending him straightback to his father—the King of Jotunheim. The once beautiful realm that held Giants of myths and legends was now a barren wasteland, home to scavengers, liars, and cheats. They might have been a formidable foe had their race fared better in the aftermath of the destruction of the Yggdrasil.
Whispers spread around the table, arguments breaking out between dignitaries. Solveig sighed inwardly. Maddock wouldn’t budge an inch on this decision. Her queens had given explicit instructions to cooperate with the other realms. Work together. Do what must be done to keep the peace, as fragile as it was.
They were worried about an uprising. People made dangerous decisions when their way of life was threatened. A century and a half was a long time to live without magic, even for immortals, and restlessness brewed among the conquered realms, creating mistrust between allies. Desperation for power was a poison and rebellions had formed within the Trifold.
A seed of that same restlessness grew in her own heart.
The Asgardian Fae and the Vanir could not afford to make enemies, no one could, but especially not what was left of the Trifold with the Elven removing themselves from council, leaving their allies in a precarious position.
“We shall put it to a vote,” Solveig announced over the sound of arguing.
She had endured enough of these meetings to know when a decision had been made—no need to drag it out. As war general to the Fae Queens of Asgard and leader of the Southern Wilds, the war camp in which they gathered, she was responsible for leading the vote.
A vote which would not go in her favour.
Most of the dignitaries held allegiance to Ragnvald, the King of Helheim. He rarely made an appearance at council meetings, yet hispower over the other races had grown the longer magic remained out of their grasp. Especially over Jotunheim, whose inhabitants were as power hungry as a race could be. It was imperative she keep them pacified, lest her identity be divulged.
Jotunheim would only keep her secret for so long.
“All those in favour of sending a small group of four soldiers to raid the western mortal village?” Solveig scanned the room as she raised her hand. Two of the seven voting council members voted with her.
“Those in favour of sending a large group of fifteen soldiers?” She dared Maddock with a look to contradict her suggestion, as he’d likely wanted more. The remaining four hands rose high in the air.
“So be it,” Solveig whispered ominously. Maddock caught her eye, the most arrogant smirk plastered on his conniving face. Visions of blood dripping down his neck and onto her hands flooded her mind.
She stood, swiftly leaving the council tent.
Alreadyinstepwithher, like she knew they would be, Latham and Gerrie flanked her as she headed to the stables.
“Went that well, did it?” Latham commented sarcastically. Ever since they were witchlings he’d been able to read her face, no matter how tightly Solveig thought she had it under control. Centuries of practice focusing her emotions on fuelling her magic instead of feeling them didn’t stop him from reading every twitch.
She pressed her full lips into a thin line, giving the only indication she was pissed as Hel.
Striding to the stables, she quickly readied Helle and was off before either of them could probe further. She loved them both but needed distance.
A solid hour of hard riding helped clear her mind—the feel of control with the reins in her grip and the wind in her hair. Solveig rode through the woods nearly all the way to the border of Idavoll, the home of the Forest Fae. She wouldn’t dare enter their lands uninvited.
Gerrie and Latham followed at a safe distance, stopping halfway to Solveig’s usual spot, ready to intercept anyone who dared come after her. She appreciated that they understood what she needed.
The sun glistened off the steady current of the river that bled through their lands from the ocean.
Solveig jumped down from Helle, dropping to her knees. With her hands firmly planted on the rocky shore, she screamed, releasing all her frustration, anger, and pain in one loud roar to Valhalla.
Grief at what was to come gripped her throat, making it difficult for her to breathe.
It was up to her to select the fourteen warriors—warriors she had personally trained—to accompany her on this raid. One of them would not return.
Each raid of the mortal villages over the past fifty years had gone exactly the same way. This was why she hadn’t received the votes she needed. It didn’t matter how many soldiers were sent, one was always lost. One raid every six months for fifty years. The names of all one hundred soldiers taken were carved in her heart.
The names of those who had died fighting like Hel to protect their home and bring back their magic.
All races had been affected after the War of Realms, but the Vanir had suffered the most. Perhaps because their magic had been the strongest before the mortals discovered how to erase it from all the races and lands. Or maybe because Vanaheim was the closest realm to Midgard, only a few days’ journey by boat, making it an easy target to inhabit once the realm had been defeated.
It seemed an impossible feat and yet, here they were. One hundred and fifty years without the sensation of magic in her blood. One hundred and fifty years of feeling powerless to stop her people from being slaughtered and pushed to the far corners of their lands.
