And now she would have to prove herself all over again.
The Fae were high and mighty, since their race claimed the throne of the gods, and it would be difficult to convince them a Vanir should continue leading the Fae armies. Solveig harboured mistrust towards the Idavoll Fae. Even before they captured her, she’d been wary of them.
Asgardian Fae were only slightly better, and there were few she trusted—Queens Koa and Aelfsi of course, since they were her mothers.
When Solveig was a witchling the queens had taken her in, bringing her up in the palace of Asgard as their ward. Koa’s powerful magic as a Seer had shown the need to protect her identity at all costs. They’d disguised her as Fae for as long as they could, keeping her hidden from dignitaries that visited, and only ever referring to her as Solveig. Though they could not always trust her to keep the secret when she was young.
She remembered running through the halls, terrorizing the staff when her magic was first starting to develop, making it evident she was not a faeling.
Palace staff were blood sworn to secrecy and only those closest to her, and those who had known her as a witchling, knew the truth. Some of it anyway. Solveig’s mother died when she was little more than a babe, and her father remained in the deepest pits of Hel.
Koa and Aelfsi sensed that Solveig was meant for a grander future than life in the royal court, so they’d sent her to train with Fae her age when she was twenty.
She took to training extremely well and showed promise in both physical and magical lessons. She was constantly at the top of her class. Though her body was smaller than the Fae—her magic was stronger. It became too difficult to hide her differences as she grew, and when the others learned she was Vanir, a witch, she was never viewed as an equal.
One night, during a particularly difficult magic lesson about forty years after she’d started her training, she put the instructor on his ass. She was still considered a witchling by Fae and Vanir standards, but her magic had matured beyond her years. Training with the Fae was no longer an option and she was moved to a Vanir settlement close by.
Though she knew about her Vanir heritage, it had been hard for her to picture herself as one of them when she had grown up amongst the Fae. She’d never thought herself different or out of place until she’d started her training.
She tried to convince Koa—the softer of the two, not that the queen would ever admit it—to let her return to the castle and have private lessons instead. But the queens were firm. She had to be around her own people. Young Solveig didn’t take the news well and threw a tantrum fitting of a witchling.
The training ring she destroyed had not been salvageable.
When she realized it was futile and she wouldn’t get her way, she tried to run away. But Aelfsi, cunning as she was, foiled her plans and gave her a firm dressing down.
“You are made for better and greater things than you could possibly know. Stop behaving like a spoiled brat or so help the gods, I will smite you,” the fearsome queen had told her.
Solveig had laughed in her face, but Aelfsi would not tolerate her insolence. Using a Vanir crystal, she took Solveig’s magic for a week as punishment and sent her to live with the mortals in Midgard.
It had been the worst week of Solveig’s short life at the time. She came crawling back, begging for her magic and a second chance. Little did she know she would later have to live for a century and a half without her power.
Retreating with her tail between her legs, she had willingly entered the Vanir school with severely low expectations. She was greeted by the leader of the settlement and brought straight to her first training session. Without introduction, she was placed in front of a short, dark-skinned witchling with wild black hair and mischievous eyes.
When her opponent raised her hands, energy built in the air before an unseen force field sent her flying across the mats.
That had never happened to her before and instead of humbling her, it sent her into a rage, her Vanir emotions fuelling her magic. She threw a shockwave back at the girl.
An invisible shield created by runes embedded with magic on the female’s spear absorbed Solveig’s attack. The Vanir smiled and said, “Is that all you’ve got?”
She and Gerrie had been friends ever since.
She’d met Latham the next day. He was a quiet witchling, stationed in the corner by himself, trying to swing a sword that was much too large for him. An older male Vanir had given it to him and barked anorder to practise. He would grow into it eventually, but at the time, the proportions were all wrong.
Her lessons with the Fae had taught Solveig to use weapons of all sizes. A soldier didn’t always have access to the perfect weapon, and they had to be prepared to use whatever was available to them.
The lad with light brown hair and chocolate-brown eyes fumbled with the sword for three hours. Solveig liked that he hadn’t given up and decided to wander over to him.
She knew, even in her youth, that male egos were fragile at this age. Later she would learn they were fragile at every age.
Instead of correcting him, she hoisted a sword double the size of the one she’d been training with and began playing around. She performed several simple combinations of swordplay, knowing the witchling studied her out of the corner of his eye.
He slowly began copying her movements with his own too-large sword.
They’d spent every sword class like that for weeks before he approached her at the end of a lesson and said, “I’m Latham, by the way.”
Solveig hadn’t looked at him, replying, “I know,” before walking away. Latham joined her and Gerrie from then on.
Surrounded by her own ilk, she accepted that the Vanir settlement was exactly where she was supposed to be. Her education was more tailored to her race and magic. She learned to use spells, crystals, and how to power runes and objects, imbuing them with magic.
