She spent hours in her private clearing alone each morning—running through the obstacles, jumping over rocks, ducking under logs propped up on stumps, climbing trees, chopping wood, and working her muscles to absolute exhaustion.
After lunch back at camp, Gerrie accompanied her to her private training ring where they worked with weapons and fists. Solveig was soft after months of being chained to the ground, barely able to move.
It was satisfying to feel blisters turn to calluses, for her body to remember the steps. The routine gave her some semblance of control. She clung to her strength and took comfort in knowing at least she would be physically ready. No one would call her weak.
Gerrie slowly started bringing other opponents in for Solveig to spar with. Latham had come a few times throughout the weeks, but Solveig refused to fight him.
She never would again—he didn’t deserve that honour.
Instead, he came to observe, like he had today. Solveig thought she could forgive him for disobeying her orders and following them to the raid, but she could not forgive the betrayal of breaking their oath and giving up on her.
Solveig noted Latham at the treeline, and Gerrie made her way over to him where they exchanged words. It looked like Gerrie was giving Latham a rather colourful order to leave.
Latham, bullheaded as he was, refused and Gerrieaccidentallyhit him over the head with her spear before stalking away, head held high. He was still rubbing the spot when Solveig glanced at him again. He studied her as she fought with Veda, one of her shieldmaidens.
Her magic fought beneath her skin, itching to be released so she could deal with him properly. Her hands clenched around the handle of the hammer as she resisted the urge to throw it at him.
She and Gerrie had spoken at length about what to do with Latham. Since he’d been Solveig’s second in command, he had stepped into her role while she was away. That was his job—that’s what they’d planned for.
Now that she was back, he needed to step down. She was the general. But no such announcement had crossed his lips.
When Solveig attended a council meeting, the members appeared confused by her presence. No one said a word, including Solveig, but they did not welcome her back with open arms, especially not the new Vanir Latham had appointed in her absence.
From then on, she never missed any important meetings and made sure to train both publicly to show her strength, and privately so she could target her weaknesses.
Latham coming to assess her private session was a bold move. Bold, stupid—same thing.
Veda tried to take advantage of Solveig’s distraction, but one silver lining of being trapped in the cave was her heightened sense of awareness, giving Solveig an edge. Spending months chained to the ground while trying to gather information, keep herself alive, and plot her escape with only the most minuscule of details was paying off.
She perceived even the slightest movements, blocking the blow and taking Veda down.
Veda smiled. “I almost had you there, Tordottir.”
“Over my dead body,” Solveig retorted with a grin of her own.
Speaking was still a little strange—not that she’d been particularly chatty before her capture—and it took a good deal of effort when she had to. She made sure to answer every time someone addressed her.
Solveig grasped Veda’s arm and they made their way over to Gerrie, who waited with water and meat.
“What did Latham want?” she asked Gerrie after downing her entire waterskin.
“The usual.”
“He’s still set on a rematch?”
Gerrie paused. “Unfortunately, yes.”
“What is it?”
“The soldiers are starting to talk. Even though we have the excuse of waiting for the Fae to arrive, they’re wondering why a challenge hasn’t been set yet.”
“It’s my title. And he doesn’t deserve it, or any other for that matter.”
“I know that, and you know that, but they don’t.”
Solveig wanted to spit. She wanted to do much more than that, but she settled for keeping her back to Latham, snubbing him from afar. “They should ...”
“But they don’t, Solveig. It doesn’t matter if they should or shouldn’t. He stepped up when you were gone and held his own. He’ll never be you, but the rumours are that you aren’t even you anymore.”
