He drew his throwing knives as a Vanir soldier charged at him. Without hesitating, he tossed the knives one after another, slicing through the muscles in his attacker’s thighs. The male went down with a scream.
Pandemonium tore through the dining hall. Westley threw himself into a soldier who’d been about to tackle Conalle, pinning him against the wall with his body. Knives ready to strike in his hands when the door slammed open.
Westley’s magic, already churning under his skin, flared and his body strained with the pain of ice running through his veins. He stepped away from the soldier, causing the Vanir to fall to the floor with a loud thump. His hands gripped the bloody daggers harder as faced the threat.
A low female voice pierced the sounds of fighting, freezing everyone in their place.
“Enough.”
Ahoodedfigurestoodinthe doorway.
Whoever it was waited for a split second before entering the room. When they reached to pull their hood down, loose waves of auburn hair flowed forward, framing a face set in fierce anger.
A long, thin scar ran from her temple to her jaw. Westley’s heart stopped for a beat before resuming with vigour, his magic growing frantic.
Though she was distractingly beautiful, he didn’t drop his weapons or his guard. He couldn’t, rooted to the spot like the rest of them. She walked into the room, all eyes following her.
The air became charged with tension, the hairs on his body rising as she made her way over to a fallen body.
“Laeknir,” she called, and the bald male Westley had regarded earlier sauntered over. They knelt down, the male feeling for a pulse. He shook his head. The female stood, and Westley noted she was taller than the other female Vanir and some of the males.
“Who landed the killing blow?” she asked the crowd. Everyone avoided her attention as she swept a searing gaze around the room. Westley thought no one would own up to it, but a young female witch raised her hand.
“Come forward,” she ordered. The young female obeyed without hesitation. “Liv, what cause did you have to kill this Fae?”
For all her youth, Liv’s voice was not weak. “He tried to take me and I defended myself. He said he would ... defile me.”
The tall female nodded and confronted the crowd. “Can anyone substantiate her claim?”
Captain Arlanson crossed to the red-headed female and whispered in her ear. He was foolish if he thought whispering would stop the Fae from hearing his words.
“What are you doing? It’s a Fae, not one of ours,” the captain said to her. The female studied him with her piercing copper eyes and then turned away without answering.
“A life is a life. I care not if you are Vanir or Fae—if a kill is unjustified, it will not stand. I ask again, can anyone substantiate Liv’s claim?” A few hands rose, and Westley was surprised to see some of them were Fae.
“Did anyone else try to assist this Fae in taking you?” she asked Liv. The young female paused but pointed towards another male Fae that Westley did not recognize.
The male tried to shrink into the crowd, but two Vanir soldiers caught him by the arms. The Vanir female strode towards him, her steps silent. Without taking her eyes off the Fae, she asked the crowd again, “Did anyone witness this male’s attempt to take Liv?”
More hands rose.
“Six,” the male called Laeknir said gruffly.
“What do you have to say for yourself?” the witch asked the Fae.
“That whore is lying! She asked us to take her to bed! She wanted us to stuff her—” His words were cut off by her hand moving with lightning speed to grip his throat.
“Enough. Does anyone wish to speak on behalf of this male?” No one stepped forward.
“Very well. May Garmr drag your soul to Helheim.” And then she slit his throat.
Westley’s magic purred at the vicious sight. The Vanir soldiers dropped the body as it convulsed, blood flowing like lava onto the floor. She stepped over the body, boots carelessly stepping through the blood, and made her way back to the door. Before she exited, her hand resting on the handle, she spoke to the room again.
“If anyone, Vanir or Fae, attempts to take another against their will, they will suffer a far worse fate. No one leaves until the hall is cleaned up.” She left with a swing of her cloak and shut the door quietly behind her, taking her strange energy with her.
The room let loose a collective breath.
Conalle stepped up beside Westley. “General Solveig Tordottir.” He said her name with reverence.
