Solveig scoffed, finally breaking eye contact. “And give Idavoll another chance to destroy what’s left? I don’t think so.”
“You were so much nicer when you were dying,” Westley said through his teeth.
“Yes, yes, and you hate her and she hates you, but guess what, Ragnvald lied to both of you, so you have that in common too,” Conalle said, exasperated.
“Your patience seems to be running a little thin there, Connie,” Solveig teased. He was right—she really didn’t have more time to waste. She’d find a way to ditch the prince later if she could manage.
“Follow my lead,” she ordered the three males.
“Always,” Westley muttered.
Solveig ignored the sarcasm as they headed to the stables, grateful they didn’t need to cross the chasm again. Yet another reason they had to get to Asgard. She’d have to send people back to figure out what to do about it. Another problem to be solved later.
They were starting to stack up.
Conalle filled them in on the departure of Ragnvald and the Idavoll caravan. Apparently, Ragnvald had not taken kindly to being blasted into unconsciousness by Solveig’s magic—he was all out of sorts and had fled immediately, leaving instructions for Westley to return home.
Once they reached the stables and found a few stray horses for Noren and Conalle, they took off, the group following Solveig as she tracked the footprints. By the looks of the trail, they were hours behind, her near-death experience delaying their departure. Solveig urged Helle on, using what little magic she had to light the way.
It flowed more freely through her, but the majority was still frustratingly locked away, suffocated by that blanket of darkness. The most she could do was parlour tricks, like casting a channel of light ahead of them.
More than anything, she wished she had her full power back.
Soon, she promised herself.
Hours passed until morning rays painted the night sky with navy hues. When they had no more need of her light, Solveig let her magic drop but continued to push their hard pace.
The forest of northern Vanaheim whooshed past, the imposing trees thinned, and the scent of pine was replaced by grass and stone. They had to be getting close.
No sooner had she thought it than she heard the unmistakable sounds of life.
Voices carried on the wind and a fire crackled in the distance. Solveig’s heart lurched as she came around a bend in the path, finally able to make out forms up ahead. An arrow whizzed past, embedding itself in the tree beside her, followed by a second that narrowly missed Noren.
Solveig didn’t try to hide her smirk. Warning shots.
She’d been able to find some weapons in the rubble of the Southern Wilds, so Solveig loaded a bow and shot an arrow back. They would recognize the craftsmanship. Sure enough, no more arrows appeared until they were closer.
“Halt!” a guard called, just barely out of sight, an arrow landing in the ground ahead. Solveig pulled on Helle’s reins and signalled the others to stop.
“It is I, Solveig Tordottir,” she called back.
His sigh of relief was palpable. “It’s good to hear you’re alive, General. Who are your companions?”
“The Asgardian liaison Lord Conalle, the Fae Prince Westley, and the prince’s Fae companion.” Solveig heard Noren bristle at his lack of introduction. It was the small things that brought her joy, if only briefly.
A pause. “Why have you brought them here?”
“They are here to help.” She hoped.
“You trust them?”
“No.”
A pause. “Very well, come forward.”
Solveig led them towards the group, her heart sinking.
“How many?” she asked the guard.
