“Forgive me,” North said again, tears streaming down her face. She embraced Munin, who took her into his arms.
Solveig held her breath, her heart slicing in two at the sacrifice North was about to make.
Ragnvald chuckled and shock blasted through Solveig as North, without looking, placed the crown in her grandfather’s hand.
He settled the crown on top of his head and power surged through the throne room.
Westleywasblownbackby the force of his grandfather’s actions.
Otherworldly magic reached out and stretched its fingers as it claimed the power that was meant for North—the power that ruled over all of Idavoll.
The crown on Ragnvald’s head shifted, almost melting until it melded to the ones he already bore—Hel, Midgard, and Jotunheim.
Now he owned Idavoll’s as well.
Solveig’s shock flitted through him as she stared at North, still embracing Munin on the ground. She lunged forward, but Westley couldn’t reach his sister before Solveig struck, throwing her dagger directly into Munin’s neck—where the sword had been placed only moments ago.
Ragnvald’s brows shot up, and the room fell silent as Munin crumpled to the floor. A dirk covered in blood dropped from his fist.
North gasped in pain, hurt and confusion breaking through her composure. Munin’s hands were stained red as he slumped to the floor, a cold cackle leaving his bloodied mouth. North placed a hand on her abdomen, trying to heal herself as Solveig dragged her back.
“Well that’s a pity,” Ragnvald said with a sigh. “I was really counting on that.”
He waved his hands and his legion attacked, Maddock leading the charge with a satisfied smile.
The coronation guests were woefully underarmed, only the guards’ swords and bows at their disposal.
Westley sprang into action, catching the handful of arrows Viggo tossed to him, and began stabbing and slashing at the Jotunheim soldiers. His Fae speed was on his side, and he managed to wipe out the first line of attackers.
He spared a glance at Solveig. Her dress was already ripped, but thankfully she was not injured.
The hall filled with light as Solveig called on her magic. Before she could wield it, she was thwarted by Ragnvald’s increasing power. An invisible force snuffed out the glow.
Westley could only summon drops of water, and those could barely do any damage—though he did manage to send them forcefully through two guards who were approaching Solveig’s back.
Why can’t we use our magic?
I’m not sure. It’s like it’s bound again. It feels like the Block, she answered with a grimace of pain.
Indeed, his own magic cried under his skin, screaming as it was shoved back inside. Westley thought he remembered how much it hurt to have his magic stripped from him, but he was wrong.
He fell to his knees in agony as his magic seared through his veins.
Fight it, Solveig said through gritted teeth.
She managed to send a blast through the Block at Ragnvald, who had not been prepared. When her magic found its target, a burst of shadow unfurled from the king. He did not flinch.
What the Hel?she exclaimed, looking over at Westley to see if he had seen what she had. The shock he felt was mirrored on her face.
They continued to fight through the Jotunheim soldiers that relentlessly poured into the throne room, surrounding them. Idavoll soldiers eventually joined, escalating the battle into a bloodbath the likes of which the throne room had never seen.
Both sides were relentless, showing no mercy as soldiers fell on both sides.
Bodies began to pile up while Westley struggled to reach his wounded sister. Ragnvald’s magic was affecting her too, slowing her healing.
We have to get out of here, he called to Solveig.
A tug came from where she was fighting, pulling him towards her. Her fiery dress was in tatters as she darted through the room, a dagger in one hand and her limited magic in the other. She threw a bolt of light at Maddock, which he narrowly avoided.
