“Conalle, let’s go!” Solveig called.
Conalle emerged from his hiding spot behind the throne. The Fae lord was used to battles with words, not swords. Gerrie came back into the room and gripped the lord’s arm, covering him as they made their way over to Solveig.
She stabbed a Jotunheim soldier in the leg before slashing at his throat as he attacked. Blood sprayed across her shredded gown.
“Solveig!” Sten’s loud voice called over the crowd, his eyes wide with terror.
He bolted towards them, grabbing an arrow in his young hand on the way, stabbing Maddock in the back.
Maddock, who had been aiming an arrow at Gerrie.
Solveig shook with the effort of keeping the door open. Maddock flung around, grabbing the arrow from his back and ripping it out with a roar of pain. Sten stumbled back, eyes going completely white.
“Sten!” Solveig cried, trying to throw a burst of light towards Maddock, but she couldn’t—she was drained and Blocked.
Maddock’s face contorted into a cruel mask of violence as he gripped Sten by the arms, forcing him to his knees and picking up his fallen sword.
The young Seer’s head was severed within seconds, his eyes never leaving Solveig’s until his head rolled onto the floor.
“No!” Solveig cried, resisting the urge to go to him. Her comfort would be useless.
Instead, she fixed her gaze on Maddock, her magic swelling as the grief of losing Sten filled her.
Bodies littered the floor, bodies of soldiers who had signed up to serve their rulers. But Sten was an innocent, and his body did not deserve to lie on such a battlefield.
The unjustness, the brutality of it snapped Solveig’s restraints. She burst with unmatched power, overcoming whatever hold Ragnvald’s magic had on her. Ragnvald, who still stood over Steffen’s lifeless body.
Solveig, Westley said, but she paid him no mind—Maddock had opened his eyes to his final morning.
Westley fought anyone who entered his path on his way to her. He was by her side in seconds.
He’s mine, she snarled, not taking her eyes off Maddock.
Allow me to help get him for you, General, Westley said with a viciousness that fed her own.
If you wish to help, be a distraction.
You want to use me as cannon fodder?
She didn’t answer as she slipped into the shadows of the hall. The battle was dying out with most of the remaining Idavoll soldiers escaping.
Viggo and Noren returned, fighting alongside Westley as he drew Maddock’s attention away from Solveig with a surge of power, creating a wall of water, blocking them from view.
The throne room was dark and bloodied, the shadows of Ragnvald’s magic curling in the air—unintentionally creating the perfect cover for Solveig to move undetected. Jotunheim’s forces were slowly gaining ground as brave Idavoll soldiers fought and fell, protecting the last line.
Solveig kept her steps light as her magic grew within her, vengeance fuelling her. The scent of her own blood told her of her wounds, but she couldn’t feel them.
Her eyes remained locked on Maddock.
Maddock, who had betrayed her people, who had forced her capture in the mortal village, who had killed Sten—a young witch with no fault but befriending her. She wanted to savour it, like she had wanted to savour his brother’s death.
She couldn’t then and she couldn’t now, but at least she would get blood on her hands this time.
Gods damn the monster this war had turned her into.
The darkness inside her swelled, her magic absorbing it as she let the light illuminate her position behind Maddock.
He turned, freezing mid-strike. Solveig scented the fear rolling off his traitorous body. She smiled as his eyes widened. Her light danced around her arms, snaking up and down like the tendrils of a storm.
