Westley knelt beside her, supporting her as she limped out. When the comfort of his arms wrapped around her, she melted into his embrace.
“I told you it would work,” she whispered, voice hoarse.
“You’re an ass,” he said, laughing with relief, holding her closer.
When the adrenaline died down, Westley dressed Solveig’s wound. His fingertips on her skin sent charges of electricity through her body. She wished he didn’t have to stop.
They got their bearings, and after another argument or two, Solveig and Westley followed the path of the vision—the one she’d been right about. The air grew still, too still, as they approached obsidian doors that hadn’t been opened since her last visit.
“This isn’t what I was expecting,” Westley said, taking in the entrance to her father’s prison.
“If you weren’t expecting a prison in the middle of Hel to have dark, ominous doors, what did you think we were looking for?”
“Smartass. I guess I wasn’t expecting the entrance to be so obvious.”
Westley reached to place his hand on the stone, but Solveig stopped him. Only she could open the doors. She stepped forward and placed her palm on the door, her wound still bleeding freely, unable to heal itself from the obsidian.
Blood flowed down her hand and into the stone—payment for entry.
The doors hissed open, leading them into a dark tunnel and sealing them in with an inauspicious thud. She exchanged a wary look with Westley as they made their way deeper into the pits of Hel.
Down they went, reminding Solveig of a nightmare she’d had. A never-ending cave of darkness.
But when the path opened into her father’s prison, the cave was brighter than she remembered. A lot of things were different from what she remembered. A column of light descended from above, illuminating an empty crystal podium in the centre of the room.
What is this here for?Westley asked.
Solveig had no answer. She was drawn to it, as though it called to her. Her hand moved of its own accord, stretching towards the light, but before she could reach it, Westley gripped her wrist, pulling her back.
She still couldn’t take her eyes off it.
What are you doing? It could be a trap!
There is strange magic here. I recognize it.
Before Westley could stop her again, she touched the cold black crystal. The light above it shimmered and a mirage appeared, stunning them.
Is that ...Westley’s thoughts trailed off as he took in the weapon.
I think so, but it can’t be ...
Mjolnir. Westley whispered the name of Thor’s hammer in her mind with such reverence. She felt his confusion and wished she could speak.But if the hammer isreal—
She shook her head.This one is not real.
I know, but if it exists that means—Westley looked at her with wariness.The gods are real? Are they alive? Like I was raised to believe?He took a step away, but Solveig didn’t let him get far. She took his face between her hands.
Some of the gods are dead and some are—The magical gag prevented her from speaking the next words. She had to rephrase.Powerless. They cannot control anything as they once did before Ragnarök.
That wasn’t in the books.
The words are not allowed to be written.
Solveig—
Trust me, West, please.
I do, but I don’t understand.
