And with that ominous message, they turned and made their way back to the palace to prepare for the first step in the next battle.
A ball.
Invitationswentouttoall the key players, including Ragnvald.
Westley made sure that North and Easta received a separate invitation from the one addressed to his parents. Attached was a letter from him, explaining the latest developments in as much detail as he could give in a cryptic letter.
Solveig had hovered while he wrote to ensure he didn’t relay any traitorous messages. He may or may not have taken longer than necessary, keeping her body pressed close to his back while she peered over his shoulder, enjoying her huge sighs of impatience.
The palace brimmed with daily activity as preparations for the ball accelerated. It was to be a grand affair, a celebration of Solveig’s return and an honour to the fallen Vanir legion and clan. Invited were all the leaders and monarchs from each realm, including the president and his wife from Midgard.
The realms typically called a truce for an event such as this, but these were unprecedented times. Anything could go wrong.
There was nothing typical about this ball. The world was on the brink of war. If Ragnvald was aware of Asgard’s preparations, he hadn’t yet retaliated. In fact, he’d been eerily quiet.
It came as no surprise that the Vanir royals wrote to say they would not attend—Vanaheim had been attacked, torn in two. They had good reason to sit this one out. Solveig didn’t yet know if crossing the chasm was possible.
Westley’s parents had accepted their invitation, as had Alfheim, Svartalfheim, and Jotunheim.
In lieu of a formal refusal, Muspelheim had sent back a pile of ash. The fire demons would not be attending, and the dark Elven who ruled over Niflheim sent their regrets.
No answer came from Helheim, which made Westley nervous, and though she didn’t let on, he could tell Solveig was wary as well. His grandfather would probably make a grand entrance after everyone had already arrived.
Westley had barely seen Solveig over the past three weeks. The queens had reinstated her position as general of their armies and as such, she attended countless meetings and strategy sessions with her commanders.
He’d been invited to a few of those discussions as a representative, their hope that Idavoll would come around. If Alfheim could be convinced to emerge from their apathetic state, the Trifold might have a chance of reforming.
His stomach turned at the role they asked him to play. To spy on Idavoll until North ascended the throne.
When Solveig wasn’t in the council rooms, she was speaking in low whispers with her young Seer or training with Gerrie and the queens.
The first time he’d seen Gerrie and Solveig spar, his jaw practically hit the floor. Conalle let out a low whistle beside him, and even Noren hadn’t had anything to say as they watched the pair.
Gerrie whirled her spear around like it was an extension of her arm, anticipating each of Solveig’s advances. Westley wondered if that’s how he and Solveig looked when they sparred.
With their mind connection, even if their walls were up, it was difficult to surprise the other in combat—not that she’d deigned to spar with him as of late.
But with Gerrie, it was as though she could see what Solveig was about to do before she even decided to do it. Did they also have a mind connection? Or perhaps Gerrie had some Seer abilities. If the former were true, he didn’t want to admit how much it bothered him.
“Is she showing off again?” Latham came to stand at Westley’s side, apple in hand. He inwardly cringed at the witch’s presence.
“Showing off?” he asked without taking his eyes off Solveig.
Latham snorted. “Neither of them needs to train. They’re both flawless, especially Gerrie.” He spat her name like it tasted rotten in his mouth.
“You know that’s precisely why they’re training. If Gerrie is the only one who puts up a good fight against Solveig, then it’s good practice for her.” Conalle threw Latham a knowing look and the witch bristled.
Westley’s pride flared. “I put up a good fight against her,” he muttered.
Noren laughed. “She handed you your ass in front of the whole camp a couple months ago.”
Before Westley knew what he was doing, he strode forward to the edge of the training mats.
Gerrie used the split second that Solveig was distracted by his sudden appearance to swing her spear, swiping Solveig’s legs out from underneath her. The general landed on her back with a hard thud. Her irritation was solely directed at him as Gerrie helped her to her feet.
Solveig stalked over, tossing him a sword. He caught it just before it hit the ground.
“You want to fight me?” he asked. The last time they’d clashed blades hadn’t exactly been friendly.
