It was Ragnvald who followed in Loki’s footsteps, cloaking the realms in shadow and schemes. Even with the god of mischief long since dead, he was still infecting the realms.
Westley would no longer let that happen.
Themorningaftertheirarrival in Alfheim, Solveig woke with renewed purpose.
Sten had settled in and seemed more comfortable than he had in weeks—since the last time he’d used his magic. It was strange, given how much his power had grown, that nothing had come to him as of late. He’d been quiet on the journey, but that wasn’t unusual. It was his shiftiness that had made Solveig wary.
But she couldn’t think of that now, nor could she wallow in her situation. It was time to act. She hurried through getting ready, not allowing the lady’s maid she’d been assigned to help her dress.
The female had laid out a flowing silver and green-trimmed gown with bell sleeves and a trailing hemline. Though she was grateful for the offer, a dress wouldn’t suit her needs.
Instead, she dressed in training leathers and made her way to the breakfast hall. Steeling herself before entering the lively room, she straightened her shoulders and let the light of the sun drown out the darkness that had crowded her mind since parting with the prince.
“My dear, what ever are you wearing?” Queen Eir exclaimed when Solveig entered.
“I will be selecting my husband based on their skill as a fighter, starting today. With your permission, I’d like to dispatch messengers to inform your people of my announcement.”
The queen looked like she’d swallowed a sour plum, her pale skin reddening with the blush of indignation. Queen Eir did not approve of violence. However, she was also raised to reign with decorum, and Solveig counted on the fact that she did not like disappointing anyone, especially her guests.
“Mother, we are at war, whether you acknowledge it or not.” Bo, her youngest, laid a hand on her arm, drawing her attention to him. “Our people may not like violence, but nor can we stand by and watch our brothers and sisters fall. Asgard calls for aid, we must respond.”
Queen Eir closed her eyes. “I cannot justify the slaughter of my people, Bo,” she said heavily.
“They will encounter a worse fate if we do nothing,” Henny insisted.
Turmoil clouded the queen’s eyes as she appraised her sons. It was not the first time a realm of the Trifold had begged Alfheim for help. But the queen had declined. Even when Vanaheim was overrun with mortals, she would not send her people to help. The Elven withdrew themselves from the war, from trade, and if it had been possible, Solveig was sure the queen would have removed their entire realm from Yggdrasil.
Queen Eir sighed. “It is not that simple. Even if we wanted to help, how could we?”
The longer the Block remained in place, the harsher conditions in each of the realms became. Much like Idavoll’s endless winters and Asgard’s unforgiving summers, Alfheim too, struggled, but not with their weather.
Alfheim had cut itself off from the other realms. The Block worked in a reactionary way. Because of Alfheim’s early retreat from the war, when the Block hit, none but the royal family could leave.
Though they could escort people into Alfheim, their borders were cursed. Anyone who tried to cross without a royal family member would perish.
Despite pulling away, the queen hadn’t intended for the situation to be permanent. After the war ended, she’d tried to resume trade with the Trifold, unaware of the Block’s effect. They’d lost many.
Ever since, the Queen of Alfheim had been desperately trying to facilitate a marriage alliance with any other realm, in hopes that it would break the curse on their lands.
Eir turned to Solveig and, in an instant, morphed into someone else. She was not the Queen of Alfheim. She was a female who knew tragedy and fear. A mother who wanted what was best for her sons.
Solveig softened.
“This is the only way for you?” Eir asked, sounding defeated.
“It is,” Solveig said, making sure the queen could see the kindness and sincerity behind her words. It was the only way.
“I will agree. With one stipulation.” She drew her airs up around her, becoming the queen once more. “If any of my people die, I will declare us apathetic to Asgard’s plight, the curse on our borders be damned.”
Solveig sighed in relief. She hadn’t planned on any challenges to the death.
“Of course, Your Majesty, you have my word,” Solveig agreed, and the tension in the room eased. To their credit, Eir’s sons had remained calm throughout the exchange, lending reason and confidence to Solveig’s plan. For that, she was grateful.
“Very well. You have my permission to send notice to my people. Though I must warn you, I do not think many will attend.”
The crowd roared. Solveig slammed an Elven to the ground, who struggled before tapping the stage in surrender. Solveig released his neck immediately, raising a hand to help the Elven to his feet.
This was the third day of the contest and Solveig had yet to break a sweat. The Elven used to be a fearsome folk. Though gentle, they were strong. Years of apathy and quiet living had made them soft. Solveig’s disappointment swelled with each encounter—they could hardly be called a fight—though she counted on the warriors’ turns later in the afternoon.
