Chapter 27
Mate.
That cord inside him pulled taut, searching for the other end of the tether to his soul.
Mate.
He thought the word again, his magic pulsing in response. His breathing went shallow, head spinning. He lost track of everything taking place in front of him as Solveig and the queens spoke with the mortals.
Mate.
Westley stood rooted to the spot, the word repeating in his mind. He’d been a fool. A blind fool. From his magic awakening to his inability to see harm befall her. Their connection. He’d thought their magic bound them together. But it all made sense.
They could speak mind to mind. He had felt her fatal wounds and she had felt his. How had he missed it?
Mate.
This time when he thought the word, he felt the tug of the bond, and Solveig’s eyes snapped to his, a question there. Did she feel it too? Did she understand what it meant? As a Vanir, she may not be aware of the depth a Fae bond gave to a pairing.
Solveig was his fated mate.
“That’s impossible,” Westley whispered. He hadn’t meant to say it out loud, but everyone’s attention snapped to him.
“Westley,” North said, placing a hand on his arm. “What did you say?”
“That’s impossible,” he said more clearly, avoiding Solveig’s stare.
“Dayana had the vision three years ago when she was but sixteen,” Nina told them proudly. “She is sure of it.”
Westley shook his head. “She’s mortal. A child.”
“I’m almost twenty,” Dayana responded, a flush creeping onto her pale cheeks. The indignant way she spoke made Westley cringe. “You are my mate, my prince,” she said with a bow of her head.
Even knowing it was false—she was not his mate—he couldn’t help the way his body recoiled at the notion of her claiming him.
“I am four hundred and eighty-one years old,” he said sternly, as he would scold a youngling.
“It is not unheard of,” Koa mused, “for a Fae to have a mortal mate.”
“But one so young?” Aelfsi added. “Tell us, Prince, you are unmated, correct?”
Westley couldn’t bear it, taking another step back. “She is not my mate,” he said firmly, then turned on his heel and walked away, unable to look Solveig in the eye, unable to speak with this revelation flooding his mind.
His sisters’ voices carried over the others, calling for him, but still he fled. Like the coward he was. He fled from her.
Solveig was his mate.
After a lifetime of hoping to find his mate, and then coming to accept that he had none, this felt wholly surreal. His stomach roiled as he drifted back to his rooms, emptying the contents in a well-placed potted plant along the way.
How cruel were the gods to bestow this fate on her?
The depths of pain he’d caused her could never be forgiven. Solveig reached out, but he closed himself off, wrapping their bond and burying it deep, protecting her from the pain of the revelation.
She was his mate, and yet, after what he’d done, how he’d betrayed her, he would never deserve her. His ignorance was no excuse. He should have known the second his eyes were drawn to her, Block or not.
Pain lanced his heart, the loss striking him harder than he could’ve ever imagined.
He could not allow their bond to be completed. He would not be selfish and tie her to him for eternity, though he would never belong to anyone else.
Before Solveig left the fringes of his mind, she sent a question. Through the bond. His stupidity struck him again.
Is it possible that it’s true?
The pain in her voice was barely concealed. And the longing. It twisted in Westley’s gut and though he yearned to comfort her, to tell her the truth, beg for her, he couldn’t. He would do this for her—bury it so she never had to know. So he sent one word back.
Yes, came Westley’s answer as he faded out of Solveig’s mind.
After the initial shock, Solveig batted the answer away. He had to be lying. But for what purpose?
How could a nineteen-year-old mortal be the mate of a centuries-old Fae warrior prince? It was impossible, impractical. It was the ramifications of letting a spoiled girl run away with her imagination.
But he said it could be true.
She thought back to their conversation when Westley had told her he hadn’t found his mate, that the gods had not made one for him. Was it possible that she simply hadn’t been born yet?
Solveig’s nose wrinkled at the thought. Even the gods weren’t that cruel.
Her attention returned to the mortal girl in front of her. Koa was still questioning her, but Solveig had a better idea.
“I can feel the magic of others,” she said calmly from where she leaned against Koa’s throne. Attention snapped to her.
“How is that possible?” the mortal president asked.
“I have access to my magic,” she explained. The mortals’ shock revealed their treachery. Or more accurately, Ragnvald’s. Solveig could scent it.
Given all John Davis had told her, the mortals’ deal with the King of Hel promised that the magic of the other races would never return, with their race the only one to wield it.
Treachery smelled a lot like fear.
“How?” Nina breathed. Solveig shrugged her shoulders.
She stalked towards the mortal girl, letting her anger and pain fuel her magic as it grew within her. This mortal girl had no claim on the prince. Solveig didn’t know what ruse this was—to breed magic into mortal bloodlines? To get close to the prince in order to kill him?
The most logical was to divide the Fae even further, stoke the flames of the discontent between Idavoll and Asgard.
Whatever the reason, Solveig would not let these mortals claim him, would not let this girl claim him. Something predatory growled in her soul.
“If you’ll allow me, I can reach my magic into you and search for your source,” she said to the girl.
“Absolutely not,” Hugo said, fuming.
“You do not trust our daughter?” Koa asked, the warning behind her words clear.
“Of course we do, Your Majesty, it’s just that . . .” Nina’s voice trailed off as she looked for an excuse, finding none.
“Just that what?” Solveig asked. “If you are indeed the prince’s mate—”
Dayana cut her off with an indignant, “I am. He is to be mine, witch.”
Solveig continued like the girl hadn’t spoken. “Let’s prove this miracle beyond the shadow of a doubt, don’t you agree, Princess North?” Solveig glanced over at Westley’s sister, hoping she’d have an ally.
North studied her for only a moment before stepping forward. “Yes, Idavoll agrees. We accept Princess Solveig’s test.”
A cough came from the other side of the hall. King Erik stood tall, Alvida at his side. “You do not speak for Idavoll, North. As king, I do not need to test this theory. We trust the integrity of Midgard. If they say their daughter is a Seer, we believe her. The gods do not lie,” he said boldly.
The king’s speech reeked of Ragnvald’s involvement.
“The gods may not lie, Father, but people do,” North insisted.
“We have been praying for a way to unite our realms,” Alvida said calmly. “This is an answer to those prayers.”
North shook her head. “Does it really seem fair to subject Westley to a short life with his mate? The girl may be young with many mortal years left, but perhaps only sixty at best. How could the gods make him suffer that way? And after waiting so long.”
“He will suffer for the fate of his people, as he was born to do.”
Solveig growled at King Erik’s pronouncement. She could not let this go on.
“You would force your son into a bond he does not choose?” Solveig asked bluntly. The king and queen of Idavoll reluctantly turned towards her.
“The gods have chosen for him. That is enough for us,” the king replied.
“You may be inclined to think that way, King Erik. However, this girl is claiming the gods have named Westley the heir of Asgard as well,” Koa reminded him calmly.
“Your point, Your Majesty?” Erik asked through gritted teeth.
“We do not accept this information blindly. We will test the legitimacy of these claims,” Aelfsi said, her voice commanding. Erik had no choice but to stand down on Asgardian soil.
Solveig watched the interaction between monarchs, waiting for her order from the queens. The second Koa made eye contact with her, she launched forward and gripped the mortal girl by the throat. Solveig’s magic purred in her veins, ready to dole out violence.
Protect, protect, protect. It urged her on as she squeezed, cutting off the mortal’s air supply. Dayana tried to fight back, but she was no match for Solveig.
Her magic wove into the girl, easily finding her soul. As she expected, it was blanketed in darkness. Magic was present, but it was not the girl’s.
Solveig reached further, testing out the feel of the shadows, a vague sense of familiarity tugging at her. With more prodding of the darkness, the blood drained from her face at what she found.
The shadows that held this girl’s soul hostage were the same that bound the realms’ magic.
She delved deeper, the magic rising to meet Solveig’s beckoning. Only vaguely aware of gasps and shrieks in the hall, her focus stayed on the mortal. The shadows were so intricately woven into her soul that if she banished them, the girl would not survive.
A dark part of her delighted at the thought.
“There is magic that is not her own,” Solveig said, closing her eyes, relishing in the darkness.
“What are you talking about?” The question came from Hugo.
She whispered to the darkness and its answering call had the girl’s eyes flying open.
Wisps of grey and black swirled in them, and all at once, the demure girl, the innocent rose, wilted before their very eyes.
In her place sat a creature.
A cruel laugh passed through its lips, sending shivers down Solveig’s spine.
“You think you can best me, daughter of mysticism, but I know your soul. You answer to the night, to the shadows, and someday soon, I will see the light fade from your eyes.”
The creature laughed until Solveig leashed the shadows and held tight.
“Dayana!” Her mother knelt beside them, unsure of where to put her hands.
“Your daughter is already gone,” Solveig said, voice barely above a whisper. “There is no bringing her back.” She met Nina’s watery stare. Such terrible grief morphed the woman’s face.
“Liar!” Hugo shouted.
Solveig gripped the shadows as they struggled to break free.
“Look at your daughter,” Koa said gently as Nina sobbed. “Her body is being used, likely has been for a while. You said when she was sixteen she started having visions?”
Neither parent answered.
“Think of your daughter,” Aelfsi said, though not as gently as Koa. More like a reprimand. Nina turned to Solveig with pleading in her devastating eyes.
Solveig forced her light into the girl, battling the darkness that held her soul captive. The girl sputtered as the shadows leaked from her nose and eyes, escaping the light that Solveig forced onto them.
Shadows crawled down the front of the girl as Solveig hummed a series of runes to banish the dark magic. Despite her disdain for the girl, she tried to salvage what she could, but her soul was empty without the magic.
Solveig’s knees weakened as she ripped the remaining shadows from the girl. North and Easta stepped forward to hold her up.
Dayana’s body slumped to the floor, her parents surrounding her.
“What have you done?” Hugo cried as he held his daughter.
“I saved her,” Solveig whispered, barely able to keep herself up.
“She’s not breathing!” Hugo sobbed, shaking Dayana’s lifeless body. Nina’s silent tears streamed onto her daughter’s vacant face, still set in that unforgiving sneer.
Sobs wracked Nina’s body.
“She was already gone. Now she can rest in peace,” Solveig replied. “I am very sorry for your loss. If I could have saved her, I would have. But the shadows consumed her soul, probably around the time she began having visions.”
“No, no, no, no. Who would do this?” Hugo asked, his eyes whipping around the hall, looking for someone other than himself to blame.
“Think about who you have trusted, who has given magic to your people. He has done this,” Solveig said faintly, giving voice to her suspicion that Ragnvald was behind this as well.
“No,” Nina breathed, her head shaking continuously. “No. Bring her back.” Her words were barely above a whisper. A mother sentenced to watch her child die, helpless.
“I would if I could,” Solveig repeated.
“You did this,” Hugo said, his voice cracking. But there was no conviction behind it.
“Your daughter’s life was forfeit long ago. She is at peace now.” Solveig tried to force as much confidence into her voice as she could, but she was tired.
Nina’s eyes flared in understanding. Though the loss would be felt for the remainder of her days, no mother would want her daughter to be used in this way.
Koa and Aelfsi made their way to Solveig and lifted her out of North’s and Easta’s arms.
“She must rest,” Koa said softly, taking her sister into her arms.
The last thing Solveig remembered was a soft pillow embracing her head as she fell into oblivion, barely noticing as a small tendril of darkness opened its eye in her soul.