Chapter 46
Westley was anxious to get to Idavoll. Solveig’s end of the bond had been frustratingly quiet for the past few days.
After their last conversation, she’d shut him out so completely that he could barely feel her presence. He had tried to speak with her a few times, but her walls were impenetrable. She hadn’t even acknowledged his attempts.
He had so many questions that needed answers. Answers that would surely tear him apart, but the waiting was excruciating.
Had they married already? Or were they waiting? He couldn’t see a reason to wait and dreaded seeing her finger ringed with any band but his own. Those were dangerous thoughts to entertain.
But this was the choice she’d made. The choice he’d made. And he respected her enough to not question her.
An image of Steffen’s face flashed through his mind, and though he had always enjoyed the Elven prince, he had the urge to smash the second-born’s face in. This was the male who would marry his mate. Or was already married to her.
The rush of anger that ripped through him at the thought of them in bed together was enough to take him to his knees. His sisters were likely right, as they usually were. It would be near impossible to see her with another.
He cursed Steffen’s name to the gods and once again wondered if she was okay. He had no idea how she’d been injured, or even what injury she had. The fact that he hadn’t felt it meant it hadn’t been fatal. Still, once he found out what happened, he would rip apart the one who hurt her—
No, that was not his place.
Westley heaved in a deep breath of the crisp sea air, his magic a current under his skin. The ocean was his favourite place to be, to be at peace. Though he couldn’t quite get there amid all the turmoil over Solveig, he could let himself just be with his element.
Leaning over the side of the ship, he tried to see into the blue depths. The vastness of the seas had always amazed him. He thought he saw a flash of movement, scales glinting under the surface, but it was gone in an instant. Likely just a reflection from the sun.
North appeared beside him, leaning her back against the rail to face him.
“Latham would like to speak to you.”
“Arlanson can go fuck himself in the asshole right to Hel.”
“Colourful,” North commented, nonplussed at his reaction. She’d never been one for cursing. “I am sure that is where he is heading once Solveig gets her hands on him, but I do think we should see what he has to say first.”
“Why? We wouldn’t be able to trust anything that comes out of his mouth.”
“There is truth in all lies.”
“That sounded very queenly.”
North smacked his arm. “Shut up.”
“Are you ready?” he asked, turning to face her.
“I have been ready for quite some time,” she said, her voice resigned. “When Munin disappeared, I thought I could never lead without him. But now I know that because I lost him, I am stronger for it.”
“You think I will be stronger for letting Solveig go?”
“Not everything is about you, West,” she said with a laugh. “We are all stronger when we’re fortified in fire. When I am reunited with Munin, our bond will have been forged stronger than ever.”
“You believe he is still alive?”
North placed a hand over her heart. “I cannot feel our bond, I cannot feel him, but I have to believe. I have to trust that wherever he is, he is fighting to return to me.”
“And if you can never be with him again?”
North sighed. “I guess we are making everything about you, little brother.”
Westley chuckled. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not. We’re on our way to meet Solveig and her betrothed. Of course you can’t focus on anything else.”
“I am sorry, North. I thought I knew what you had lost, but now”—Westley mirrored his eldest sister, placing his hand over his heart, his bond so powerful even though it was incomplete—“I can almost understand the depths of your pain, because mine is only a fraction of what you lost.”
Westley reached out and pulled his sister into his arms, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
“It’s not fair to leave me out,” Easta said, coming up to them. North and Westley chuckled, reaching out to bring Easta in.
Westley breathed in the scent of his family, the sisters he could always count on to have his back. The wound that had never fully healed after Souther’s death pricked the backs of his eyes. The three of them would always have each other, but they would never be complete without their brother.
“Alright,” North said with a sigh, “enough of this love fest. We have to go and question Arlanson before we get to Idavoll.”
“Way to ruin the moment,” Easta muttered, squeezing them once more.
They made their way down to the brig, where Latham sat, his hands shackled in silver.
“Come to kill me, Fae?” he spat.
“No, Solveig deserves that honour,” Westley said, leaning against the opposite wall. Fear flashed in Latham’s eyes before the hatred returned.
“She won’t kill me,” he said more to himself than to anyone else.
“Maybe not,” Westley said with a shrug.
“Your chances of surviving will be much better if you talk,” Easta chimed in, though she would likely be perfectly happy if he stayed silent.
Genuine fear marred his dirty face. “You know nothing.”
“We can help you, Latham,” North said without an ounce of deception. She was a fair and kind ruler. But if he rejected her offer, Westley knew how ruthless his sister would be.
“You can’t,” Latham said, shaking his head, the fight leaving him. “No one can.”
“Solveig can,” Westley said kindly. It was a struggle, because he wanted to wring this witch’s neck for all the pain he’d caused his mate.
“She won’t.”
“You underestimate her powers of forgiveness.”
“And what would you know of her forgiveness?”
Westley tilted his head, taken aback by his question. Did he really not know, or was he just that good an actor?
“I was the one who captured her.” He doubted the words would ever get easier to say. The memory of the night he’d captured her rose to the surface for the thousandth time.
Latham couldn’t hide his shock. “What?”
Westley nodded. He could practically see the thoughts running through Latham’s mind as he tried and failed to fit these new pieces of the puzzle into place.
“When did she find that out?”
“As soon as I came to the Southern Wilds.”
Latham’s chuckle started low before gaining volume, the laughter wheezing out of him—unhinged and manic. Westley waited for it to die down until Latham wiped the tears that had escaped, smudging the dirt all over his face.
“She thinks she’s always one step ahead of everyone, but she has no idea what is to come.”
“Then let us help her.”
“Oh, you want to help her? Now that you want to fuck her—”
Westley’s boot slammed into Latham’s jaw with a satisfying crack.
“This is bigger than me and Solveig. And don’t you ever speak about her that way again.”
As he towered over Latham, who remained crumpled on the floor, Westley’s piercing green eyes pinned the pathetic witch with a glare so menacing that Latham wet himself. The stench of putrid urine stung his nostrils.
“Now, you are going to talk, or you will see first-hand the kind of horrors Solveig endured,” Westley whispered.
A soft whimper left Latham’s lips, and like the coward he was, he spilled his secrets.
When he finished, Westley vowed to whoever the Hel was listening that this witch’s life would end soon. And if there was a way to end his existence, even in the afterlife, he would find a way to do so.