Chapter 70
Solveig was getting restless.
She paced the length of Hoenir’s house, following the path she’d made over the past few days.
It had been a week since she and Westley managed to escape the palace. They hadn’t managed to get very far. If it hadn’t been for Hoenir, they would’ve been caught, and who knows where they’d be now.
The Idavoll forest continued to prove impenetrable, flooded day and night with Jotunheim and Fae soldiers.
If Solveig was restless, Westley was downright unsettled. He jumped every time Hoenir entered the room or came too close for comfort. It had been mildly funny when they’d first arrived, but it was vexing Solveig’s nerves.
“Would you stop that?” she snapped after he flinched when Hoenir went to reach for the salt.
He glared back. “No, I don’t think I will.”
“Ah, young love,” Hoenir said, laughing. Westley turned his scowl onto the male while Solveig buried her fingers in her hair.
“We have to leave,” she said. She uttered this at least five times every day, and every day, their attempts were thwarted.
“I wouldn’t have thought you were so anxious to see your dear old dad,” Hoenir said with a sly smile.
Westley had stopped reacting to his cryptic little comments.
Hoenir couldn’t say anything more about her father than she could, and Westley had given up trying to ask about him—frustrated as it made him.
Solveig wished she could tell him, but she couldn’t even think the words, let alone say them out loud. She had tried, while lying together in bed, to send him the fuzzy images of her memories, a name, a place, anything to do with him, but she couldn’t.
Her blood vow blocked her from sharing it with anyone, even her mate.
“You’ll be in the clear to head out tonight,” Hoenir said nonchalantly, popping a grape into his mouth.
Both Solveig and Westley snapped their heads towards the overgrown male—the naked male. Despite their pleas upon arrival, Hoenir had not stopped walking around with his cock out.
“How do you know that?” Westley asked, narrowing his eyes.
Hoenir waited until he was finished chewing. “I have a feeling,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “Of course, you’re more than welcome to stay another night, have some fun.”
Westley bared his teeth in response to Hoenir’s wink at Solveig. What a fucking troublemaker.
“Alright, that’s enough.” Solveig placed a hand on Westley’s chest, trying to settle him. “We’ll get our things together. Please make yourself useful, Hoe, and pack us provisions.”
He swept his arm in a deep bow. “Absolutely, anything for you,” he said before meandering down the hall to his kitchen, apparently in no rush.
Westley frowned at the retreating ass. “All I wanted was to get one nice solid punch in before we left, is that so much to ask?”
Solveig tried not to laugh—he was so grumpy already—and failed. “That would be impolite considering he’s given us a safe place to hide for a week.”
“Safe?”
“Yes, Prince, safe. Nothing bad has happened to you this time.”
“Not yet,” he said under his breath.
“He promised he would leave you alone,” Solveig reassured him.
“And you trust him.” It was not a question, like he said it more to comfort his own mind.
Solveig answered anyway. “I do.”
“And we’re trusting that this feeling of his is not going to lead us right into a trap?”
“Yes, we are.”
Westley raked his hand through his hair, and Solveig placed her palms on the sides of his face, forcing him to look at her.
“We’re getting out of here today,” she said with a smile. He returned her grin and leaned his forehead against hers.
“Thank the gods,” he muttered.
“Just thank Hoenir and I’m sure they’ll get the message.”
“You know comments like that drive me insane,” he said, grabbing her around the middle and wrapping her in a bear hug. Solveig laughed as he squeezed her tightly.
“I know.”
True to his word, Hoenir had them out of his house that night after dusk.
With an ominous, “May Njord steer your ship,” he sent them off.
The sky was still lit by the dying sun, light blue hues of night deepening as the minutes passed. Helle flew like the wind itself through the forest, Njord right on her tail.
If Solveig thought Westley was grumpy, it was nothing compared to how agitated Helle was. When Solveig prepared her for their journey, the horse turned her nose up and refused to acknowledge her in any way.
She stood proudly while Solveig groomed and saddled her. No offers of reconciliation could entice her, not even those involving food.
Even as they raced through the forest, Solveig was not leading, despite her best efforts. Helle pulled against her reins, apparently knowing a better way to the Idavoll harbour.
Solveig had tried to steer her to follow Njord as Westley led the way. But Helle was having none of that. The horse had reared her head and stomped her feet and taken off in another direction. Westley and Njord had no choice but to follow.
They tore through the thick trees, Helle leading them deeper and deeper into the forest. The snow created a blanket that covered the earth, silencing the world around them.
Solveig’s skin crawled with discomfort, trapping her in a cave where the only sounds were the beat of her heart and her ragged breaths.
No animal calls nor even the whistling wind could penetrate the thick trees. A sense of foreboding washed over Solveig, and she swallowed the feeling of dread.
This would be her second trip to Hel. The first had been more than enough reason to never step foot in the realm again. The fates must be laughing at her from Valhalla.
She didn’t know how much Ragnvald knew of her, or if he knew that deep within the jaws of Hel, her father was trapped. And if he didn’t know that, he certainly didn’t know she had helped trap him there—for his own good and the good of their realms.
The chains had been created by the Dwarven, and only her blood could open them. She wished she could warn Westley, but the words were forbidden. Every time she tried to speak about her father, the blood vow syphoned a bit of her magic away. She couldn’t afford to lose a drop.
Westley broke into her dark thoughts. I smell the sea.
So Helle was right?
Yes, he said begrudgingly. I do not like that a horse knew a shortcut I did not. How the Hel does she know the way?
Beats me, Solveig answered with a shrug.
I cannot wait to be on the water, he thought blissfully.
Solveig hesitated to respond.
What’s wrong? he asked.
I wasn’t sure when to tell you this, but I guess you’ll find out soon anyway. Solveig sighed. I don’t do well on the water.
Why not?
I get seasick.
Westley didn’t answer. Instead she heard him laugh behind her and whipped her head around to glare at him.
I have the power to control the sea, my magic is strongest out on the ocean, and my mate gets seasick. A cruel joke from the gods, he said, wiping a tear from his eye.
I’m glad my suffering is funny to you.
Oh please, you laugh at my suffering all the time, he said, still chuckling.
Solveig couldn’t really argue with that, so she said nothing. She felt the phantom touch of nausea at the thought of the ship as the dark expanse of ocean came into view.
Dismounting when they reached the harbour, they hesitated. Based on the silence that followed their wake through the forest, they had not been pursued.
Solveig led Helle to the edge of the water as they assessed the ship—it was bigger than she thought it would be.
The long wooden length was outfitted with ten oars on each side, framed by circular shields, before the ship curved at the ends up into a reptilian head on one side and a coiled tail on the other.
A great mast towered over them, the striped panels faded from countless journeys across the sea.
It was a magnificent vessel, if not too large for the two of them.
Though, with Westley’s abilities, he could encourage the water to carry any boat, no matter the size.
Her heart fell for the same reason Helle had been so obstinate on the journey. They couldn’t bring Helle and Njord with them.
“We have to leave them behind,” Solveig said quietly, her voice cracking.
“I know,” Westley whispered, turning to Njord. He began unstrapping his saddle and reins—Solveig turned to do the same with Helle. The beast tossed her head in protest and tried to move around her towards the ship, but Solveig stepped in her path.
“You can’t come with me,” she said sternly.
Helle snorted, yanking her head back.
“Don’t huff at me. You don’t like ships any more than I do, and you know animals can’t go to Hel,” she said, rubbing Helle’s nose. “No matter how aptly named,” she added as an afterthought, smiling at her oldest friend.
“Ride to Asgard with Njord, as fast and as hard as you can. Ragnvald may be looking for you, so you have to fly, Helle,” she insisted, pressing her face to Helle’s nose. The horse stopped fighting her and leaned into Solveig’s embrace, showing her reluctant forgiveness.
The few times Solveig had parted from Helle were not by choice. And it always meant disaster was coming. Going to Hel with Westley now could very well be their ruination.
She was grateful Helle wasn’t able to come, grateful that she had an excuse so Helle couldn’t bully her way onto the ship. Animals did not survive in Hel, turning to ash the moment they set foot on the shoreline.
Solveig pulled away first and stroked Helle’s freed coat. She massaged the spots where the saddle had been, rubbing her muscles. West led Njord over to her and together they sent their horses north, to Asgard.
They watched them go in heavy silence, a stray tear leaking from Solveig’s eye. Westley wordlessly put his arm around her, and they didn’t turn away until they could no longer hear their hooves, dampened by the sounds of the forest.
“Ready?” Westley asked, turning towards the awaiting ship.
The centre mast soared high in the sky and the white sail blew with promise. Gentle waves kissed the shoreline, rocking the boat, and she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
This was not going to be fun.