“You heard Laeknir. She’s physically fine. It’s her soul that needs healing.”
Latham shook his head. “I don’t think this is a good idea.”
“Good thing no one’s asking you.” She brushed past him with Helle’s reins in one hand and her horse’s in the other.
Latham bridled and saddled Blesi and took off in the opposite direction. As he neared the entrance to the camp, he saw a familiar head ofblond hair up ahead. Guilt ate through his insides. Though he wanted to avoid her, he couldn’t when she caught sight of his approach and smiled at him.
Trella was beautiful with her long curly blond hair. Her slender limbs were strong, but he knew how soft she was. She gazed at him with sultry blue eyes, full lashes fluttering as she dragged her gaze down the length of his body.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, easing her horse beside him.
“Apparently I’m not allowed to apologize to Solveig,” he muttered. When she continued to follow him towards the gates, he said quickly, “You don’t have to come out on patrol with me.” She’d just spent the last few hours teaching witchlings to ride so he was hoping she was too tired to come with him.
“Nonsense. I want to ride with you,” she answered with a smile. He couldn’t very well ask her for space, that would go over about as well as trying to tell Gerrie what to do.
They trotted beside each other through the gates, turning left and continuing at a steady pace to patrol the outside walls.
“I know you feel guilty about what happened, but it’s not your fault she was taken,” she said when they were alone.
Latham sighed. They’d had this conversation before.
Trella had never been a fan of Solveig. He and Solveig were older than Trella, and according to Trella, Solveig had snubbed her attempts at friendship when they were young. Latham had no memory of the slight, but Trella assured him that it was Solveig, and not he, who had treated her poorly.
Although he didn’t remember any specific details of Trella from that time, Solveig had always been more reserved with those she didn’t know. It was hard for her to let people in, and she often came off as rude, buthe wouldn’t try to defend her to Trella—she would see it as siding with Solveig.
“And besides, if you really think about it, all of this could have been avoided if she had allowed you to go on the raid. It was selfish of her to hold you back,” she said passionately. Her face was set in distaste, and he could tell she truly believed what she was saying.
After Solveig was captured and the initial shock and despair had subsided, he’d been so angry with her. He’d had the same thoughts Trella just voiced. When he’d tried to speak with Gerrie about it, she was appalled and swung her spear at him, cracking two of his ribs.
He unconsciously rubbed the spot. He hadn’t let himself think that way since and had instead buried himself in guilt. But when Trella voiced it, it didn’t strike him as preposterous. Plus, Solveig was back. She had survived.
Anger stretched its sleeping limbs inside him.
How dare she ban him from the raids. All he had tried to do was help. He just wanted to protect her and instead, she’d forced his hand. And then she foolishly jumped in to save him, getting herself captured.
If she hadn’t been so bullheaded this never would’ve happened. He could’ve fought off those captors if he hadn’t been distracted when Solveig appeared.
The justifications swirled around in his head. For months all he’d allowed himself to think and feel was guilt and shame, and it was a relief to feel the weight of what happened leave his shoulders.
Trella beamed at him when he started nodding in agreement.
“See, it makes sense! It’s obviously terrible what happened to her, but she brought it on herself.” She reached out and grabbed his hand. “You’re a good male, Latham. You’ve carried this guilt for too long. She’s back and you’ve apologized. That’s all you can do.”
He squeezed her hand back. It wasn’t his fault Laeknir wouldn’t let him speak his feelings, or that Solveig wasn’t responding to him. He’d done what he could. Another sigh left him, but this time it was one of relief. He smiled at Trella and then with a wink, he took off in a gallop to race around the perimeter.
Trella regarded Latham ahead of her, urging her horse to catch up with him. She was glad he was finally listening to her about Solveig.
She wrinkled her nose. Even thinking her name made her skin heat. Perfect Solveig with her perfect life. It was about time she got what she deserved. No one was that pure, and Trella would bet anything she was holding some dark secret.
Trella had paid attention to her as they grew. She’d once admired Solveig so much that she’d cut her hair in the same fashion and taken all the same training classes. While Solveig was a gifted fighter, Trella had to work twice as hard to be half as good.
When Solveig swung a sword, she was graceful and effortless. When Trella picked up the same sword, she could barely use it for more than a handful of minutes. And when she’d seen Solveig exit Latham’s tent all those years ago, she’d cried.
Because as much as she wanted to be Solveig, she had wanted Latham to be hers even more. Now that she had him, all he could think about was Solveig. Just when things were settling down, he had to go and rescue her.
This past week had been torture. It wasSolveig thisandSolveig that. Nothing Trella did distracted him from not being able to visit the witch. She had even come to bed naked every night and had been as unselfisha lover as possible, taking nothing for herself but giving him her mouth, her hands, her body, trying to ease his tension.
He enjoyed himself—he was only a male, after all, and they were easily distracted—but as soon as he finished, he went right back to stressing over Solveig.
