“She ... She puts me on edge,” was all he could say. They’d been only a hand’s breadth apart when she leaned into his space. The warmthof her breath against his neck and the heat from her body threatened to overrun his system.
His own body had flared to life at the closeness, attempting to rid itself of her warmth with ice as cold as the frigid water flooding his veins. The absence of her touch was like a living flame, beckoning him forward. The charged air made the hair on his body stand on end.
She was a force that pulled him to her, and he wasn’t sure if the danger was in wanting to kill her or fuck her. He wanted both in equal measure.
He couldn’t tell Conalle the truth. His magic awakening was a secret he shared with no one. Especially not a gossip like Conalle. Westley couldn’t have him running to the general and blathering his secrets.
“Yes, I can see that,” Conalle said, voice serious. “Will it be too difficult for you to work side by side with her?”
“No.”Yes.Conalle seemed to sense the lie but didn’t call Westley out.
“There is something you should know about Solveig and Latham,” Conalle said. Westley’s teeth grit together. “There’s a long history there.”
“Lovers?”
“Yes,” he answered slowly. “But it’s more than that. They’ve known each other since they were witchlings. They were drawn together and became inseparable.” Some latent part of Westley stirred, unhappy with the knowledge. “They believed they were Hjarta but never made it official.”
“What’s Hjarta?” Westley asked, unable to place the vaguely familiar word.
Conalle released a long-suffering sigh. “Right. I forgot you never paid attention in your lessons.” He paused, gathering his thoughts as the wind picked up, the water rising on the rocky shoreline as the cloudsoverhead grew darker. The tide would come in from the ocean—they couldn’t linger here much longer.
“Vanir don’t have soul-bonded mates like we do. Instead, they have what is called a Hjarta—a twin flame, so to speak. Two souls who find each other in every life. They are similar to our mating bonds as the two souls join together but different in that they are not determined by the gods. The Hjarta were not born to be together but, instead, choose each other.”
Westley furrowed his brows. The Fae bonds were destined, hand chosen by the gods, to create a perfect pairing that united two souls on such a deep level that it could never be broken. One could not deny their soul bond—it was impossible. To choose your soul’s partner was pure arrogance. It must’ve shown on his face.
“They are a different species, West. Their souls are not like ours. Our bonds exist because Vanir have Hjarta and Elven have their Thiramin. Since we are a melding of two, we combine the soul joining of the Hjarta with the gods-chosen love mates of the Thiramin. Our mating bonds are stronger, more binding once it is accepted, homage to the choice the Hjarta make when they choose each other.”
Why was Westley never taught this? Most likely he had been taught, he probably hadn’t paid attention. As Fae, he could bond with any of the Trifold races, but he hadn’t understood the different bonds. He felt foolish for being as old as he was and not knowing something so vital.
“So Latham is Solveig’s Hjarta?” he asked carefully.
“Not quite. Much like our bonds, these pairings do not solidify until physical mating occurs. And as you know, the Block wiped out all kinds of magic, including the mating bonds, blocking both existing bonds and the ability to create new ones. Solveig and Latham did not have ... uh ... physical relations until after the Block was in place. Their Hjarta never formed.
“Latham wanted to, but Solveig kept putting it off. The queens had also advised against it, and Solveig was worried it would hinder her ability to lead.” He paused. “She’s fiercely protective of those she cares about, and in the end, she sacrificed herself and the good of her people by interfering with his capture. It cost her severely—only the gods know how she suffered. His betrayal cut her deeply, even though the bond wasn’t in place.”
So many questions came to mind.
“And why doyouknow this?” Westley asked.
“I was an advisor to the queens for centuries before I was promoted to Asgard’s liaison to Idavoll. This put me directly in Solveig’s life from the time she was a witchling.”
“Why did the queens advise against their mating?” he asked. If Conalle was surprised at the direction of his thoughts, the lord didn’t let on.
“Solveig never told me why. Only that they said it wasn’t the right time for her. You know that Queen Koa is a Seer—Solveig takes her word seriously, even without her magic. When they advise, she listens.”
“Wise. What deal did she strike with Arlanson?”
Westley listened with rapt attention, soaking up every detail. In this instance, Westley was grateful Conalle was such a gossip because he left no detail out as he regaled the story of Solveig before she was captured.
“He lost, of course. Solveig’s skill is unmatched. Except by Gerrie—Gerrie can whoop her ass,” he said with a smile. “She spars with Solveig anytime the general needs to be taken down a peg.”
“Does that happen a lot?”
Conalle paused before answering. “Not as often as you’d think, but often enough to make it entertaining.” Westley nodded, deep in thought as Conalle continued. “So Latham was ordered to stand down.He didn’t. He followed the group and attempted to assist in the raid. And, well, here we are.”
Westley was glad to have his opinion of Latham confirmed. He grimaced as he thought of the weak male who would break an oath to a partner, bonded or not. To act against one’s mate would bring eternal suffering. He didn’t want to ask the next question on his mind but did anyway.
“Did she ... is she ... How is she faring after her return?” he asked. Conalle’s expression turned grave.
