Westleydraggedhisfeeton the way back through the camp gates, his mind reeling from everything he’d just learned. With the sun rising, he didn’t have much time to process this new information.
It didn’t sit right with him. Everything he’d heard about this almighty general and everything he knew since meeting her, it wasn’t adding up. He’d seen Solveig’s strength and force—there was no way she could be half mortal.
But Latham had been one of her closest confidants. Why would she lie to him? None of this made sense. All he could do was go with the information he’d been given. The source was almost Solveig herself, so how could he refute it based only on a feeling? He couldn’t.
He had to remain impartial.
When news had reached Idavoll that the Southern Wilds Legion was facing disarray and Asgard called for aid, Idavoll answered. They had long suspected this specific war camp was in some way connected to theBlock. There had to be a traitor somewhere within their borders—the gods had shown them this.
His people had infiltrated every other Vanir, Fae, and Elven war camp, town, and city. While the Vanir focused on the mortals, the Fae sought within the Trifold for the breach, as the gods demanded.
For one hundred years they had flipped over every suspicious rock, sent spies to all corners of the continent, and nothing. Not one single piece of evidence that anything was amiss.
Which left only the elusive, powerful Southern Wilds Legion.
The queens of Asgard fought tooth and nail to keep this place a secret for centuries, and there had to be a reason, they had to be hiding something or someone here. He’d been just as impatient as his parents to find the Southern Wilds and their Vanir general.
Solveig was the most obvious choice, but could it be that simple? He hated that he’d volunteered to come here, knowing what he had to do. Westley fought all his instincts, but he couldn’t waste any more time—he couldn’t deny the divine inspiration sent to Idavoll.
His Fae companions had been working these past few weeks to spy on every Vanir citizen in this camp. Latham and Solveig integrating the Fae into their lives had been a stroke of good luck.
Nothing had been found, except for Solveig.
A bitter taste coated his tongue as he made his way to the tribunal. The crunch of gravel under his boot grated on his nerves, as did every call of a bird that flew overhead.
He missed the open sea air and the feel of a ship’s swaying deck. He’d been on land for far too long, and though his magic was painfully trapped, he wanted to feel the power the ocean gave him.
Ever since coming to the Southern Wilds, his very foundation was rocked, becoming unstable. He missed the feeling of surety in his mind and heart.
Conalle and Noren waited for him by the entrance. His steps slowed as he neared, if only to delay the inevitable by a few seconds. As he reached them, both regarded him with concern.
“It has to be her,” Westley said, voice hoarse. Noren nodded and met his gaze with a knowing look of his own. A wordless message passed between them, but Conalle didn’t see. He was busy shaking his head in disbelief.
“It can’t be. It just can’t be Solveig,” he whispered.
“I’ll admit it’s not certain, but it’s the only plausible lead we have.”
Conalle glared at him. Westley had never seen such anger on the gentle Fae’s face.
“I will not allow you to destroy Solveig’s life based on aplausiblelead. It has to be confirmed beyond a shadow of a doubt.” Westley opened his mouth to speak, but Conalle cut him off. “Not even the faintest shadow, West.” He was so stern that Westley felt oddly like a faeling being chastised by his father.
He put his hands up. “I agree, Conalle, I do. But we have to follow this thread.” Conalle still seemed skeptical, so Westley put a hand on his shoulder. “I promise I will do whatever it takes to get to the bottom of this.”
“Promise me you will find her innocent,” Conalle insisted. But Westley couldn’t promise that, and his silence was answer enough. Conalle shoved Westley’s hand off his shoulder and without another word, stomped into the tent. Westley let out a deep breath.
“You know you’ll need to write to the king and queen,” Noren said softly.
“Not yet.”
“West . . .”
“Conalle’s right. We don’t know anything for sure.”
“They’ll want to know about any lead, no matter how small.”
“Not yet.”
“But—”
