Unbeknownst to him, the meeting that he was having trouble sitting still through was one of high importance.
So he sat there with what he thought was a straight face—his father later told him he’d looked like he was relieving himself—and willed small droplets to rain down from the ceiling. He tried to aim for his brother so their guests wouldn’t be offended, but magic was unpredictable before maturation.
Instead of a few little drops, as he’d intended, a huge bubble of liquid formed on the ceiling. His eyes widened as it moved directly over the King of Helheim. No one else noticed, and before he could try to stop it, the bubble of water popped and drenched the king.
Everyone froze in shock and his mother, always the diplomat, said in a truly convincing voice, “Oh dear, a pipe burst!”
Since they had recently employed mortals to help design one of their plumbing systems, it was a fairly believable lie. The king grumbled to his guards and they all left to change.
Westley had been about to make a break for it when his father caught him by the collar of his shirt. He made Westley sit in that room and practice making small droplets rain over his head until he got the hang of it.
He lost track of how many times he made a huge blob of water splash over himself, but after an hour, he finally managed some little droplets.He had the longest pee of his life after that—the stream went on for an eternity.
At their family dinner table that evening, they’d been discussing the events of the day. When they got to the water incident, his mother—the queen, no less—let out a huge snort of laughter. She recounted the look on the King of Helheim’s face as he was doused with water, saying it took everything in her not to laugh. The whole family joined in the merriment.
It was such a happy memory from his younger years. Westley was grateful to Noren for insisting he tell it again.
He missed those carefree days when all he had to worry about was sitting through boring meetings and not getting caught doing stupid things during his lessons. It was nice to take a break from the seriousness of their situation for a few hours over dinner, but now they sobered up, planning their next moves.
The war had gone on so long and still, a century later, Idavoll had not recovered. Stuck in a permanent state of winter, the lands were barren. Even with the wealth being distributed, there was barely enough to go around.
His sisters fought with their parents to start rationing early, but they didn’t listen. Now, if they didn’t get their magic back and fix the curse of the lands, they were facing the end of their kind.
Idavoll and her people were in dire circumstances. They couldn’t afford any more loss.
“What if we petition Asgard to send a legion of dignitaries to each continent asking for allies against the mortals?” Noren was saying, bringing Westley back to the present. The weight of his current circumstance settled on his shoulders once again.
“The last time we tried that, the ship went down and no one survived. We can’t risk sending more people,” he replied heavily.
“Our people are already suffering, West. We have to do something.”
“My parents plan to step down soon. North is set to take their place—she’ll be much more proactive and open to suggestions than they’ve been.”
“That’s something then. When does that happen?”
Westley grimaced. “I don’t know if a date has been set. North and Easta have been trying to persuade them to do it within the year, but they’re headstrong. They’re waiting for a sign from the gods.”
“Superstitious old crones,” Conalle muttered. “They’ll doom us all.” Though Conalle was an Asgardian Fae, Westley appreciated the camaraderie—despite his blatant disregard for Idavoll beliefs. He knew Conalle cared for Idavoll as much as he supported Asgard.
“North has been gathering support. You know she already has more power than they think. It’ll happen soon, but a coup would also be bad for the people. It has to be the right time.”
“Do you know what kind of sign they are waiting for?”
Westley hesitated before answering. “Yes. They’re waiting for the Vanir traitor to be found.”
“Then we have it!” Noren exclaimed excitedly. “We can give them Tordottir’s name!”
“No,” Westley and Conalle said at the same time.
“It would no longer affect the Southern Wilds, so what are we waiting for?”
“How do you think Asgard would feel if we accused the queens’ daughter of treason against the Trifold? Without hard evidence, we cannot give her name,” Westley said firmly.
Noren stared at him for a long time. “Don’t think I haven’t seenthe way you look at her, West,” he said quietly. “She’s clouding your judgement.”
“My judgement is fine, thank you.”
“No, it’s not, you don’t want to turn her in. She is not your responsibility, but your people are.”
