Westley heaved in a deep breath of the crisp sea air, his magic a current under his skin. The ocean was his favourite place to be, to be at peace. Though he couldn’t quite get there amid all the turmoil over Solveig, he could let himself just be with his element.
Leaning over the side of the ship, he tried to see into the blue depths. The vastness of the seas had always amazed him. He thought he saw a flash of movement, scales glinting under the surface, but it was gone in an instant. Likely just a reflection from the sun.
North appeared beside him, leaning her back against the rail to face him.
“Latham would like to speak to you.”
“Arlanson can go fuck himself in the asshole right to Hel.”
“Colourful,” North commented, nonplussed at his reaction. She’d never been one for cursing. “I am sure that is where he is heading once Solveig gets her hands on him, but I do think we should see what he has to say first.”
“Why? We wouldn’t be able to trust anything that comes out of his mouth.”
“There is truth in all lies.”
“That sounded very queenly.”
North smacked his arm. “Shut up.”
“Are you ready?” he asked, turning to face her.
“I have been ready for quite some time,” she said, her voice resigned. “When Munin disappeared, I thought I could never lead without him. But now I know that because I lost him, I am stronger for it.”
“You think I will be stronger for letting Solveig go?”
“Not everything is about you, West,” she said with a laugh. “We are all stronger when we’re fortified in fire. When I am reunited with Munin, our bond will have been forged stronger than ever.”
“You believe he is still alive?”
North placed a hand over her heart. “I cannot feel our bond, I cannot feel him, but I have to believe. I have to trust that wherever he is, he is fighting to return to me.”
“And if you can never be with him again?”
North sighed. “I guess wearemaking everything about you, little brother.”
Westley chuckled. “Sorry.”
“No you’re not. We’re on our way to meet Solveig and her betrothed. Of course you can’t focus on anything else.”
“I am sorry, North. I thought I knew what you had lost, but now”—Westley mirrored his eldest sister, placing his hand over his heart, his bond so powerful even though it was incomplete—“I can almost understand the depths of your pain, because mine is only a fraction of what you lost.”
Westley reached out and pulled his sister into his arms, wrapping her in a tight embrace.
“It’s not fair to leave me out,” Easta said, coming up to them. North and Westley chuckled, reaching out to bring Easta in.
Westley breathed in the scent of his family, the sisters he could always count on to have his back. The wound that had never fully healed after Souther’s death pricked the backs of his eyes. The three of them wouldalways have each other, but they would never be complete without their brother.
“Alright,” North said with a sigh, “enough of this love fest. We have to go and question Arlanson before we get to Idavoll.”
“Way to ruin the moment,” Easta muttered, squeezing them once more.
They made their way down to the brig, where Latham sat, his hands shackled in silver.
“Come to kill me, Fae?” he spat.
“No, Solveig deserves that honour,” Westley said, leaning against the opposite wall. Fear flashed in Latham’s eyes before the hatred returned.
“She won’t kill me,” he said more to himself than to anyone else.
