Her heart fell for the same reason Helle had been so obstinate on the journey. They couldn’t bring Helle and Njord with them.
“We have to leave them behind,” Solveig said quietly, her voice cracking.
“I know,” Westley whispered, turning to Njord. He began unstrapping his saddle and reins—Solveig turned to do the same with Helle. The beast tossed her head in protest and tried to move around her towards the ship, but Solveig stepped in her path.
“You can’t come with me,” she said sternly.
Helle snorted, yanking her head back.
“Don’t huff at me. You don’t like ships any more than I do, and you know animals can’t go to Hel,” she said, rubbing Helle’s nose. “No matter how aptly named,” she added as an afterthought, smiling at her oldest friend.
“Ride to Asgard with Njord, as fast and as hard as you can. Ragnvald may be looking for you, so you have to fly, Helle,” she insisted, pressing her face to Helle’s nose. The horse stopped fighting her and leaned into Solveig’s embrace, showing her reluctant forgiveness.
The few times Solveig had parted from Helle were not by choice. And it always meant disaster was coming. Going to Hel with Westley now could very well be their ruination.
She was grateful Helle wasn’t able to come, grateful that she had an excuse so Helle couldn’t bully her way onto the ship. Animals did not survive in Hel, turning to ash the moment they set foot on the shoreline.
Solveig pulled away first and stroked Helle’s freed coat. She massaged the spots where the saddle had been, rubbing her muscles. West led Njord over to her and together they sent their horses north, to Asgard.
They watched them go in heavy silence, a stray tear leaking from Solveig’s eye. Westley wordlessly put his arm around her, and they didn’t turn away until they could no longer hear their hooves, dampened by the sounds of the forest.
“Ready?” Westley asked, turning towards the awaiting ship.
The centre mast soared high in the sky and the white sail blew with promise. Gentle waves kissed the shoreline, rocking the boat, and she swallowed the bile rising in her throat.
This was not going to be fun.
Solveighadn’tbeenlying.Westley rubbed her back as she emptied the contents of her stomach for the third time this hour over the side of their boat.
Her skin had paled to the point that Westley was unsure if she could lose any more colour until a slight green tinged her usually lively face. A deathly pallor had come over her once they’d set sail, and it had not subsided for days.
He’d been quite alarmed at how quickly the nausea had set in and despised being completely useless as his mate struggled through their journey.
She slumped to the ground, her head between her knees as Westley tried again to calm the seas. Even his power couldn’t combat the storms they’d faced, though not for lack of trying. The water was easier to settle for stretches of time at night, meaning he could rest and hold Solveig close.
Food was a different story.
He was starting to worry that she couldn’t keep anything down and fretted over every bite that went into her mouth, making her chew mintleaves to help calm her stomach. Thankfully she took them without argument.
During the day, he sat beside her, her head resting on his shoulder. The dark grain of the wood made intricate patterns that he traced with his eyes. His mind raced at the prospect of going to Hel. It wasn’t an unfamiliar thought for him. With the life he’d lived, it was only a matter of time before he ended up there.
He just never thought he’d be going voluntarily. Or while alive.
But there were a lot of things he never thought he’d do. Wind whipped across his face, forcing his attention away from the deck and up to the top sails.
The faded canvas billowed with the fresh gust. Westley only had a second’s notice to throw his magic out to the sea and pray the ship didn’t rock too much. He was constantly syphoning off the excess power, calming the waters as best he could for Solveig. As such, his magic was intertwined with the sea surrounding their ship.
He reached a hand to stroke her hair, sighing.
“What areyousighing about?” she asked irritably.
“This is not how I imagined our sailing adventures,” he said with a low laugh, trying to keep the strain out of his voice.
“How did you picture them?” She could barely get the words out.
“Well, for one thing, you were vomiting a lot less.”
Solveig made to elbow him, but she lost her resolve and dropped her arm.
