“Would that be the worst thing?” she breathed, finally voicing her darkestthoughts.
She heard Westley’s hard swallow as he cleared his throat before speaking. He took her face in his hands so gently it broke her heart. His eyes held her pain, her suffering, her fear.
“If you want to die, I will walk with you hand in hand. We’ll go together, because I’ll be damned if you go without me.” He brought her face closer. “But do I think that would be the worst thing? Yes I do, because though the world does not deserve you or how much you’ve given of yourself,youdeserve to live.
“You deserve to find peace and joy and more heartache, because that’s what living is. The world needs your light, your power, and you are not done yet. Do you hear me? We are not done.”
Solveig closed her eyes as the tears fell, despair trapping her. Though she knew that this was Hel, that this was the effect it had on the living—she had felt it before—and she couldn’t see a way out.
“Besides, I’m sure I’ll stay in Hel, and the halls of Valhalla will welcome you with open arms.”
She disagreed. If anyone deserved to be in Hel, it was her. Valhalla did seem like such a peaceful place. But resting there without Westley? It would still be Hel.
“I would burn Valhalla down if they did not let you in,” she said, closing her eyes.
Westley laughed, rubbing the tears from her face with his thumbs. “I know you’re tired, but you have to remember what you’re fighting for. A better world, a chance to do better and be better. The people who love you do not deserve to mourn your death so soon.”
She thought of her mothers, the females she knew intimately and who the world thought they were. This would break them.
Gerrie and Conalle, it would break them too—they were her family, like siblings, and she would take a piece of them with her. She couldn’t take anything from them.
She looked at Westley and knew his soul, his beautifully imperfect soul. He deserved to live too, and she knew he wouldn’t if she died. Just as she wouldn’t survive without him.
“So we go left,” she breathed. Her power surged and Westley’s joined, the wave of magic reaching his eyes.
“We go left.” His voice was strong, and she used that to centre herself.
They turned left, Solveig’s magic swirling under her skin with each step. Westley took her hand, offering his strength any way he could.
The path wound upwards in a slow ascent. The air grew colder as they made their way.
Solveig had expected to see the black crystals getting larger and denser, the place where they kept her father. Instead, the crystal shapes thinned out until they came upon a small hut settled on the mossy edge of a tall cliff, overlooking the thick mists and fog of the ocean and world beyond.
Smoke billowed from the chimney, and as they approached the cottage, a blond woman opened the door, her smile the brightest spot they’d seen since entering Hel.
The woman froze when she noticed them.
Her mouth moved, but they couldn’t make out the sound. She looked at them with sadness and understanding, only breaking their stare when she turned back, her arm reaching inside the door.
A large hand gripped hers, and then he walked out of the house, first looking at the woman and then to Solveig and Westley.
She couldn’t breathe.
The tall, broad male stared as if measuring her reaction. He took half a step in front of the woman, but she wouldn’t have it, returning to his side. He reached a large arm to rub a hand over his bald head, his beard moving as he gave a soundless order to the woman.
She shook her head, and he glared down at her. The woman stood firm, and he visibly sighed in defeat. Solveig watched this as if removed from her body.
The pair came towards Solveig and Westley, who still hadn’t moved from their spot. The couple’s steps were hesitant as the dead approached the living, stopping a few feet away.
“Solveig,” the too-familiar, gruff voice addressed her. “It’s good to see you.”
Solveig blinked as if she could banish him like a nightmare. But there he stood—tall and shimmering like the dead did.
He was real.
“Laeknir,” she breathed, falling to her knees.
WestleykneltbesideSolveig,bringing her to her feet as the old healer took a half step towards them. A low growl rumbled from his chest and the male backed off, a curious expression on his face. He didn’t know Laeknir well enough to interpret it, but he wouldn’t take his chances allowing him anywhere near Solveig.
