“Solveig,” the woman beside Laeknir said. “I’m—”
“Astrid,” Solveig finished.
“Laeknir told you about me, he wanted you to understand—”
“That’s enough, Astrid,” Laeknir huffed.
“Don’t you interrupt me,” she scolded. Westley would have laughed at the big healer being admonished by his wife—for those were rings of twine wrapped around their fingers—but he couldn’t because Solveig was still barely breathing.
Astrid continued. “He hoped you would understand, when the time came, that he was broken.”
That was not what Westley had expected her to say. Solveig, too, seemed surprised at the direction of Astrid’s thoughts.
“Broken,” Solveig repeated slowly, unable to keep her eyes on Laeknir.
“Yes, Solveig, broken.” The woman’s gaze flicked between her and Westley. “And I think you may have a better understanding now.”
“Now?”
“Now that you have a mate,” Laeknir said carefully.
“Mate.”
Westley was beginning to worry at her one-word answers. The panic that lingered in his bones after her confession just moments ago intensified. Was she in the right state of mind to handle this confrontation? He didn’t know, but he would follow her lead.
“Would you like to come inside? We can talk where the wind won’t hear us,” Astrid offered.
“No,” Solveig said, though there was no malice.
“We cannot stay, we are searching for ...” Westley hesitated, not knowing how much to say, whether they could trust the healer and his wife.
Laeknir’s head bounced between the two of them, and Westley saw understanding flash in his eyes. He knew then.
“Solveig, you cannot be serious—he cannot be trusted,” Laeknir barked.
It was the wrong thing to say.
Though Solveig’s eyes blazed with anger, Westley was relieved to see some life return to her hollow face.
“Trust?” she asked with a laugh that held no humour.
“Aye, Sol, trust,” Laeknir insisted. “As I trusted you to do what you had to, I beg you to trust that I did as I had to as well.”
Solveig shook her head, taking a step back. Laeknir tried to follow, but it was Astrid who stopped him.
“You have to give her time, love,” she whispered gently. “She does not know.”
“Know what?” Westley asked.
“Please, come inside,” Astrid insisted. “We know of your journey, and you are going to want to talk to us before you continue.”
“We can help,” Laeknir added, speaking only to Solveig.
Solveig turned to Westley, a plea in her eyes. The feel of her, of the bond, sprang to life.
I cannot go in there, she said into his mind. She must’ve been working to loosen her magic again, though he could still barely feel his own.
We have no one else to help us, he tried.
