When North had challenged his beliefs, Westley hadn’t wanted to hear it. And his sisters had long since stopped badgering him about it. He’d been relieved, but now he wished he had listened.
His friend shook his head. Westley knew this was a difficult topic for him. As Easta’s personal guard, he had a soft spot for her and her family. And Westley knew that Noren valued her opinion heavily, even though he didn’t agree.
“Everything Easta told me over the years went on a shelf, disregarded. The ideas I disagreed with went on that shelf until too many piled up. And in the cave, it broke with what we did to her. What I let Booth do to her. What I thought was right no longer aligned with how I felt. The scales of truth tilted, leaving me with too many unanswered questions.”
“So what’s your plan then?”
“Get to the truth, in any way I can. Before, that meant capturing and torturing Vanir, but where did that get us? My grandfather was behind all of it the whole time and we had no idea. He was using us.”
Noren stared, jaw clenched. Westley could tell he didn’t understand, but hopefully he’d come around once they got to Asgard.
Conalle still hadn’t spoken to him since Solveig left, lost in his thoughts as he listened to their conversation.
The Fae lord had taken his boots off and was soaking his feet in the waterfall’s pool. Westley sat down beside him and chucked a few rocks in the water, waiting for him to speak.
“Even after what you did for her, it may not be enough. I don’t know if she’ll be able to forgive you,” Conalle began.
“I know,” Westley said. “Can you forgive me?”
Conalle’s eyes drooped. “Yes, but that doesn’t mean I trust you.”
“I understand that more than you know. I’ll earn it back.”
“I hope you can.” They turned at the sound of Solveig’s approach. “For all our sakes.”
Conalle laid a hand on Westley’s shoulder and left to speak with Solveig.
Westley watched them embrace, and his heart clenched when she glanced over the lord’s shoulder. He couldn’t decipher the look she gave him. Instead, a light flickered on the fringes of his mind.
Her light.
It was silent as they ate their lunch, the sounds of water rushing over rocks filling the space as they all sat with their own thoughts. Noren stared hard at his food with his brow furrowed as if it contained all the answers he sought. Conalle’s head was tilted to the sky, a contemplative look on his face.
Solveig and Westley kept stealing glances at each other. When their meal was winding down, Conalle finally broke the silence, turning to Westley.
“So, you have access to your magic,” he stated.
“Sort of,” Westley answered, though it was not a question.
“What does that mean?”
“It’s like the Block has lost some of its strength,” Solveig explained. “The force of our magic is too strong for it to be kept completely at bay.”
Conalle’s brows knitted together. “How? Why?”
“I’m not sure,” Solveig said, looking at the prince. He stared intently but offered no solution.
“It doesn’t make any sense,” Noren muttered.
“And it started the day you were captured?” Conalle wondered aloud.
Solveig and Westley nodded.
“West first felt his when you touched. Is that when you felt yours, Solveig?”
Solveig thought for a minute before she answered. “If I’m being honest—”
“That would be a nice change,” Noren muttered.
