It washed over her, dousing her. What was he doing that required so much power? Before she could stop herself, she reached out to him, her magic joining with his. She felt his surprise, his secret delight before he could hide it.
Are you okay?she asked tentatively.
I’m alright. We just boarded the ship to Midgard.
His magic must have reacted to being on the seas, and launching the ship would have used a great portion of that, especially without access to his full power.
Have a safe journey,she thought, beginning to shut the wall between them, but not before sending what energy she had to spare. When she was satisfied he’d have enough, her magic fought against the retreat, unwilling to separate from his.
More than that, her own wants and needs made it difficult to pull away.
Thank you.
She sat on her bed, sinking into the billowing silver covers. She relished the feel of the last tendril of his magic leaving her, a whisper of a caress so soft she didn’t know if she imagined it.
Westleyfoughthardtopull himself from her, the energy of her magic lingering in his bones. He’d been weak from expending his power to launch their ship through the sea, eager to put Asgard behind them.
But with her magic, he felt fresh and ready again should he need to use more power.
“Do you think Mother and Father will ever come around?” Easta whispered. The siblings had insisted on sharing a room on the ship. Westley didn’t fully trust the Asgardians yet—it would take a lot more time to let go of a centuries-old grudge.
“Anything is possible, I suppose,” Westley answered thoughtfully, his own change of heart still fresh.
“I don’t think they will.” North’s voice came from the dark.
Westley countered with, “I came around.”
“I never doubted you would,” North said simply.
“We always knew you would find your own mind,” Easta added.
He couldn’t decide if that was a compliment or not. “Thank you?”
“Well, I guess we were proven wrong.Youdidn’t change your mind, Solveig did,” Easta said. Even in the dark, Westley could hear the smile in her voice.
“True. We should thank her,” North agreed.
Westley rubbed a hand over his face. “You two are impossible.”
“But you love us.”
Westley barely dodged the pillow that came flying towards him. Even at six hundred years old, Easta was still a faeling at heart. She was right though, he did love them. He also loved his parents, despite their shortcomings.
He wasn’t sure where that left him.
By ship, the journey to Midgard usually took five days, but with Westley’s magic speeding them along, it had only taken three. Midgard’s continent was relatively close to the Trifold continent.
They reached the Midgard shore and were greeted by a human army, their weapons raised. At first, Westley assumed they were bows and arrows, but when they got closer he noted they were made of metal.
Perhaps this was a new form of gun? He mentally catalogued the features of the weapons, curious to see how they worked. He was not foolish enough to want to be the test subject.
The entire purpose of this diplomatic mission was to forge a better relationship with Midgard—to foster the bonds Idavoll already had and try to convince them of Ragnvald’s deception.
If the mortal villagers in Vanaheim had magic, who knew what kind of power the realm itself possessed thanks to the king of Hel.
Mortals surrounded them as they disembarked from their ship. At first glance, it could’ve been seen as a protective escort, but hatred and disgust marred their faces. Though the Fae went willingly, they were marched like prisoners into waiting carriages.
Westley settled in to wait for them to strap the horses to the coach, but as soon as the door closed, the carriage began to move. He tried to stretch his magic out to assess the oddity but could detect no power fuelling the vessel.
