I’m sorry your meeting didn’t go well.
Doesn’t look like there’s any hope of getting the mortals on our side.A vision of the president’s face filled her mind.
They are in far too deep.
If I can escape it, so can they.
Her breathing hitched at his words. The dark, cold bite of Westley’s surroundings felt strange as the warm fall air blew across her face, carrying away the bitter taste of iron and replacing it with the sweet scent of ripe fruit.
Have you? Escaped it?she asked tentatively. They’d hadn’t spoken of what he’d read in Asgard.
I’m getting there.
Solveig smiled and pulled herself back from Westley’s mind, her head spinning. A soft wave of his magic came into her, helping calm her body.
Don’t do that again, he censured. She sent him her middle finger and his chuckles curled around her heart.
“You okay, Sol?” Gerrie asked, feeling her forehead.
Solveig waved her off. “I’m fine. Just used a little too much power.”
“It didn’t look like Njal was putting up a hard enough fight to drain you,” Conalle said hesitantly.
“The Idavoll heirs were in a bind. I had to help them.”
“Are they okay?”
“For now.”
They helped Solveig to her feet and guided her back to the palace. Once she was settled in bed, she ordered them to leave her alone, sinking back into her covers. Her stomach roiled as she picked at the tray of food Conalle had left.
Tomorrow was the last day, and there were only two fights scheduled—the princes. Though she’d assumed it might end this way, it didn’t bode well for the war if the soldiers she’d seen were Alfheim’s best. Maybe the married ones or those who preferred males and hadn’t been interested in marrying her would be better.
She had trained and fought with the Elven princes before, so she knew she was going to need her energy.
Where Vali was strong and demanding, Steffen was calculating, less obvious about his skill. She’d have to watch out for him.
She had dinner in her rooms that evening, still trying to recover from the amount of energy she had drained for the prince, despite the power he’d sent back. Even the Drink wasn’t able to fully replenish her, given that it lacked its usual magical properties. It recouped her physical strength but not her magic.
Only her emotions could do that.
This was a problem, because she was trying very hard to not feel any of her emotions.
She had no choice—the more drained she was, the more her walls weakened. She sank back into her bed in a final attempt to avoid the tumultuous feelings rising to the surface.
Light filtered in through the narrow, arched windows, giving her a view of the darkening sky.
Solveig swallowed the lump in her throat, trying to quell the rising panic as she scrambled off the bed. Her feet touched the warm, smooth floor, dark, even planes of wood covering the area. She raised her arms above her head and walked the length of the room, proving to herself that the phantom shackles that gripped her wrists and ankles were just that—a figment of her imagination.
It was no use. Her emotions were too great. She let her feelings break the dam as the clouds rolled in, blocking the sun. Soft raindrops tapped against her window, and with each splash, her heart beat faster.
Her confusing feelings for the prince.
Her hurt at Laeknir’s betrayal.
Her anger at Latham.
Her frustration at herself.
