Chapter 34 Nerina #2
“I already have everything coin can buy. I'm more interested in what it cannot.” Then he turned fully toward me, his expression hard as cut ice. “You and I—we could build something greater. Something powerful.”
I let the silence stretch, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a quick reply. “You’d be protected.”
For one treacherous heartbeat, my mind tried to imagine what it would feel like to stop running. To stop guessing what every stranger wanted from me. The thought was a sedative—soft, tempting. And that was how I knew it was poison.
He continued. “You’d have more than the sea can give you. More than Alaric ever will.”
The name hit like a blade, but I didn’t flinch.
Alaric wasn’t safety the way walls were safety.
He was the kind you chose—over and over—despite the risk.
And the fact that Veyrion kept saying his name meant he’d already found the thread to pull.
Inside, the ache was deep and unrelenting.
I saw Alaric’s face when I left—like grief might swallow him whole.
Like I was the last tether keeping him from vanishing beneath it.
The memory of his touch, the rasp of his voice, the warmth of him in the dark—ignited in my chest, a spark hitting dry tinder.
I curled my fists in my lap until my nails dug crescents into my palms.
I would not give Veyrion that fire to use against me. "What do you want from me?"
He let the silence sit before adding, almost casually, “Bind yourself to me.”
The words struck absurd enough that for a heartbeat I thought I’d misheard him.
My stomach lurched, bile burning the back of my throat. “Marry you?”
The word tasted unreal.
Veyrion didn’t soften it. He didn’t have to. “This isn’t about romance,” he said.
And there it was—the truth beneath the velvet. Not partnership. Not alliance. A declaration that the safest way to control a storm was to name it, crown it, and keep it where only he could reach.
He didn’t look away. “Stop wasting your power hiding in other men’s shadows.”
I almost laughed. “And you think chaining me to you would fix that?”
“Not to restrain you,” he added. “To make sure no one else ever can.”
Men who promised freedom were always the first to tighten the leash.
My stomach twisted. “No. What you’d do is set me free until it suited you. I’ve seen what you do to those who serve you, Veyrion. You’d do the same to me, and call it mercy.”
His smile was slow, unbothered—storm-deep. “You don’t know me as well as you think.”
“And you don’t know me at all,” I snapped. “I would rather drown in the deepest trench than marry a man who uses fear to build his throne.”
Something in him had gone steady now. Certain.
“I’m offering you truth.”
For a heartbeat, something in his expression shifted—quick, unreadable—before the mask returned. Still, there was something beneath it, something he wasn’t telling me. The way his eyes lingered felt almost… searching. Like he was trying to match my face to a memory he couldn’t quite grasp.
“Do you know why Alaric was cursed?” Veyrion asked, tone almost casual—too casual.
I frowned. “He pissed off the Sea Goddess. That’s all I know.”
He chuckled, low and humorless. “Yeah… something like that.”
He leaned in, firelight carving his face into hard lines. “He crossed lines no captain should ever cross. The kind of crimes that wake gods.” His expression darkened. “And when he was done, he called it necessity.” The words slid into my ears and coiled there.
“Alaric,” he went on, quieter now, “is the reason the Veil exists—to keep sacred places hidden from monsters like him. The same crimes you’d hang me for? I learned them from him. He was my captain. My mentor. My brother.”
He let the toxin hang in the air, waiting for me to breathe it in. That was the point. Not truth—contagion. If he could plant even a sliver of doubt, it would do his work for him later. Doubt didn’t need proof. It only needed time.
I sat frozen, ice spilling through my veins. A slow, aching pressure bloomed in my chest. I wanted to laugh in his face, to cut his lies to ribbons. The image tried to stick—not because it felt true, but because it was meant to wound.
I knew Alaric had secrets. I’d felt them between us. But if this… if this was truth—
“You think I’d believe a word from your venom-soaked mouth?” I snapped, shoving my chair back a fraction. “And what about you, Veyrion? What about the innocents you’ve killed?”
Veyrion didn’t flinch. He didn’t even pretend to search for an excuse.
He didn’t look away for a long moment, then set his glass down with deliberate care. “Every one of them died for a reason.”
The firelight caught the edges of his smile—not smug, not defensive. Certain. “Sometimes that reason was justice. Sometimes it was strategy. And sometimes—” his voice dipped lower, confession without shame “—it was simply because leaving them alive would cost more than their deaths.”
My stomach tightened. “So you decide who lives and who dies.”
“Survival isn’t kind,” he said simply. “People like to call the dead innocent,” he added mildly. “I’ve never found the world that simple.”
The way he said it—steady, unflinching—made my skin crawl. He wasn’t trying to convince me he was good. He wasn’t even trying to convince me he was right. He was simply telling me who he was.
I wanted to spit something back, to tell him the sea wasn’t cruel by choice—But the images came anyway.
Crates cracked open like ribcages. Bodies of supernatural creatures crammed inside, limbs twisted, eyes clouded.
Marks of restraints on wrists and throats.
The air heavy with salt and something far fouler.
I’d wondered then what kind of monster could look at living magic and see only cargo.
Now I sat across from him.
The fire crackled low between us, shadows moving slow across the table. I hadn’t touched the food again.
“You helped me in Shadeau,” I said at last. “Why?” I shook my head. “I’ve seen what you do to creatures like me. Mermaids. Sirens. Commodities to you. Hunted for your entertainment.”
Something unreadable flickered behind his eyes.
“So why didn’t you kill me too?” I pressed. “Why drag me here instead—dress it up like hospitality?” My fingers curled against my thigh. “Why torture me like this?”
He laughed.
Not cruelly. Not easily. The sound caught halfway, surprised. “You think I hunt mermaids for pleasure?” he said, incredulous.
The room seemed to still.
“I knew the moment I saw you in Shadeau,” he went on, leaning back, his expression intent now. “Humans don’t glow when they’re frightened. Humans don’t wear light in their skin.”
My pulse quickened. My mark didn’t flare like power—it pulsed like panic. Like my body knew I was being cornered before my mind would admit it. I forced my shoulders down, my face still. If I looked hunted, he’d enjoy it.
“And humans,” he added, voice dropping, “aren’t affected by Silver Salt.”
The fire popped. Sparks spiraled upward.
“If I were half as monstrous as you've decided I am, your story would’ve ended in Shadeau.” he added softly.
“Then why?” I asked.
“The Eye of Nareth.” He shrugged, infuriatingly casual. “You were headed there. I was headed there. A coincidence.”
“Convenient,” I said flatly.
“Very.” He looked straight at me.
The words settled between us like iron.
“You can paint me as the villain if that’s what you need to do,” Veyrion said, leaning back, utterly unfazed.
He straightened, the glint in his eye hard and bright. “You’ll see—eventually.”
“What makes you think I’d ever say yes to you?” I asked, voice steady though my pulse raced.
He swirled the wine, watching me as though the answer were obvious.
“Because you’re clever. Because, like me, you were born of something wild and unruly.
I see you for what you are, Nerina. Not a pawn.
A queen. And a treasure.” His mouth curved faintly.
“Do you know what pirates do with treasure? They bury it. Hide it from the rest of the world. That is exactly what he will do.”
I met his eyes, jaw tight. “I’d rather be buried than wear your crown.”
His smile faltered—just slightly. “We’ll see.”
Veyrion leaned forward, forearms braced on the table, his voice lowering—not louder, not harsher. Certain. “Here is the truth, Nerina. I don’t make idle threats.” He didn’t look away. “If you refuse me, Alaric dies.”
The words landed softly. No flourish. No cruelty. Just fact. He didn’t raise his voice. Didn’t lean closer. He only watched me the way you watch a door you already have the key to.
“Not tonight,” he continued, almost kindly. “Not in a blaze of heroics. I’ll let him fight. Bleed. Hope. And when he finally breaks, I’ll end him.”
A beat.
“Immortality doesn’t mean indestructible. It just means you have to get creative.” His eyes glinted. “And I’m very creative.”
The world narrowed to a single point.
“If you accept,” Veyrion went on, leaning back again, calm restored, “He lives. The Black Marrow sails away intact."
He let the silence stretch, then added quietly: “This is mercy—offered only once.”
This wasn’t an offer. It was a blade pressed to Alaric's throat and mine both.
He rose, walking around the table, each step measured. “And when I’m done with him, I’ll turn you over to the Sentinels. Or maybe I’ll sell you in Shadeau—see what the highest bidder would pay for a mermaid who glows like starlight.”
“You can try to run,” he said softly. “I love a hunt.”
His fingers brushed the edge of the table beside me—slow. Deliberate.
“Know this, you could flee to the ends of the sea,” he continued, voice lowering. “You could cross into starlight itself.”
His eyes darkened. “But the wolf always finds the moon.”
He stopped beside me, leaning in close enough that his voice threaded against my ear. “You’re rare, Neri. Too rare to waste.”
“What I’m offering you, Nerina, is more than anyone else ever will—whether you recognize it now or not. You can live however you wish. You will not be confined to a ship, or the sea, or the land. It will all be ours.”
He held out his hand like salvation, but his eyes told a different truth—one written in ice and blood.
I didn’t take it.
“I need time,” I said, voice steady even as my thoughts churned like a storm tide.
How could I trust a word he said? And yet—how could I ignore it?
What if he was telling the truth—about Alaric, about the past, about the Veil? Every piece of my heart screamed in defiance, but doubt whispered louder than it ever had.
My hands curled in my lap.
I couldn’t tell if I was thinking—or already choosing.
I hated the thought of bowing to Veyrion’s will. But I hated the thought of Alaric’s blood on my hands even more. And Shadeau… gods, I wouldn’t survive another round in that pit.
I needed to be smart. Calculated. Play his game until I could rewrite the rules.
“Of course,” he said after a beat, lowering his hand. “But not too long, Neri. Time is a luxury you’re bleeding away.”
He crossed to a heavy chest near the hearth and drew out a fur coat—thick, well-crafted, smelling faintly of pine and smoke. He draped it over my shoulders with practiced care.
“You’ll need this. It’s cold in Ymirskald.”
I looked up, startled.
His smile curved like a blade. “I’m taking you to the elders.”
“They’ll know what you are,” he added, already deciding who would get to name it.
“I won’t lie to you. I may be harsh, to those who earn it—but not to you. You’re a woman of strength. I would never be cruel to you.”
I almost laughed. The wolf assuring the rabbit it would be a quick death. Cruelty didn’t always look like violence. Sometimes it looked like choices arranged so there was only one way out.
He returned to the table, refilled his glass, and gestured toward the door. “Allow me to escort you to your quarters. The least I can do.”
“Chivalry seems a strange accessory to your threats,” I muttered.
He chuckled. “Even wolves have manners.”
He opened the door, waiting for me to pass. I didn’t thank him. Didn’t speak. Just walked.
But the moment my boots touched the corridor floor, the mask cracked.
Panic flared hot in my chest. I hadn’t meant for it to come to this—hadn’t expected to end up caged on a ship bound for gods-know-where.
“If your room feels too empty… my door’s always open.” That wicked grin slid into place.
I scoffed, bitter as salt on an open wound. Once in my room, the door shut with a sound like a coffin lid closing. The lock clicked. I sat on the edge of the cot, the fur still clutched around me, staring at the dark grain of the wall as silence pressed in—thick, suffocating.
Even if I escaped tonight, I didn’t know where we were. No maps. No guide. Only endless water—and the knowledge that every choice I made now would cost me.
I could feel myself adapting. My fear was already turning into strategy, my rage into silence—because panic wouldn’t save Alaric. Panic wouldn’t save me.