Chapter 41 Nerina
Nerina
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
It has been days since I bandaged Veyrion’s wounds. I haven’t seen much of him since.
I found myself wondering where he vanished to—whether he sought out whatever had torn him open before I’d stitched him back together.
The morning sun spilled down the corridor as I walked toward the sunroom, hoping for a moment of clarity in its golden quiet.
I’d dressed with more thought than usual—pulling the deep blue dress I’d chosen during that long day of wandering with Eira.
Maybe it would bring me luck. Maybe if I looked like someone with power, I’d start to believe it.
The color marked me as someone of standing here, Eira had said. A nod to old houses, old power.
I draped a mantle over my shoulder, silver clasps at the shoulders shaped like twin wolves, and a fur trim. I braided my hair back to keep it out of my face, not out of vanity but discipline. If I couldn’t master my magic yet, I could at least control my presence.
I’d grown fond of the sunroom—the wide windows, the cold glass warmed by light, the way the world looked softer through its panes.
But halfway there, I slowed.
Voices drifted to the hall from the council room—low, clipped, urgent.
I recognized Eira’s voice first, then Veyrion’s. And then others—deeper, unfamiliar.
Curiosity snagged me mid-step. I crept closer, heart quickening. The doors were open just a crack, enough for sound to pour through.
"—the Frostmere border won’t hold if they breach the ridge again," a gravel-voiced said.
"We don’t have the numbers for another skirmish, let alone a siege," Eira replied, her voice laced with barely veiled frustration.
Another man chimed in, smoother but tense. “Then we conscript. Every able-bodied fighter in Ymirskald takes up arms. Including the exiled houses.”
Veyrion’s voice cut through them all, low and commanding. "We’ll do no such thing until we’ve confirmed who broke the truce. If we move too soon, we risk fracturing what’s left of the Promise."
The Promise of the North—Ymirskald’s old pact: no hunting the supernatural. Break it, and North responds with blood. Eira had said it over stew like it was law—poaching meant death here.
Veyrion’s voice from days before drifted into my mind. Out beyond the Frostmere Pass. There was a raid—a breach in one of the old sanctums.
If I was going to take my life back, I needed to know what the hell I’d stepped into.
My spine stiffened. This wasn’t a simple political meeting. They were preparing for something.
I lingered too long outside that door.
Footsteps shifted inside, chairs scraped the stone floor, and voices began to soften—no longer calculating but muted with dismissal. The meeting was ending.
Panic surged in my chest.
I turned quickly and walked, fast but not frantic, forcing my shoulders back and my pace even, giving the impression I had simply been passing through. My fingers tightened around the fur mantle draped around me.
I had just rounded the corner when I heard his voice.
"Neri."
Veyrion.
I slowed, heart pounding like I’d been caught in something more than eavesdropping. I turned slowly, schooling my expression into something neutral, composed.
He stood at the end of the hall, flanked by the fading shadows of his council, their murmured goodbyes fading into the silence.
He stepped toward me, the weight of his presence unmistakable even across the space between us.
His eyes swept over me, pausing at the shoulders of my dress, the silver wolf clasps, the deep blue fabric that shimmered faintly in the light.
"That dress," he said, voice low and almost—almost—smiling, "is too lovely to be confined to stone halls."
I raised a brow, unsure whether to be flattered or guarded.
I glanced down at the gown, smoothing the fabric with my palms before slipping my hands into the hidden seams. “It has pockets,” I said, too delighted for my own good.
His mouth twitched, a ghost of a smirk. “And this excites you?”
“You wouldn’t understand.” I shot back.
Then he added, "Come to town with me. I need to speak with the smiths.”
The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. For a man who so often lived behind iron and command, it felt like an invitation.
“You’ve been caged in these halls,” he said, quieter. “Let the town see you. Let you see it.”
I opened my mouth to argue—out of instinct, out of habit. But before I could speak, he added, quietly:
"Please."
Just that. One word.
And somehow, it disarmed me more than all his authority ever had.
Outside the great doors of Skeldrhall, a chariot waited.
A sled—carved from dark wood, etched with runes I couldn’t read but felt buzzing faintly in the air around them. It was built for command, for resilience, gleaming with brutal elegance.
Two massive wolves were hitched at the front, their silver-and-black coats thick against the cold, muscle shifting beneath leather harnesses. Wolves bred for war, big enough to pull a lord’s sled and mean enough to bite through bone if commanded.
Their pale eyes caught the light as I drew near, luminous as glaciers swallowing the sea. One loosed a sound that was neither growl nor howl, but something in between—a note that skated along my bones. Warning and welcome both.
I slowed instinctively, the mantle tightening in my grip. Every instinct screamed caution, yet something deeper thrummed with recognition—the way the ocean sometimes whispered to me in languages I wasn’t meant to understand.
“Don’t flinch,” a Veyrion said behind me. His boots crunched against the frost as he stepped past, the wolves lowering their massive heads in deference. “They’ll smell your fear.”
He reached out, resting a scarred hand against the nearest beast’s thick neck. It pressed into him. His attention shifted to me, dark with something I couldn’t quite read.
He stepped closer. His hand caught mine—rough, warm. Before I could pull back, he guided it forward until my palm brushed the wolf’s face. Its breath steamed against my skin, hot and damp, carrying the scent of wild fur and frost. Pale eyes watched me with unnerving clarity.
Veyrion’s voice dropped low, steady. “Verja.”
He spoke it like a command, yet reverence threaded the sound.
The wolf’s eyes slid closed. A rumble shivered through its chest as it leaned into my touch, pressing its massive head against my hand with a weight that nearly unbalanced me.
The elders had whispered the same word to him as we left their chamber.
When his hand finally withdrew, leaving mine on the wolf’s fur, a hollow ache rushed in where his warmth had been. His focus lingered, dark and knowing. I hated the way part of me wanted to lean into it—was so curious about him.
He helped me into the sled, his hand at the small of my back—firm, steady, lingering a fraction too long.
Heat prickled through layers of fur and leather, uninvited, chased quickly by shame. I hated that my body noticed him at all. Hated that I could mistake his touch for something gentle when I knew better.
This was the same man who had followed me out of Shadeau—not coincidence, not chance, but part of some larger design I hadn’t yet untangled.
For all I knew, he had already followed through on his threats. And here I was, shivering at the brush of his hand like some na?ve girl.
I couldn’t afford that weakness. Couldn’t let his contradictions blur into anything resembling trust. Veyrion was dangerous precisely because I didn’t know what his next move would be—and until I did, I had to be careful.
I forced the thought away as I sank into the carved seat, the fur-lined interior warmer than expected—a nest of luxury buried in iron and wood.
He climbed in beside me, close enough that I felt the weight of him, smelled the faint bite of pine and smoke clinging to his furs. With a single nod to the lead wolf, the world lurched forward.
The sled jolted and the ground dropped away. My stomach pitched as the wolves surged into motion, the landscape blurring into white and shadow. The force hit me all at once—wild, untamed, terrifying.
And—exhilarating.
The wind tore at my braids, whipped my mantle back like wings, stung my cheeks until they burned. Cold, clean air rushed over me, sharp as the first plunge into deep water. Trees streaked past in green and white, hills rising and falling like waves, and something inside me broke loose.
A laugh spilled out—startled, bright—bubbling up from a place I’d thought had withered.
The sound shocked me as much as it seemed to shock him. Veyrion’s head turned, brows lifting, eyes narrowing as though I’d spoken a spell he couldn’t decipher.
Then he leaned forward, his voice cutting through the wind. “Mikinn!” (MEE-kinn.)
The wolves lunged faster, harder. The sled banked so violently we nearly tipped. I shrieked, clung to the edge—then laughed harder, breathless and wild.
Again he called, “Mikinn!” and the beasts obeyed, the sled cutting hard across a hill, snow spraying in glittering arcs. The sky tilted, the ground raced beneath us, and I was flying—laughing until tears stung my eyes, my throat raw with sound.
The wind howled. The world spun in pale flashes. I didn’t care. Every jolt sent another burst of laughter tearing free, until the storm in my chest finally broke open—not fury, not grief, but something sweeter.
Joy. Pure, unshackled joy. It had been so long since I’d felt this—something wild and unbound, something that wasn’t fury or fear or grief.
The wolves slowed to a steady lope, snow whispering beneath the runners. My laughter faded, leaving only its echo ringing in my chest—strange and fragile, like a secret I wasn’t sure I should have shared.
Ironfjord, Ymirskald
This village wasn’t the same as the place Eira had taken me shopping. Here, the town felt more human. Warmer. Lived-in. Less ceremonial, more functional—though no less proud.