Chapter 47 - Nerina
Nerina
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
By twilight, Skeldrhall swelled with people, its halls glowing with firelight and laughter.
Every pine tree stood crowned in ornaments of bone, bronze, and ribbon, gifts piled beneath their branches.
Children darted between the decorated boughs, their squeals carrying above the hum of flutes and drums.
The second night of Yule was brighter, louder, and livelier than the first.
Tonight’s dress was deep red, lined in snow-white fur, warm against my skin.
Eira had insisted on it, her eyes glinting with mischief as she fastened the cloak at my shoulders.
Red for fire, white for the purity of vows, she’d said—though I suspected she simply enjoyed dressing me like some queen in disguise.
If only my mother could see me now, wrapped in red. What would she say? She hated the color in any shade, claiming it sullied the purity of the sea.
I nearly stumbled when my eyes found Veyrion across the hall.
He wore crimson trimmed in white fur, the cut stark and commanding, every line regal. It matched mine almost exactly—close enough to be deliberate.
Eira. This had her hand in it. I could almost hear her laugh. The thought vanished as the children saw him.
A shriek of delight tore through the hall, and suddenly they were rushing him, arms outstretched, faces alight.
They climbed onto him without hesitation—tugging at his sleeves, wrapping themselves around his legs.
Veyrion laughed, deep and unguarded, the sound rumbling through the air as he swept two children up with ease, spinning them until their laughter filled the rafters.
“Easy now,” he teased, setting them down again. “Everyone will get a gift.”
The hall roared with laughter—warriors clapping tankards against tables, mothers smiling behind their hands.
When the chaos settled, Veyrion strode to the high-backed chair at the head of the room—the throne of Skeldrhall, carved from blackened oak and crowned with the antlers of a great stag.
He sank into it, children still clambering around his knees, eyes wide with anticipation, as though he might conjure treasures from the air itself.
The image rooted me where I stood.
The red cloak. The fur trim. The thunderous laugh. Children gathered at his feet, rapt and adoring. He was the heart of the celebration—the fire everyone leaned toward. Not the feared warlord I’d imagined, but something older. More complicated. A figure both terrible and beloved.
My gaze lingered a moment too long.
Eira caught it, her lips curling knowingly. She’d planned this. Of course. I know she had.
The feast was a riot of sound and scent.
Platters of roasted game and spiced breads steamed on the long tables, fat and honey dripping into the fire-lit air.
Tankards clinked, laughter rattled the rafters, and music rose—flutes and drums pounding in wild rhythm, like the heartbeat of the mountains themselves.
When the food had been served and the first mead horns drained, the oath-boar was brought forth.
A great beast, its hide brushed sleek, tusks wound with evergreen and gold ribbon.
It was led into the hall to the pounding of drums, pale frost curling from its nostrils in the cold air.
Warriors pressed forward, laying hands on its back, swearing vows aloud.
Some promised vengeance. Others loyalty.
Some glory. Some devotion. I watched, chest tight, as one man swore to defend his family until his final breath, another to win renown in the coming year.
Their voices rang through the hall, swallowed by fire and music.
Eira leaned close, her voice barely carrying above the roar. “When your time comes, speak carefully. Words sworn on the boar are not taken lightly.”
My fingers tightened in my lap. I had no oath prepared—no vow I dared bind with fire.
The hall quieted again as the boar was led forward once more, tusks gleaming. Drums thudded low and steady as it was guided before each remaining soul. One by one, they laid their hands upon its hide and spoke.
When it was my turn I hesitated. I wasn't sure what to say.
Then Veyrion found me. “You too, Neri,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the hall. Not a command—but it left no room for refusal.
Heat rushed to my face as every eye turned my way. Eira grinned and gave me a gentle shove. “Go on.”
My feet moved before I could think, the weight of my red cloak trailing behind me. The boar huffed, dark eyes reflecting firelight. I pressed my palm to its bristled hide—warm, alive, solid.
The hall fell silent.
What vow could I make? What truth could I bare to strangers?
My thoughts tangled—Alaric’s face, Maliea’s laughter, the endless question of who I was.
I thought of everything I'd learned recently, and I said the only thing that felt right.
When the words came, they rose from somewhere deeper than fear.
“I swear,” I said, my voice unsteady but clear, “that I will not let the dark swallow me. That I will find the truth of who I am, no matter what stands in my way. And when I do—” I paused, steadying myself.
“—I will protect those who cannot protect themselves, as fiercely as I wish someone had protected me.”
The vow burned on my tongue.
Heat flared across my skin. My crescent mark blazed to life on my forehead—silver-violet and searing—casting pale light across the hall. Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers breaking quick and awed. The fire roared, sparks leaping high into the rafters.
I stumbled back, hand flying to my brow, but the glow pulsed on—alive, binding. I felt it in my bones, in my blood, as though something ancient had heard and accepted my words.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then the hall erupted—cheers, shouts, tankards slamming against tables. Some called my name. Others murmured in reverent tones I didn’t understand.
Eira’s eyes shone, pride and something deeper etched across her face. But it was Veyrion I felt most keenly. He leaned forward studying me. He said nothing—yet the weight of his gaze twisted my stomach.
I wondered if I’d spoken that vow as much to him as I had to myself.
The glow faded, but the heat lingered beneath my skin—an ember with every heartbeat. The hall surged back into celebration, as though the gods themselves demanded it. Drums thundered. Horns sloshed. Laughter rose, fierce and defiant. When the oaths were done, the Yule games were called.
Strength first—warriors grappling on thick pelts before the hearth, muscles straining until bodies crashed to the floor. Cheers shook the rafters, wagers traded in coins and pinecones, children mimicking the bouts nearby.
Then the bowmen. Pinecones painted red swung above the fire, arrows whistling through smoke. Each strike earned applause; each miss, jeers drowned in laughter. A copper-haired girl no older than fifteen struck every target and was crowned with one of our lopsided wreaths, her grin bright as flame.
Eira pressed a full horn into my hand. “Now the riddles.”
A circle formed. Riddles flew—storms and seas, beasts and blades. Wrong answers earned gulps of mead or humiliating dares.
I lingered at the edge, hoping to escape notice.
“Her.” Veyrion’s voice cut through the crowd. Seated on the stag-throned chair, crimson cloak spilling like blood and snow, children still clinging to his knees, he grinned—that infuriating wolfish smirk.
The circle cheered.
Eira shoved me forward, laughing. “Don't be shy!”
The riddle came:
I am a map with no roads,
A choir with no sound,
A lantern to sailors that never burns out.
My pulse hammered. Then certainty settled, clear as starlight. “The stars.”
The hall exploded—cheers, stomps, laughter. Eira whooped, crushing me in a hug. Someone shoved another drink into my hand.
I laughed, wild with it, caught in the tide of it.
I swore I saw a flicker in the crowd.
Dark hair. Stubborn jaw. Eyes like storm-lit seas.
The world narrowed to that single glimpse. My chest tightened—but the crowd surged, hands catching at me, lifting me up as voices crashed together in a chant I couldn’t make out, only feel.
The games bled into celebration until the call went up for gifting.
Children raced to the trees, tearing into bundles. Gifts were exchanged—proof of kinship and belonging.
Eira dragged me forward. “Come.”
I swallowed, clutching my small bundle. Wrapped in plain cloth, tied with twine—a single shell from Thalassia, pearlescent as trapped starlight.
The last piece of home I had left. I knelt by the largest pin in the hall and placed it beneath the branches.
It seemed insignificant in comparison to the rest.
I made my way back to the table at the edge of the room where I'd been standing.
I took in the sight unfolding before me.
Children tore open bundles of carved toys, shrieking with delight.
Warriors lifted blades or tools high, testing their weight with approving grins.
Women laughed as they traded furs and jewelry, slipping them on immediately.
Everywhere, there was warmth. Laughter. Gratitude.
A warmth bloomed in my chest, soft and steady, until it spread through every corner of me.
For a fleeting moment, nothing else mattered. Not Alaric. Not Thalassia. Here, wrapped in firelight and song, I felt something I had never known before.
“Enjoying yourself?”
Veyrion stood beside me, red cloak falling from his shoulders, firelight gilding his hair.
“I am,” I admitted.
He pulled a neatly wrapped bundle from behind his back and placed it in my lap. “For you.”
I stared at it, frozen. My fingers twitched but didn’t move. Why would he give me something? Suspicion tangled with unease, with the strange warmth still curling low in my chest.
When I hesitated, Veyrion leaned closer, his voice a low rumble only I could hear. “Open it.”
My hands moved before I could think, tugging at the knot, fumbling as the cloth fell away.
Heat flooded my face, part shame, part something else entirely. Inside lay a small axe and shield—exquisitely crafted, unmistakable. The day we went to the blacksmith, this was the small bundle he picked up.
My chest tightened. The gift was thoughtful, weighty… far more than I deserved or expected from him. And I had nothing to give in return.
“I… I didn’t—” The words stuck in my throat. “I don’t have anything for you.”
My eyes darted to the small bundle I had placed beneath the tree. My seashell. The last piece of Thalassia I had carried with me. It felt pitiful now, fragile beside the steel in my hands.
With trembling hands, I retrieved it. A piece of my past. A piece of me. I pressed it into his palm. “It’s all I have.” I whispered.
Veyrion took it without hesitation, his fingers brushing mine. He didn’t tear the cloth away but unwrapped it carefully, as though he already knew it was fragile.
He stilled, the grin slipped. He stared at the shell, surprise breaking across his face—real, unguarded. Then his fingers closed around it with a gentleness that seemed out of character.
“This,” he said quietly, “is more than enough.”
The music grew wilder. Eira tugged me into the chaos with a wicked grin. “Come on!”
I laughed helplessly as she spun me, both of us clumsy with drink. We stumbled and whirled, bumping into warriors twice our size, who only laughed and danced with us back into the fray. My cheeks ached from smiling, my ribs from laughter.
“So,” Eira shouted over the music, gripping my hand as we swayed. “Who did you give your gift to?”
My face burned hotter than the mead. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh, it matters,” she crowed, spinning me until the room tilted.
I shook my head, clutching her for balance as the floor swam.
Eira blinked, eyes widening as they darted to the weapons at our table, “Gods, Nerina, the axe and shield look like they were made for you.”
A pang cut through me—maybe they had been. But I bit it back. “It was just a gift,” I said quickly.
Her grin turned sly, hair plastered to her flushed face. “Then who did you give yours to?”
Before I could answer, a shadow fell across us.
“Me,” Veyrion said smoothly.
The music seemed to stumble with my heartbeat. He stood at the edge of the dancers, his red cloak gleaming, firelight carving his features into something both fierce and impossible to look away from. That infuriating grin curled as he extended a hand toward me.
“May I?”
Eira let out a bark of laughter and all but shoved me forward. “Take her before she breaks both our necks. Clumsy little thing.”
I nearly tripped straight into him, heat rushing to my face. His hand caught mine with steady, startling gentleness.
Before I could argue, he was leading me into the rhythm of the music—smooth, deliberate, his hand firm at my waist, his presence a steady anchor in the storm.
Too steady. Too sure. The realization sent a flicker of unease through me—not fear, but the sense of stepping into something already shaped, already decided. I let myself follow anyway, even as my instincts whispered caution.
The music shifted then—drums easing into a slower pulse, flutes softening into something steady and low. The crowd followed, chaos dissolving into rhythm.
Veyrion reeled me in, hand firm at my back, chaos giving way to control. His steps smoothed, assured, guiding mine until I was no longer stumbling—just moving.
“I warned you,” I said quietly, focusing anywhere but his face. “I don’t dance.”
A softer smile this time. “You’re dancing now,” he murmured. “And laughing. Dare I say, you’re having fun?”
The air tightened around us. My pulse stuttered, heat prickling at the back of my neck. Stars, it had to be the mead and the dancing making my head spin. “Fun is a strong word.”
Heat curled low in my stomach. My breath caught as he reached up, his fingers brushing lightly against my cheek, tucking a loose strand of hair behind my ear. The world seemed to shrink to that single touch, the firelight, the music—
“Mind if I cut in?”
I stiffened, the spell shattering.
Alaric. Fury radiated from him in waves, coiled and barely leashed—and beneath it, something deeper, wounded.
Veyrion’s hand lingered against my cheek before he let it fall, his attention sliding to Alaric with infuriating calm.
“Of course,” he said smoothly, though reluctance edged his tone. He placed my hand gently into Alaric’s, his grin curling once more, slow and knowing.
“To be continued,” he murmured. His wink was a spark in the fire before he retreated into the crowd.
Heat roared through me—part fury, part shame, part something I dared not name.
And then Alaric’s arm slid around my waist, pulling me closer than the music required, his grip taut, possessive. His voice was rough against my ear.
“Enjoying yourself?”