Chapter 50 - Nerina #2
A blast of frozen air hit me the moment I stepped outside, biting into my cheeks and tugging at the hem of my cloak. I tightened my grip on my satchel strap and adjusted the axe across my back. This was madness—one girl against a crew’s worth of work. But there was no other way.
Veyrion’s ships were unmistakable—sleek, deadly things built in an old Northern style, crafted not for wandering but for war. Their hulls rode lower and narrower than most southern vessels, designed for speed, for impact, for closing distance before an enemy could think to flee.
His lead ship stood at the center of them all—similar in silhouette to the Black Marrow, but broader through the beam and slightly longer at the keel.
It was the closest thing to familiar I could find.
I didn’t understand Northern ships—not truly.
But I understood the Black Marrow. I knew how she moved beneath my feet.
I knew the language of her decks. And this vessel felt like her brutal cousin.
If I was going to steal a warship in the dark, I would choose the one that felt most known.
The deck groaned beneath my boots, cold and slick with frost. The ship rocked gently against the pier, tethered by thick ropes and iron rings. Frost curled from my lips as I moved toward the rigging and prayed no one had noticed yet.
Anyone who saw this ship would know whose it was. And who dared sail it.
The Covenant fleet—whispered about in every harbor tavern, feared for the banners they bore and the blood they left in their wake. Men scattered when those serpent prows cut through fog. Whole crews surrendered without a fight, knowing it was better than being dragged under.
Perhaps that would buy me protection. If poachers saw these sails, they might think twice.
They wouldn’t see a girl out of her depth and half-frozen at the wheel.
They’d see a Covenant ship dressed in wolf and serpent—and run.
Or so I prayed. If they looked closer, if they saw me for what I was—I would be dead long before I reached Thalassia.
I can't think about that right now. I pushed those thoughts to the deepest corners of my mind and got to work.
I started with the mooring line, fingers clumsy with cold. Frozen knots fought me until my palms burned and skin split against rough cord. At last the rope gave, slithering free into the dark water with a heavy splash.
The sails were next. My gaze darted up the mast rising like a black tower above me. The canvas hung furled tight, bound by ropes I only half-remembered. My heart hammered, but I hauled myself up the rigging anyway, fingers stiff against frozen lines.
I watched them do this a hundred times. I can do it. I have to.
The wind howled across the harbor, tugging at my braid, filling my ears with a roar.
I freed one knot, then another. The rope bit into my raw hands until blood slicked my grip.
The sails dropped with a heavy snap, shuddering open as they caught the full force of the sea wind.
Too much wind at once. The ship lurched.
The wheel tore away from where I’d set it.
“Too fast,” I hissed, stumbling, then forcing myself to steady. I loosened the line just enough to steady her.
I scrambled back to the wheel and clutched it with frozen fingers, chest heaving.
Come on. Please.
The vessel shuddered beneath me—no obedience, only physics taking over—timbers groaning as the wind tried to claim her.
I shoved the wheel hard. The ship groaned and pulled away from the pier.
Ropes creaked, then snapped free. The wheel kicked back violently, nearly wrenching my hands loose.
I threw my weight against it, jaw clenched, refusing to let the rudder spin wild—refusing to let this end before it began.
And then the wind caught. The sails bellied.
The timbers sang. The ship surged forward into dark water.
I stood alone at the helm, cloak snapping around me, heart pounding with terror and exhilaration.
I did it. I stole a Covenant ship. The thought rang in my skull like a bell—equal parts triumph and dread.
I glanced back at the shore, at the silhouette of Skeldrhall shrinking behind me, and my stomach twisted.
Even now, even as I fled under his banner, a thought wormed through me: What would Veyrion do when he realized?
Not shout. Not chase in a rage. Veyrion’s anger didn’t burn—it hunted. Quiet, patient, inevitable. The kind that waited until you looked up and realized the trap had been closing the whole time. That's how I know he's dangerous—his self-control says it all.
Covenant Ship
The ship shuddered violently, nearly pitching me from the wheel.
I gritted my teeth and threw my weight against it, but the wood groaned in protest. Icy spray lashed my face, stinging my cheeks, blinding my eyes.
Wet strands of hair plastered to my skin.
Cold gnawed through my cloak and sank into bone.
The wind howled harder, a biting cry sweeping down from the fjords and snapping the sails taut.
The serpent prow cut into black water thick with drifting ice, each floe glinting pale and sharp as a blade.
The sea here was no gentle cradle. It was teeth and claws, eager to drag down anyone foolish enough to test it. And I was sailing straight into its jaws. The first tribulation began the moment the current caught her broadside.
Stars. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Garen’s voice rose unbidden through the roar of wind and ice.
Angle her. Let the wind work for you, not against you.
The next floe shifted in the swell, turning broadside like a shield.
If I met it head-on, we were finished. I eased the wheel—just enough.
Not panic. Not force. An angle. The current seized the stern, trying to drag us sideways.
I felt the resistance through the wood, through my palms, through my teeth.
Listen to her, Garen had said once, knocking his knuckles against the helm. If she’s fighting you, you’re doing something wrong.
The ship groaned—not the splitting crack of failure, but the low, straining protest of a hull pressed too hard.
Too much. I loosened my grip by a fraction.
Let the wind fill one sail. Let the prow cut diagonally instead of charging like a fool.
The ship answered. Subtle. Reluctant. But she answered.
We slid between two floes, ice scraping close enough that splinters flew—but we did not strike.
Another surge. Another jagged wall rising from black water.
Don’t fight her. Guide her.
“I’m not your enemy.” I muttered to the wheel, teeth chattering.
The floes moved with the tide—drawn and repelled by hidden pulls. If I cut between the smaller ones, used the current to push me past the larger—
“Come on,” I whispered through chattering teeth, dragging the wheel with shaking shoulders.
The ship obeyed. Barely. The serpent prow slid through a narrow gap—so close ice scraped her flanks with a sound that set my teeth on edge.
Spray crashed over the rails, soaking me through and weighing my cloak like a shroud.
I didn’t dare let go of the wheel. Another floe rose ahead—larger, closer—its jagged peak like a frozen mountain in my path.
My heart stuttered. I couldn’t veer wide.
Ice crowded both sides. I had one chance.
I inhaled, forcing my hands steady. Waited.
Counted the pull of the current, the lean of the wind in the sails.
And at the last possible heartbeat, I wrenched the wheel.
The ship bucked. Timbers shrieked. The mast tilted so far I thought we’d capsize.
My stomach dropped. My knees nearly folded.
And then— The prow slipped past the ice, close enough that a jagged edge tore a white scar across the hull.
Close enough that my hair brushed the frozen wall as we flew by.
I gasped, lungs heaving, and clung to the wheel as the ship surged free of the ice-choked waters.
The fjord opened ahead—black and vast—while the worst of the floes fell behind me.
Now there was only an open ocean. Only then did my hands begin to shake. Not from the cold. From everything I’d been holding at bay.