I didn’t understand him. He had tricked me, threatened me, tried to bind me. And yet he stood beside me now as if he’d expected this crack to form. As if he’d been waiting to see what spilled out.
I pressed a hand to my chest, to the hollow ache inside me. The absence felt physical—like a missing note in a song, a story torn in half.
Something had been taken from me.
And now I could feel the shape of the wound. I had answers. And yet I had nothing. Nothing but loss. Nothing but a truth I could no longer unlearn: The people I trusted most had taken the very essence of me. And I didn’t know if I could forgive them.
Veyrion’s hand lingered a moment longer before he withdrew. His silence was more unnerving than words—like he was deciding what to say, or what to keep.
That was when I heard it.
A whisper—low and hushed—slipping through the cavern like snow through stone.
The Elders’ voices, not to me, but to him. I could only make out one word over the pounding in my chest. “Verjah,” they whispered in unison.
The words slid cold down my spine—unfamiliar, yet heavy.
Veyrion stilled. Then bowed his head.
His reply was soft. Certain. Spoken in a tongue I did not know. “Jafnan.”
And when he straightened, the mask was firmly back in place—as if nothing had happened at all.
37
Nerina
Ymirskald
I walked fast, then faster, praying speed alone could outrun the words lodged in my skull. My boots skidded on slick stone; my chest burned in the freezing air. The corridor blurred, torches smearing into orange streaks. Too narrow. Too narrow. Too dark. The walls closed in.
I hadn’t made it ten corridors from the Elders’ chamber before my legs buckled. I slammed into the wall, palm scraping raw against frozen rock, before I dropped hard to my knees. The cold bit through fabric, searing bone-deep.
Thiswas the price of wanting to know. Truths I could never unhear, unsee.
A sob ripped out of me before I could stop it—violent, ugly. It echoed down the passage, a sound I didn’t recognize as mine. My body shook, my throat tore, my chest heaved as though I were drowning on dry stone. I clawed at my chest, fingers tanglingin leather, fabric, skin—trying to tear free the burn beneath. My mark seared beneath my skin, light pulsing with every frantic heartbeat.
Snow gusted through the arch ahead, lashing my face, stinging my tears to ice. But still they fell—hot, unstoppable, humiliating. I hated them. Hated the weakness, the betrayal of my own body when I needed strength more than ever.
A shadow fell across me. Heavy boots. A stillness heavy with cold.
Veyrion.
For a heartbeat, he only watched. I could feel it—his gaze like steel, like judgment, like something weighing whether I was worth the effort. Then his hand fell on my shoulder. Not soft. Not comforting. Solid. An anchor.
“Leave me alone,” I whispered. The crack in my voice betrayed me. I wasn’t sure I meant it. Maybe I wanted him to argue. Maybe I wanted someone—anyone—to stay.
“Come with me,” he said at last. “To the place I go when the weight threatens to crush me.”
The words snapped something loose. I twisted out from under his hand and shoved him—hard. My palms struck his chest, heat flaring through me, wild and furious. He barely moved. Anger surged inside me. I wanted to scream it at him.You brought me here. You led me into that chamber. You were going to force me to marry you.
I swung again—more desperate than strong—fists pounding uselessly against him. He caught my wrists mid-strike, grip closing fast, iron-hard.
“Let go of me!” I fought him then in earnest, thrashing, clawing, grief and rage tangling together until I couldn’t tell them apart. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”
“Yes,” he said calmly, “you are.”
I tore one hand free and slapped his fac. The sound cracked through the mountain.
