I leaned forward, my words shaking but sharp. “So stop dressing it up like faith. This isn’t about believing in me. This is about bending me into something useful.”
Silence pressed between us, broken only by the hiss of the fire and the faint whistle of wind clawing at the mountain.
Veyrion didn’t flinch. He didn’t argue. His expression didn’t shift into anger or offense, only that calm, maddening composure he wore like armor. When he spoke, his voice was level, quiet, almost too measured. “If I wanted to bend you,” he said, “I would have already. I think you know that.”
Not a threat. Not boastful. Just fact.
He studied me for a long moment, glacier-blue eyes steady. “You mistake me if you think I have interest in taming you, Neri. My only interest is seeing you survive.”
He leaned back, folding his hands on the table with deliberate ease, as if my fury hadn’t touched him at all. “And if you can’t?” His voice softened, almost thoughtful. “Then all the world will see is another hollow girl who let others decide what she was worth. But if you can—” his gaze cut into me, steady, unflinching “—then there won’t be a power in this world or the next that can take you from yourself again.”
He paused, then continued, his voice lower now, edged with something almost vulnerable. “You don’t see it yet—but you’re like me.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Like you?”
“Not in blood. Not in power. In origin.” He turned toward the flames, as if searching for something there. “I clawed my way through ruin and ash, too. Built something from the wreckage ofwhat they tried to make me. And I see that same beginning in you.”
He looked back at me then, eyes fierce with something unspoken. “Maybe I brought you here because I thought we could be unstoppable. Maybe I told myself it was strategy. But now… now I just want to see what happens when you stop running from what you are."
The fire snapped beside us, casting gold along the edge of his jaw, but he didn’t look away. "The unknown doesn’t make you weaker—it makes you limitless. You can still choose what that power means. You get to define it.”
A silence settled between us, softer this time. Not empty—just full of things not yet said.
Then Veyrion stood. The movement was quiet, his chair scraping lightly against the stone. “I asked my sister, Eira, to take you to the market tomorrow,” he added. “You’ll need clothes. Supplies. Whatever makes this place feel less like a prison and more like something of your own.”
“I don’t need—” I started.
“You do,” he said gently, cutting me off before the protest fully formed. “You just don’t want to need anything right now. That's not the same.”
I nodded, small but certain. It felt strange to accept kindness from him—stranger still to want it—but I couldn’t deny theflicker of warmth that bloomed in my chest. Not from the hearth. From hope.
39
Nerina
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
I ate in silence, the scrape of spoon against bowl the only sound in the cavernous hall. The seat across from me remained empty.
Veyrion hadn’t come down to breakfast.
Every morning since I’d arrived, we’d eaten together. I couldn’t tell if I missed his company or simply the routine. Either way, his absence sat like a stone on the table—quiet, undeniable.
Whatever fragile warmth lingered from last night had cooled into unease.
I’d just pushed the empty bowl aside when the heavy door creaked open and Eira stepped through.
Golden-blonde hair fell in tight braids down her back, threaded with silver cords that flashed like frost in sunlight. A few wild strands framed her face, softening nothing, catching on the scarthat slashed her cheekbone—a mark worn like a jewel earned in blood.
She was built for war, and beautiful in the way of things that survive. Leathers and furs layered over darkened steel, every strap weathered, every buckle proven. Runes curled along the bracers at her forearms, polished smooth by years of gripping an axe. The weapon rested easy at her hip—long-handled, spiral-etched, its blade gleaming in the firelight.
I’d expected someone colder. Someone cut from the same stone as Veyrion—hard edges, dangerous silences, a presence that pressed down like weight. But where his storms lay quiet and coiled, waiting to strike, Eira burned outward.
“Good morning!” she sang, her voice bright enough to echo off the stone. “Tell me you’re not too broody to enjoy a little shopping?”
I rose slowly, brushing invisible dust from my lap.
She extended her arm with the easy confidence of someone who never doubted she’d be obeyed. “You’ll need more than Veyrion’s hospitality to survive Ymirskald. Come—I’ll show you around.”
