“Heill húsgørð?” I asked, the words cutting through the tavern’s din.
Eira leaned closer, expression careful—like she understood the weight of what she was about to place in my hands. “Heill húsgørð,” she said.Hile HOOS-gorth. “It means House of Healing. It’s hidden deep in the mountain, carved into the rock. Only a few people know it exists. But it’s where we take the wounded—creatures pulled from Shadeau’s pits, or freed from the cages of poachers’ ships. A place to rest. To mend.”
The image clashed violently with what I’d seen: blood. Wreckage. Cages rattling with dying cries. I wanted to scoff. To call it another lie. But some fragile part of me—traitorous and aching—wanted it to be real.
“Then why did I see what I saw?” I demanded. “That wasn’t a story someone fed me, Eira. I was there.”
Her lavender-grey eyes held mine, steady as bedrock. She didn’t argue. Didn’t match my heat.
She paused, then tilted her head slightly, something thoughtful settling into her expression in the candlelight. “Has it ever crossed your mind,” she said, “that Alaric might have needed you to see the Covenant as monsters? That he needed you to believe there was something worse than him? It’s easier to keep someone close when they think the world beyond you is more dangerous than your arms.”
Her words slid under my anger. Relentless. I hated how much I wanted to dismiss them. I hated how much they made sense. The crescent mark on my forehead pulsed faintly, heat coiling beneath my skin in rhythm with the storm of my thoughts.
“No,” I snapped. “He saved me. When I crossed the Veil, when I should’ve died, he was the one who pulled me back. He didn’t have to. He could have left me. But he didn’t.”
Eira’s lips curved—not into a smile, but into something faint and unreadable. “Maybe,” she said. “Or maybe saving you served him, too. Sometimes protection is just another kind of possession.”
Once—not long ago, though it felt like another life—I’d asked myself the same question. Why had Alaric saved me? A cursed vampire pirate, bound to the sea, with nothing to gain from dragging a half-drowned mermaid back from the depths.
I questioned it every time his rough edges softened, every time his gaze lingered too long, every time his hand steadied me when I faltered. And then, somewhere along the way, I stopped asking.
“Whatever else he is,” I said tightly, “he saved my life.”
It didn’t matter anymore, I told myself. I care for him. That is all that matters.
But what if that was the point? To be seduced, won over, drawn close—so close I stopped seeing the bars of the cage and only felt the warmth of the hand that held the key.
My stomach twisted.
Maybe Eira was wrong. Maybe Alaric was everything I believed him to be. But maybe he wasn’t.
And stars, I was so tired of the maybes.
Eira studied me quietly, her drink forgotten, eyes searching the cracks I hadn’t meant to show. When she finally spoke, her voice was soft—almost kind. “Be careful, Nerina,” she said. “It isn’t always the ones who cut you that are most dangerous. Sometimes it’s the ones who make you stop looking for the blade.”
And then, as if sensing the weight pressing too hard against my ribs, she asked softer questions. What my favorite meal was. If I preferred sunrise or moonlight. What lullaby my mother used to hum. Silly things. Tender things.
The tavern wrapped around me, a borrowed comfort—roaring hearth, spiced mead thick in the air, snow melting off boots and pooling on the floorboards. Laughter crashed like waves against the walls, but I felt oddly adrift, a lone current beneath the noise.
Eira nudged my drink closer. “Yule will be here soon,” she said. “Only a few weeks away.”
I blinked. “Yule?”
Her brows drew together before she huffed a small laugh. “Right. You’re still getting used to… all ofthis.” She gestured at the clamor around us—Ymirskald’s rugged joy, the storm-weathered smiles, the feeling of belonging I hadn’t yet earned.
“It’s our winter celebration. Fires and food everywhere. Dancing under the aurora. It’s the best time of the year.”
Her gaze softened.
“I hope you’ll decide to stay to celebrate with us. I think you will love the Northern Lights.”
I didn’t know where I’d be in a few days—let alone weeks.
“I… maybe,” I said.
40
Nerina
