Nerina
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
It has been days since I bandaged Veyrion’s wounds. I haven’t seen much of him since.
I found myself wondering where he vanished to—whether he sought out whatever had torn him open before I’d stitched him back together.
The morning sun spilled down the corridor as I walked toward the sunroom, hoping for a moment of clarity in its golden quiet. I’d dressed with more thought than usual—pulling the deep blue dress I’d chosen during that long day of wandering with Eira. Maybe it would bring me luck. Maybe if I looked like someone with power, I’d start to believe it. The color marked me as someone of standing here, Eira had said. A nod to old houses, old power.
I draped a mantle over my shoulder, silver clasps at the shoulders shaped like twin wolves, and a fur trim. I braidedmy hair back to keep it out of my face, not out of vanity but discipline. If I couldn’t master my magic yet, I could at least control my presence.
I’d grown fond of the sunroom—the wide windows, the cold glass warmed by light, the way the world looked softer through its panes.
But halfway there, I slowed.
Voices drifted to the hall from the council room—low, clipped, urgent.
I recognized Eira’s voice first, then Veyrion’s. And then others—deeper, unfamiliar.
Curiosity snagged me mid-step. I crept closer, heart quickening. The doors were open just a crack, enough for sound to pour through.
"—the Frostmere border won’t hold if they breach the ridge again," a gravel-voiced said.
"We don’t have the numbers for another skirmish, let alone a siege," Eira replied, her voice laced with barely veiled frustration.
Another man chimed in, smoother but tense. “Then we conscript. Every able-bodied fighter in Ymirskald takes up arms. Including the exiled houses.”
Veyrion’s voice cut through them all, low and commanding. "We’ll do no such thing until we’ve confirmed who broke the truce. If we move too soon, we risk fracturing what’s left of the Promise."
The Promise of the North—Ymirskald’s old pact: no hunting the supernatural. Break it, and North responds with blood. Eira had said it over stew like it was law—poaching meant death here.
Veyrion’s voice from days before drifted into my mind.Out beyond the Frostmere Pass. There was a raid—a breach in one of the old sanctums.
If I was going to take my life back, I needed to know what the hell I’d stepped into.
My spine stiffened. This wasn’t a simple political meeting. They were preparing for something.
I lingered too long outside that door.
Footsteps shifted inside, chairs scraped the stone floor, and voices began to soften—no longer calculating but muted with dismissal. The meeting was ending.
Panic surged in my chest.
I turned quickly and walked, fast but not frantic, forcing my shoulders back and my pace even, giving the impression I had simply been passing through. My fingers tightened around the fur mantle draped around me.
I had just rounded the corner when I heard his voice.
"Neri."
Veyrion.
I slowed, heart pounding like I’d been caught in something more than eavesdropping. I turned slowly, schooling my expression into something neutral, composed.
He stood at the end of the hall, flanked by the fading shadows of his council, their murmured goodbyes fading into the silence.
He stepped toward me, the weight of his presence unmistakable even across the space between us.
His eyes swept over me, pausing at the shoulders of my dress, the silver wolf clasps, the deep blue fabric that shimmered faintly in the light.
