But now, as the potion scorched through my veins, none of that mattered. All I could think about was Nerina.
Not vengeance. Not redemption. Just her.
Just Nerina.
Saints—how could I have been so blind? So arrogant? I might as well have tied her up with a bow and presented her to Veyrion on a silver platter. The things I’d said to her—meant to cut, to push her away—I could never take them back. Every syllable was a blade I’d turned on myself.
She deserved better than me. Better than curses and secrets. Better than a man who bleeds regret like seawater through a cracked hull. I didn’t deserve her forgiveness—hells, I didn’t even deserve to hope for it.
But I still had to see her. Just once. To know she was alive, her flame still burning. Even if she hated me. Even if she never looked at me again as she once had.
Because if Veyrion had harmed her—if he’d dimmed even a spark of that light—I would tear him apart piece by piece. I would make him wish he’d never crawled out of the frost of Ymirskald.
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
The shore of Ymirskald was colder than I remembered. Frost clung to jagged rocks like silver claws, and the scent of snow-buried pine stung my nose. My breath steamed in the air, curling into frantic ghosts before vanishing into the dark.
I didn’t wait for the ship to dock. I leapt before the lines were cast, boots slamming into frozen earth with a force that rattled up my spine. Pain flashed—too bright, too deep—the curse had claws in my bones and didn’t like being denied.
I was already moving. Already running.
Every heartbeat pounded like war drums, echoing through my bones like thunder rolling beneath ice.
I knew exactly where she was. Where he would have taken her.
Once, long ago, Veyrion and I were more than rivals. We were brothers. We drank from the same cups, fought side by side, carved scars into the same enemies. I knew the shape of his rage, the cadence of his laughter—and the fortress he called home.
That was where Nerina would be.
The guards saw me first. Veyrion’s men—hulking, broad-shouldered warriors born of snow and tempered on steel. They weren’t mercenaries or palace watchmen. They were oathbound, their loyalty tattooed in blood and sealed in ice.
I didn’t hesitate.
The first lunged with a roar, sword arcing for my ribs. I ducked beneath it, slammed the hilt of my dagger into his side, and sent him sprawling into the snow.
For the words I can’t take back.
Another came from behind, blade high. I turned—steel met steel. Blades shrieked, sparks spitting like fireflies across the dark. I twisted, shoved his edge away, teeth gritted until they ached.
For the night I let her walk away.
The third rushed, and I used his comrade’s momentum to spin him into the other. They collided, stumbled. I drove my boot into the nearest one’s knee. Something gave with a sickening pop. He went down howling.
For the way she looked at me when I made her believe I didn’t care.
The last I shoved into a snowbank so hard the air left him in a grunt.
For every moment she’s been in Veyrion’s hands instead of mine.
Blood misted the air, mixing with snow and sweat. My vision narrowed for half a second—predator focus snapping into place—before I forced it wide again.
Skeldrhall rose like a storm-forged fortress above me, carved from dark timber and stone that glistened beneath sheets of ice. Runes etched along its beams pulsed faintly in the twilight, ancient and humming with restrained magic. Smoke drifted from the roof in twisting plumes that smelled of burning myrrh and pine resin. It was beautiful—unyielding. Eternal.
I shoved through the doors, stumbling, limbs screaming with every step. “Nerina!”
My voice split the stone, raw and desperate. Too loud. Too unguarded. I didn’t care. Let the mountain crack and crumble. I would burn this fortress to ash if she didn’t answer.
And then—There she was.
