It felt wrong knowing the crew couldn’t celebrate at Skeldrhall even if they wanted to.
So I chose to bring Yule to them.
I hung wreaths wherever it felt right—one at the helm, one along the main course, another near the bow. Sea-glass winked from the greenery when lanternlight caught it, scattering blue and green across the deck.
I fixed strings of dried fruit along the rail next—apples, oranges, berries shriveled dark and sweet with winter. They swayed withthe motion of the ship, bright against the black wood, and I smiled despite myself.
Below deck, I wedged a small pine tree into a crate near, steadying it with rope and hope. It wasn’t tall. It wasn’t perfect. I tucked scraps of ribbon into its branches—bits of twine and sea-glass.
“Happy Yule,” I said softly.
46
Nerina
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
“Green for life enduring in the dark,” Eira said as she fastened the clasp at my throat.
The first night of Yule descended on Ymirskald.
Eira had planned it all—three nights, each with its own purpose. She’d seen to every detail, from the wreaths we’d crafted half-drunk in the war room to the gowns waiting in my chamber. Each evening, she insisted, would require a different dress.
Tonight’s was deep pine green, stitched with gold that caught the firelight when I moved. A fur cloak rested heavy on my shoulders, its collar brushing my cheeks.
I’d laughed at first, overwhelmed by her seriousness—by the meticulous care she poured into something I still didn’t understand. But now, standing in the hall swathed in pine and gold, I did. Each gown was more than fabric. It was meaningmade wearable—threads of tradition woven into the rhythm of Yule, binding me—whether I belonged or not—into its story.
Skeldrhall blazed with light and sound. Torches lined the stone path, flames licking at the dark as guests arrived from across Ymirskald—Jarls and warriors, their kin bundled in furs; merchants and hunters carrying gifts of meat, mead, and fresh-cut evergreen. Laughter and song echoed through the mountains, carried on the bite of the wind.
I stood beside Veyrion and Eira at the doors of the great hall, greeting each guest as they crossed the threshold.
They greeted Veyrion with bows and firm handclasps. Eira with kisses on the cheek and teasing remarks.
And me—
They offered hugs.
At first, I froze every time an arm slid around my shoulders or pulled me close, stiff as driftwood. No one in Thalassia had ever greeted me like this—never with warmth, never with easy familiarity. But here it was offered without hesitation, without question. Strong arms. Warm furs. The scents of pine and smoke and snow wrapping around me like something I hadn’t known I needed.
Each embrace left me a little more unmoored. A little more… Welcome.
I smiled where I could, dipping my head politely—though my thoughts were far from the hall.
I invited Alaric.
The thought of his name alone set my heart skittering. He hadn’t answered. Still, I searched every face that crossed the threshold. Every dark-haired man made my pulse jump until I realized—again—that it wasn’t him.
“Looking for someone?” Eira murmured beside me, sharp-eyed as ever.
I forced a smile, but didn’t answer.
Eira had told me the first night was for the dead. For ancestors, for kin long gone—for names carried on smoke so they might walk beside the living once more.
Inside, Skeldrhall glowed brighter than I’d ever seen it. The lopsided wreaths we’d strung together hung proudly on the walls, their imperfections swallowed by ribbon and garlands of polished stones. But it was the trees that stole my breath—towering pines cut from the forests beyond, their branches dripping with ornaments of bone, carved wood, hammered bronze. Some glittered faintly where they’d been dusted with powdered quartz, reflecting candlelight like snow trapped in ice.
At the center of it all stood the hearth—larger than life, a pit dug deep into stone. In its heart waited a massive log, a trunk so wide it took four men to roll into place.
“The Yule log,” Eira whispered, her grin softened by reverence. “It burns for all three nights. From its fire, every hearth in the village is rekindled. Each home carries the same flame—so the whole of Ymirskald is bound together.”
