47
Nerina
Skeldrhall, Ymirskald
By twilight, Skeldrhall swelled with people, its halls glowing with firelight and laughter. Every pine tree stood crowned in ornaments of bone, bronze, and ribbon, gifts piled beneath their branches. Children darted between the decorated boughs, their squeals carrying above the hum of flutes and drums.
The second night of Yule was brighter, louder, and livelier than the first.
Tonight’s dress was deep red, lined in snow-white fur, warm against my skin. Eira had insisted on it, her eyes glinting with mischief as she fastened the cloak at my shoulders. Red for fire, white for the purity of vows, she’d said—though I suspected she simply enjoyed dressing me like some queen in disguise.
If only my mother could see me now, wrapped in red. What would she say? She hated the color in any shade, claiming it sullied the purity of the sea.
I nearly stumbled when my eyes found Veyrion across the hall.
He wore crimson trimmed in white fur, the cut stark and commanding, every line regal. It matched mine almost exactly—close enough to be deliberate.
Eira. This had her hand in it. I could almost hear her laugh. The thought vanished as the children saw him.
A shriek of delight tore through the hall, and suddenly they were rushing him, arms outstretched, faces alight. They climbed onto him without hesitation—tugging at his sleeves, wrapping themselves around his legs. Veyrion laughed, deep and unguarded, the sound rumbling through the air as he swept two children up with ease, spinning them until their laughter filled the rafters.
“Easy now,” he teased, setting them down again. “Everyone will get a gift.”
The hall roared with laughter—warriors clapping tankards against tables, mothers smiling behind their hands.
When the chaos settled, Veyrion strode to the high-backed chair at the head of the room—the throne of Skeldrhall, carved from blackened oak and crowned with the antlers of a great stag. He sank into it, children still clambering around his knees, eyes wide with anticipation, as though he might conjure treasures from the air itself.
The image rooted me where I stood.
The red cloak. The fur trim. The thunderous laugh. Children gathered at his feet, rapt and adoring. He was the heart of the celebration—the fire everyone leaned toward. Not the feared warlord I’d imagined, but something older. More complicated. A figure both terrible and beloved.
My gaze lingered a moment too long.
Eira caught it, her lips curling knowingly. She’d planned this. Of course. Iknowshe had.
The feast was a riot of sound and scent. Platters of roasted game and spiced breads steamed on the long tables, fat and honey dripping into the fire-lit air. Tankards clinked, laughter rattled the rafters, and music rose—flutes and drums pounding in wild rhythm, like the heartbeat of the mountains themselves.
When the food had been served and the first mead horns drained, the oath-boar was brought forth.
A great beast, its hide brushed sleek, tusks wound with evergreen and gold ribbon. It was led into the hall to the pounding of drums, pale frost curling from its nostrils in the cold air. Warriors pressed forward, laying hands on its back, swearing vows aloud. Some promised vengeance. Others loyalty. Some glory. Some devotion. I watched, chest tight, as one man swore to defend his family until his final breath, another to winrenown in the coming year. Their voices rang through the hall, swallowed by fire and music.
Eira leaned close, her voice barely carrying above the roar. “When your time comes, speak carefully. Words sworn on the boar are not taken lightly.”
My fingers tightened in my lap. I had no oath prepared—no vow I dared bind with fire.
The hall quieted again as the boar was led forward once more, tusks gleaming. Drums thudded low and steady as it was guided before each remaining soul. One by one, they laid their hands upon its hide and spoke.
When it was my turn I hesitated. I wasn't sure what to say.
Then Veyrion found me. “You too, Neri,” he said, his voice carrying easily through the hall. Not a command—but it left no room for refusal.
Heat rushed to my face as every eye turned my way. Eira grinned and gave me a gentle shove. “Go on.”
My feet moved before I could think, the weight of my red cloak trailing behind me. The boar huffed, dark eyes reflecting firelight. I pressed my palm to its bristled hide—warm, alive, solid.
The hall fell silent.
What vow could I make? What truth could I bare to strangers? My thoughts tangled—Alaric’s face, Maliea’s laughter, the endless question of who I was. I thought of everything I'd learned recently, and I said the only thing that felt right. When the words came, they rose from somewhere deeper than fear.
