“I swear,” I said, my voice unsteady but clear, “that I will not let the dark swallow me. That I will find the truth of who I am, no matter what stands in my way. And when I do—” I paused, steadying myself. “—I will protect those who cannot protect themselves, as fiercely as I wish someone had protected me.”
The vow burned on my tongue.
Heat flared across my skin. My crescent mark blazed to life on my forehead—silver-violet and searing—casting pale light across the hall. Gasps rippled through the crowd, whispers breaking quick and awed. The fire roared, sparks leaping high into the rafters.
I stumbled back, hand flying to my brow, but the glow pulsed on—alive, binding. I felt it in my bones, in my blood, as though something ancient had heard and accepted my words.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned.
Then the hall erupted—cheers, shouts, tankards slamming against tables. Some called my name. Others murmured in reverent tones I didn’t understand.
Eira’s eyes shone, pride and something deeper etched across her face. But it was Veyrion I felt most keenly. He leaned forwardstudying me. He said nothing—yet the weight of his gaze twisted my stomach.
I wondered if I’d spoken that vow as much to him as I had to myself.
The glow faded, but the heat lingered beneath my skin—an ember with every heartbeat. The hall surged back into celebration, as though the gods themselves demanded it. Drums thundered. Horns sloshed. Laughter rose, fierce and defiant. When the oaths were done, the Yule games were called.
Strength first—warriors grappling on thick pelts before the hearth, muscles straining until bodies crashed to the floor. Cheers shook the rafters, wagers traded in coins and pinecones, children mimicking the bouts nearby.
Then the bowmen. Pinecones painted red swung above the fire, arrows whistling through smoke. Each strike earned applause; each miss, jeers drowned in laughter. A copper-haired girl no older than fifteen struck every target and was crowned with one of our lopsided wreaths, her grin bright as flame.
Eira pressed a full horn into my hand. “Now the riddles.”
A circle formed. Riddles flew—storms and seas, beasts and blades. Wrong answers earned gulps of mead or humiliating dares.
I lingered at the edge, hoping to escape notice.
“Her.” Veyrion’s voice cut through the crowd. Seated on the stag-throned chair, crimson cloak spilling like blood and snow, children still clinging to his knees, he grinned—that infuriating wolfish smirk.
The circle cheered.
Eira shoved me forward, laughing. “Don't be shy!”
The riddle came:
I am a map with no roads,
A choir with no sound,
A lantern to sailors that never burns out.
My pulse hammered. Then certainty settled, clear as starlight. “The stars.”
The hall exploded—cheers, stomps, laughter. Eira whooped, crushing me in a hug. Someone shoved another drink into my hand.
I laughed, wild with it, caught in the tide of it.
I swore I saw a flicker in the crowd.
Dark hair. Stubborn jaw. Eyes like storm-lit seas.
The world narrowed to that single glimpse. My chest tightened—but the crowd surged, hands catching at me, lifting me up as voices crashed together in a chant I couldn’t make out, only feel.
The games bled into celebration until the call went up for gifting.
Children raced to the trees, tearing into bundles. Gifts were exchanged—proof of kinship and belonging.
Eira dragged me forward. “Come.”
