I glanced back at the shore, at the silhouette of Skeldrhall shrinking behind me, and my stomach twisted.
Even now, even as I fled under his banner, a thought wormed through me: What would Veyrion do when he realized?
Not shout. Not chase in a rage. Veyrion’s anger didn’t burn—it hunted. Quiet, patient, inevitable. The kind that waited until you looked up and realized the trap had been closing the whole time. That's how I know he's dangerous—his self-control says it all.
Covenant Ship
The ship shuddered violently, nearly pitching me from the wheel. I gritted my teeth and threw my weight against it, but the wood groaned in protest. Icy spray lashed my face, stinging my cheeks, blinding my eyes. Wet strands of hair plastered to my skin. Cold gnawed through my cloak and sank into bone. The wind howled harder, a biting cry sweeping down from the fjords and snapping the sails taut. The serpent prow cut into black water thick with drifting ice, each floe glinting pale and sharp as a blade.
The sea here was no gentle cradle. It was teeth and claws, eager to drag down anyone foolish enough to test it. And I was sailing straight into its jaws. The first tribulation began the moment the current caught her broadside.
Stars. I don’t know what I’m doing.
Garen’s voice rose unbidden through the roar of wind and ice.
Angle her. Let the wind work for you, not against you.
The next floe shifted in the swell, turning broadside like a shield. If I met it head-on, we were finished. I eased the wheel—just enough. Not panic. Not force. An angle. The current seized the stern, trying to drag us sideways. I felt the resistance through the wood, through my palms, through my teeth.
Listen to her,Garen had said once, knocking his knuckles against the helm.If she’s fighting you, you’re doing something wrong.
The ship groaned—not the splitting crack of failure, but the low, straining protest of a hull pressed too hard. Too much. I loosened my grip by a fraction. Let the wind fill one sail. Let the prow cut diagonally instead of charging like a fool. The ship answered. Subtle. Reluctant. But she answered. We slid between two floes, ice scraping close enough that splinters flew—but we did not strike. Another surge. Another jagged wall rising from black water.
Don’t fight her. Guide her.
“I’m not your enemy.” I muttered to the wheel, teeth chattering.
The floes moved with the tide—drawn and repelled by hidden pulls. If I cut between the smaller ones, used the current to push me past the larger—
“Come on,” I whispered through chattering teeth, dragging the wheel with shaking shoulders.
The ship obeyed. Barely. The serpent prow slid through a narrow gap—so close ice scraped her flanks with a sound that set my teeth on edge. Spray crashed over the rails, soaking me through and weighing my cloak like a shroud. I didn’t dare let go of the wheel. Another floe rose ahead—larger, closer—its jagged peak like a frozen mountain in my path.
My heart stuttered. I couldn’t veer wide. Ice crowded both sides. I had one chance. I inhaled, forcing my hands steady. Waited. Counted the pull of the current, the lean of the wind in the sails. And at the last possible heartbeat, I wrenched the wheel. The ship bucked. Timbers shrieked. The mast tilted so far I thought we’d capsize. My stomach dropped. My knees nearly folded. And then— The prow slipped past the ice, close enough that a jagged edge tore a white scar across the hull. Close enough that my hair brushed the frozen wall as we flew by. I gasped, lungs heaving, and clung to the wheel as the ship surged free of the ice-choked waters. The fjord opened ahead—black and vast—while the worst of the floes fell behind me.
Now there was only an open ocean. Only then did my hands begin to shake. Not from the cold. From everything I’d been holding at bay.
51
Alaric
The Black Marrow, Port Ymirskald
Boots clattered across the gangplank, and I turned to see not just Veyrion striding up, cloak snapping in the wind, but Eira at his side. Her braids caught the lantern light, shoulders squared, every step a soldier’s march. She scanned the Black Marrow’s deck like it was a midden heap she’d been forced to wade through.
Garen, standing at my shoulder, went still. Too still. I caught the way his jaw slackened, the way his attention followed her with all the subtlety of a fish gaping at a hook.
“Gods,” he muttered under his breath, low enough he thought I wouldn’t hear. “What a woman.”
I shot him a murderous glare. “Pick your tongue up off the deck, quartermaster,” I hissed. “Before she cuts it out.”
Eira’s attention swept over us, cold as ice. When it reached Garen, her mouth curled, disdain plain. “Pirates,” she spat, the word thick with disgust.
Garen’s ears burned red. Most men would’ve wilted. Garen only grinned wider. “Aye,” he said, shameless, eyes shining with some idiot devotion.
Her stare could have frozen fire. She turned away without another word, cloak snapping behind her as she followed Veyrion across the deck.
But Garen only sighed, dreamy and unrepentant. “Ye' see the way she looked at me?”
