Merry Christmas! This is part two of “Quest of the Snow Lights,” a sweet low-stakes story set in the Eirenic Verses universe.
Be sure to check out Part 1, which was released on December 20th, to get caught up. I hope you enjoy this silly conclusion to an adorable tale!
⤝❖⤞
Uileac’s imagination always backfilled Snow Lights’ Eve with endless entertainment. On the blessed years when both he and Orrinir were placed on reserve from the Bremish Army, he assured himself they had spent the entire day in idleness, wandering to friends’ houses and toasting another successful year.
In reality, he spent most of the day shoveling the street so the coming questers didn’t suffocate in snow.
The sun glanced hard against the icy crust, spilling light everywhere in gregarious golds. When Orrinir flung a shovelful over his shoulder, it became diamond dust before scattering across their massive heaps. All around them, other townspeople joined the effort, some singing traditional melodies in call and response.
“Goldnin, Goldnin, our own snow bowl,
deep enough to swallow a grown man whole.
Heave ye shovels and make the piles high;
higher until they stopper the sky.
Spread the straw thick, and thick, and thicker;
horses eat fast, so we must be quicker.
Shovel ’til swooning, ’til your back’s about to break,
then head on home for Snow Light cake.
Goldnin, Goldnin, we love you to tears,
but you’ll freeze us dead one of these years.”
Uileac paused to throw his hood back, mostly so more heat could escape. Every inch of him was soaked in sweat after almost a full day unearthing his horses and their pasture, then joining his neighbors in clearing the streets.
Orrinir stopped soon after he did, then unclipped his canteen and tossed it over. Of course: his husband considered everything. A true credit to the Bremish infantry.
“Any thoughts on your plan for this evening?” Orrinir asked, wiping his brow with his parka sleeve. “You said you were going to annoy Cerie somehow.”
“Total confidentiality.” Uileac drank greedily before twitching his mitten in remonstration. “You could be colluding with her. Maybe you snuck over to the meronym before sunlift and exposed my plans.”
Further lectures disappeared in a froth of icicles when a snowball exploded in his face.
“Godsdamnit!” Orrinir barked as Uileac stood there, eyes occluded by tiny flakes. “Who did that? Show yourself!”
Uileac already had a good idea of who it was, as confirmed when a bold voice rang in laughter. His best friend, Tshumanu, emerged from a recently cleared alleyway, his golden eyes gleaming and white hair at odd angles.
“Tshumanu! You’re a fully grown adult—a father—and still such a damn child.” Orrinir threw his shovel down, scooped up a massive pile of snow, and clamped a vague ball shape before lobbing it across the street.
“How noble, defending my honor,” Uileac said in a coquettish voice before joining the effort. Unfortunately, they were outnumbered when his friend’s small children offered their own ammunition—followed closely by Tshumanu’s wife, Aideen.
Yes, this was also a stereotypical winter activity in Goldnin, one of Breme’s greatest cities. Uileac’s brain conveniently edited that out, mostly because he always ended up with an earache after Snow Light Eve.
A chain reaction of snowball fights blitzed down the avenue: children betraying their parents with powder to the face, lovers playfully tipping each other into the huge drifts. Uileac continually formed more weapons for his husband, which disappeared in squeals of laughter as they aimed for Tshumanu’s head.
Thankfully, the miniscule snow dumps did not undo all the community’s hard work. The lacey patterns decorating Goldnin’s windows were lit in rose and orange; some people had retreated inside to stoke their fires, while others were busy placing candles in paperwork mulberry lanterns hung over every door. Orrinir, too, disappeared to retrieve plump tallow votives, lightly scented with cinnamon.
At this time of year, sundrop seemed more a plummet. Only a few moments elapsed between Uileac placing his shovel in their shed out back and the first stars twinkling above him, the moon a giant ellipse followed by a train of others.
The horses went willingly into their stalls after a day of frolicking in their newly cleared pasture, steam curling from their fur when their masters removed the blankets for a quick grooming session.
Soon enough, the questing. Uileac rubbed his hands in expectation as he stood stationed by the front door, Orrinir busy warming mulled wine by the hearth. The walls of their living room glowed as if they stood inside a furnace; certainly it felt just as warm. A perfect counterpoint to the horrible chill outside.
“So glad we’re not out there,” Orrinir muttered as Uileac nodded in agreement. “Hope Cerie doesn’t get frostbite.”
Not a thought he’d considered, but Uileac disregarded any concern. His sister would win every round before arriving at their home, warmed by her intermittent visits to other houses. And probably blackout drunk.
He’d finally shed his parka and other outerwear, now swathed in a tan mohair sweater. This was one of his most prized belongings other than his sword and bow; after all, Orrinir had gifted it to him last Snow Lights.
Their door knocker resounded just as he finished slipping into knitted mukluks, their calfskin bottoms slippery against the floor. Uileac rushed over, ready to out-recite his sister, only to open the door and find a man stepping back from the entrance.
As the man moved a respectable distance away, he revealed a small girl bundled in an oversized parka. This quester wasn’t even tall enough to reach the iron ring halfway up the panel; she was shivering a little under her father’s comforting hand.
From the tiny metal studs in her ears, this girl was a High Poet in training—much as Cerie had once been. This was likely her first holiday from the meronym since joining the ranks of the hopeful literati: an opportunity to reconnect with her family and show off what she was learning.
Uileac glanced over his shoulder and nodded at Orrinir, who silently prepared two half-cups: one of mulled apple cider and one of wine.
“Go on, then,” her father said reassuringly as she clutched her small basket of crumbling cookies. When the men’s eyes met, Uileac smiled before turning back to his tiny competition.
“I’m terrible at this, mind,” Uileac told the girl while Orrinir approached with the two cups. “Take pity on me.”
The girl swallowed several times, still shaking, before Uileac crouched down and spoke in a conversational tone. “My sister is training at the meronym, too. Cerie Korviridi—do you know her? She says I’m the absolute worst. I bring dishonor to our family name.”
Debasing himself, as he expected, finally got the girl to speak. With her father’s stabilizing hand on her shoulder, the young poet squeezed her eyes shut and belted out the first part of a couplet.
“Wind whips the willow-bough, all embroidered with ice ….”
Uileac’s mind flitted back to the poems of Saint Mermina; he could envision these words on the thin parchment, painstakingly copied by a High Poet decades prior. Its accompanying line floated before him: “Cold cracks the cardamom, nature’s purest spice.”
But of course he wouldn’t say it. Instead, he stared blankly at the girl and scrunched his face up, struggling to compose a dupe of Saint Mermina’s vaunted words.
“Uh ….”
Orrinir’s meaty arm, reaching to offer the father a cup of mulled wine, distracted him for a second before he eked out some idiot palaver.
“Splashed with the slushy shower, my cold journey’s price.”
Orrinir gave a rumble of surprise, and the father frowned, perhaps believing Uileac truly was trying to beat his daughter. Clearly he didn’t know the questing couplets.
But the girl glowed with triumph and pointed her mitten at him, a smile overtaking her shakes. “Wrong! It’s ….”
“Ah, you’re right.” Uileac clapped his hand to his forehead before handing over the cider cup. “Why did I ever think I could beat a High Poet at her own game?”
The man before them relaxed; the three spoke quietly of Goldnin matters while his daughter sipped. In winter, snow drifts were the primary topic of conversation until the last thaw—that and how merchants ruthlessly inflated grain prices.
When the two had departed, the father offering to water their horses if they were ever afield, Uileac turned to his husband with a catlike smile. “Well? Do you see my ploy now?”
Orrinir rolled his eyes, busy wiping down the cups with a rag. “How are you going to compose so many random lines?”
“What, like it’s hard?” Uileac asked as he picked up a flagon of Arrow Cider, his favorite drink. “But you’re right. That’s pedestrian. I need something more.”
“Most people just admit defeat, you know.” Though Orrinir’s face pantomimed disgust, his sulky mumble was undergirded with something else: perhaps a bit of excitement.
A parade of other questers wandered past their home, each trying their luck. By the end of the evening, Uileac and Orrinir had demolished a whole platter’s worth of cookies between them. Not because their noble competitors had beaten him—but because few realized he hadn’t.
Rather than gorging himself, Orrinir reserved a few for his sister-in-law. The dashing infantryman always had a soft spot for Cerie, Uileac thought affectionately. A major reason he first fell in love.
The street had disappeared into lagoons of light; above them, the night was crisp and clear, the moon cradled by only the faintest wadding of cloud. Orrinir had fallen into a doze before the fire while Uileac waxed his bow. Nothing but the soft slip of rosin against its string, the gentle creaks of the wood as it acclimatized to the rising heat.
He almost cut himself on the cording when the very walls rattled from a prodigious knock. Only one girl would be so dismissive of their home’s hardware.
Flinging the door open, Uileac jeered at Cerie—who, unfortunately, was almost as tall as him. In the darkness, one would have thought them twins, though Cerie was four years younger.
Her choppy mint bangs were dusted with melting snowflakes, her pert nose red from the cold. Wine-glazed green eyes narrowed at him.
“Ugh. It’s you.”
“Not even a, ‘Hello, my amazing older brother, the bravest man in the Bremish Army?’” He twitched an eyebrow at her. “Isn’t that the traditional greeting?”
Cerie wrinkled her nose. “No, Orri’s the bravest. And you’re the stupidest.”
Said brave man, snorting himself awake beside the fire, started heating up more apple cider but did not intervene. Good: Uileac chanced a sneaky smile at him, but the infantryman grimaced in return.
What a smart soldier. A terrible idea to interfere in Korviridi business, even if he had married into the family.
“Alright then, little donkey. Do your silly tricks.” Uileac tweaked his sister’s rosy nose, and she batted him away.
“’Frail the fretting fingers of these scattered trees,’” Cerie began. Her voice, quite low for a woman, trailed off in a slur.
“’Sleep in sleet so deeply, the hibernating bees,’” he rattled off, still grinning.
Never had he seen someone’s brain freeze in real time. Cerie, drunk and likely dizzy from hours of recitation, stared blankly at him.
“That’s not quite … but is it? No … something ….”
How delightful to see her baffled. Only one word askew; he’d been practicing in snatches all evening, just to make it worse.
“Well, am I wrong?” He asked, his voice sugary.
Ignoring the comment, Cerie dropped her empty cookie basket, crumbs spilling across the doorstop. She took one step forward, hands on her hips.
“’Shining ponies shake their frosty manes,’” she said in a growl.
“’Hoofbeats reverberating along the frozen plains.’”
“No! It’s ‘resounding!’” To his great amusement, Cerie stomped her foot like a toddler. Never could handle her liquor; she’d embarrassed herself at his wedding, too.
“But is it?” he asked, leaning in. “Is it really? Maybe you’re wrong. They both start with ‘r’.”
Orrinir sighed, busy pouring all three a measure of cider. “She’s right. I’ve heard that damn thing a dozen times now.”
Never one to be bested, Cerie tried again, though her voice squeaked with frustration. “’Lights in the darkness, the mulberry flame.’”
If he kept going, she’d burst a blood vessel. Uileac chuckled and opened his arms instead.
“What great luck: Cece’s home again.”
In her dazed state, Cerie blinked a few times, her mouth open. Then, as he had hoped, her expression softened and she stepped into his hug.
“You stubborn brat,” he laughed, ruffling her hair. “Don’t you get tired of trying to best me? It’ll never happen.”
She grumbled in complaint, then brightened when Orrinir swept past to shut the door. After Uileac crushed her to squealing pieces, he surrendered her to his husband’s tight embrace.
“I’d say it’s a draw.” Releasing her with one last squeeze, Orrinir padded back to their table, where three cups sat steaming before the bright fire.
Like a drunken duckling, Cerie followed her brother-in-law, but tried to push Uileac away when he wrapped her in a warm quilt.
He persisted, though. She was such a weakling.
“My prize is that you stay with us this evening,” Uileac said. “No sense going back to the meronym in the dark.”
“Only because I’m tired. Questing’s thirsty work.”
What a pathetic lie, but Uileac accepted it. He’d annoyed her enough already.
Orrinir divvied out the cookies, supplementing them with home-baked bread and rosehip jam. As they munched, Cerie eyed the presents politely piled in a corner, each wrapped in the same fabric as every year: horse prints for Uileac, strawberries for Cerie, and chickens for Orrinir.
That last one irritated Uileac, given his hatred for the birds, but Cerie had insisted on it anyway.
“It’s customary to give one present on Snow Lights’ Eve,” Cerie said like a pedant, as she did each winter, then pointed to a particularly tall one in a crescent shape.
Elongating a sigh, Uileac hefted himself up and retrieved it. She scowled, untied the knots, then gasped in glee.
“A bow! My very own bow! I’ve wanted one for ages!”
“Don’t be so happy,” Uileac remonstrated. “I only bought it because you keep trying to destroy mine.”
Nestled against its curve was a small quiver of arrows with goose-feather fletching. Perhaps they were stolen from the War Academy, but Uileac would never confirm that—and Orrinir would never rat him out.
“Careful with those.” Orrinir pushed them away from her as she tried to scrutinize their iron points. “You’ll poke your eye out.”
But she kept toying with them as Uileac handed over Orrinir’s present: a woolen jumper the same shade as the infantryman’s scarlet hair. He himself got a secondhand poetry book from Cerie, its gilt edges faded from time.
As soon as he saw the cover, all his exasperation surged back. Hitting her over the head with it was mighty tempting, but Orrinir would complain.
“Quests of the Snow Lights. You contemptible beast.” He raised it, shook it in her face, then slammed it onto the table. “Best not think I’ll help you with even a single essay this upcoming semester. I’ll tell your teachers you’re the worst poet alive.”
“Well, you’re the worst at everything,” she said, her grin incandescent. “Mama and Papa saved the best child for last.”
Play fights and feasting: the perfect Snow Lights evening. And soon enough, he and Orrinir hauled a soused Cerie into her own bed, which had lain dormant for several moons.
“I despise that wench,” Uileac hissed to Orrinir as they stood watching her snore, but his fond glance—and the water pitcher on her beside table—betrayed him in entire.
After all the excitement, Uileac had no interest in anything other than rolling into bed and sleeping until twelve bells. But still, he couldn’t resist the way Orrinir’s eyes gleamed with something other than alcohol.
Soft jingles of Council guards plowing their horses past; the peaceful breaths of a blissed-out Orrinir lying at his side. And, finally, the contentment of a reunited family and a happy day ahead.
As he drifted off, Uileac couldn’t help but compose a few final lines. Maybe he’d remember them in the morning. A good poet could believe such fantasies.
Breme resplendent in spring sun;
rain breaks the haze of yesteryear
to usher a better one.
Summer, so short and serene;
petals stretch toward a blue sky,
indulging endless dream.
Goldnin drenched in autumn hues;
poets weep at swirling leaves,
each a fiery muse.
Winter is all crystals, all white gems;
we sleep and hope and promise
to start the year again.
⤝❖⤞
Thank you so much for enjoying this cute story with me. I hope you’ve had a wonderful year and are ready for all the fun 2026 will bring! I will be releasing two new books this year: Absent All Light, coming June 23; and Poesy, coming November 7.
My readers mean everything to me, and I hope each one of you knows that. Whether this is your introduction to the Eirenic Verses or you’ve been following all along, I love to share my stories with you. It’s my sincerest wish that they bring you joy.
If you’d like to offer me a little Christmas present, consider purchasing my books and leaving a review (even if you hated it).
I’m so excited to offer even more of the Eirenic Verses in 2026. If you celebrate Christmas, have an amazing one; if you don’t, then please pamper yourself tomorrow and have some special time with your family.