The mage smiled, revealing teeth filed to points—a common practice among Isle Wardens, Thalia had learned, though the purpose remained a mystery."You mistake me for someone who fears pain."
Wolfe shifted her weight, and for the first time, Thalia noticed the strain in the instructor's posture, the careful way she held her wounded shoulder."We have no interest in causing you unnecessary suffering.We seek information.Cooperate, and you'll be treated with the dignity afforded to any prisoner of war."
The mage's laugh was dry and brittle."War?Is that what you call this?This is—"
He broke off abruptly as Roran stepped fully into the chamber, Thalia at his side.
“It’s you.”The mage's eyes widened, his posture straightening from its slouch.Recognition flashed across his face, followed by an expression Thalia couldn't immediately identify.
Roran's face hardened, but he said nothing.Thalia watched him from the corner of her eye, saw the tension in the set of his jaw, the way his hands curled into fists at his sides.
"You are Rorik Stormchild," the mage breathed, the name both accusation and greeting.“Son of Peregrin and Yvaine, of the Ninth Wave.Your parents were both exemplary storm mages, among the strongest of their generation.I’d know those features anywhere.”
Thalia expected Wolfe to react to the name—to demand explanations, to turn on Roran with renewed suspicion.But the instructor merely glanced between Roran and the mage, her expression unchanged.Beside her, Senna continued her pacing, seemingly unconcerned by the revelation of Roran's true name.Thalia felt a surge of relief; Roran’s recent heroism had been obvious enough that, at least to Wolfe and Senna, his heritage no longer mattered.
"I had heard the rumors,” the mage continued, his gaze fixed on Roran.“So it is true.You walk among the ice-wielders.You are a traitor to your kind."
Senna drew her glacenite blade in a fluid motion, the metal catching the cryolamps' light with an inner glow.She held it before her, not quite a threat, but a reminder of what awaited the uncooperative.
"Tell us about the Southern coast," she demanded."Why the change in tactics?Isle Wardens have been raiders for generations—striking quickly, then retreating to your islands.Now you occupy cities, hold territory.Why?"
The mage's gaze remained fixed on Roran, ignoring Senna entirely."Do they know what you are?"he asked softly."What blood runs in your veins?They must know by now, surely.The tempest cannot be concealed forever.Once they have stopped finding uses for you, they will kill you like the stormspawn you are, boy."
"Answer the question," Wolfe cut in, her voice sharp as the crack of ice in deep winter.
The mage finally looked away from Roran, his expression settling into bored disdain."I have nothing to say toyou."
Something snapped inside Thalia—a dam breaking, releasing all the fear and anger she'd held at bay since learning of Verdant Port's fall.She stepped forward, pushing past Senna to stand directly before the cell.
"Verdant Port," she said, her voice shaking with barely contained fury."What happened there?What did you do to the people who couldn't escape?"
The mage's gaze shifted to her, interest flickering in his pale eyes."And who might you be, little mainlander, to demand answers with such fire?"
"It's my home," Thalia said, her hands gripping the ice bars so tightly that her knuckles blanched."My mother and sister were there when your ships came.Tell me what happened to them."
"Thalia," Roran murmured, a warning in his voice.But she was beyond caution now, beyond reason.
"Tell me," she repeated, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper, "or I will make you regret every moment you spend breathing the air of my continent."
It was a threat she had no idea how to fulfill, words born of desperation rather than capability.But something in her expression—in the raw, unfiltered rage that poured from her—gave the mage pause.
He studied her for a long moment, then shrugged, as if deciding her question merited a response when others had not."Verdant Port serves a purpose now, as all occupied territories do.Its harbor is deep, its canal system efficient.An ideal processing center."
"Processing?"Thalia echoed, dread pooling in her stomach like ice water.
The mage smiled, the expression never reaching his eyes."We need to identify those with...potential.”There was a pause as the Frostforge interrogators waited for more information, but no elaboration seemed to be forthcoming.
Thalia broke the silence."You're using my city as a prison camp.”The words scraped her throat raw.
"Call it what you like,” said the mage.
She opened her mouth, but no words came.Her throat had closed around the questions she needed to ask, choking them before they could form.Wolfe stepped forward, her hand coming to rest briefly on Thalia's shoulder—a gesture so unexpected that it jolted Thalia from her frozen horror.
"What drives this push inland?"Wolfe asked, her tone calm, as if discussing the weather rather than the invasion of the continent."The Isle Wardens have maintained their boundaries for centuries.You have raided, then retreated to your archipelago.You have never stayed on the mainland.Why risk everything on a continental conquest now?"
The mage's expression shifted, amusement replaced by something darker, more haunted.For the first time, he seemed to truly see Wolfe, to consider her as more than an inconvenient interrogator.
"You wouldn't understand," he said finally, "even if I tried to explain.You're mainlanders.You have no idea what waits beyond the fog."
