Frostforge had never given a warm welcome, but in Thalia’s four years at the academy, she had never been subjected to this sort of scrutiny and aggression.This didn’t seem to be mere sport for the soldiers, either.They were fully armored, and they had responded to Senna’s orders.Whatever was happening here, it was intentional.
"The tribunal won't spare your Warden boyfriend just because you beg," Senna said, finally releasing the recruit with a dismissive flick of her wrist."But by all means, try.It'll be entertaining."
She turned away without waiting for a response, calling orders to her squadron as they formed the new recruits into a ragged line for the trek up the mountain.The path to Frostforge twisted through a dense pine forest, hiding the academy from view until the final approach.Thalia had walked it countless times, in blizzards and clear skies, in darkness and dawn, but never with such a weight of dread sitting like a stone in her stomach.
The scent of pine sap and sea salt filled her lungs as she breathed deeply, trying to steady herself.This, at least, was unchanged—the sharp, clean fragrance of the Northern forest mixed with the briny air that rolled in from the fjord.It brought memories rushing back: her first glimpse of these woods, walking this same path as a terrified recruit; countless training exercises among the trees; and most vividly, Roran, crouched at the edge of the shoreline on a moonless night, the still water reflecting the flash of the electricity he conjured.
He had come down here to practice his storm magic regularly.A secret, of course, and one that Thalia had helped him keep.
The convoy began to move, soldiers flanking the recruits as they trudged up the sloping path.Thalia found herself walking beside Senna, who had taken position next to one of the small, sturdy horses that pulled carts laden with the recruits' belongings.The animal's breath steamed in the cold air, its shaggy coat rimmed with frost despite the exertion of the climb.Thalia reached out, running her gloved hand along its neck in a gesture of comfort that was as much for herself as for the beast.
"I don't remember such a thorough inspection when we arrived," Thalia said, careful to keep her tone neutral."What was that about back there?"
Senna's gaze remained fixed ahead, but her lips twisted in a semblance of a smile that never reached her eyes."New protocol.Every first-year recruit is to be searched for evidence of Isle Warden proclivities or contraband.Commander's orders."
"Because of Roran," Thalia surmised, unable to keep the edge from her voice.
"Because we harbored a traitor in our midst for four years without knowing it," Senna corrected sharply."Because he concealed storm magic—Isle Warden magic—and used it within these walls."She glanced sideways at Thalia, her expression cold."The academy is on high alert, and with good reason."
Thalia said nothing, but her jaw clenched so tightly she could feel the muscles strain.If the academy had instituted inspections of recruits, if commanders spoke of Roran as a traitor before his tribunal had even begun, what hope did he have of a fair hearing?The question sat like ice in her gut, spreading tendrils of cold dread through her limbs.
CHAPTER FOUR
Frostforge's massive ice-metal gates groaned open, the sound echoing through Thalia's bones like the lament of some ancient beast.Beyond the threshold lay the familiar stone foyer, its vaulted ceiling disappearing into shadow, its walls lined with the trophies of centuries—weapons forged by legendary smiths, the preserved skull of a glacier bear.Thalia stepped forward, her boots striking the polished stone floor with a hollow sound that announced her return to a place that had both forged and nearly broken her.
The gates sealed behind them with the finality of a tomb closing, cutting off the pale daylight and plunging them into the cool glow of wall-mounted torches.Thalia's eyes adjusted slowly, picking out the details she had once known by heart: the worn groove in the center of the floor where thousands of boots had traced the same path for generations; the frost patterns etched into the stone columns, delicate as lace yet enduring as the mountains themselves; the faint smell of pine smoke and metal that permeated every corner of the academy.
Ashe paused beside her, close enough that Thalia could feel the warmth radiating from her body—a small comfort in this place of cold stone and colder memories."I need to report to Wolfe immediately," she said, her voice barely above a whisper.Her hand found Thalia's shoulder, squeezing once—firm, reassuring.A silent promise of camaraderie that spoke volumes more than words could convey.
"When will you—" Thalia began, but Ashe was already turning away, her tall figure moving with purpose down the right corridor, toward the instructors' quarters.The sound of her footsteps faded, swallowed by the vastness of the foyer, leaving Thalia with the uneasy sensation of watching a lifeline slip away.
She turned to Luna and Brynn, both looking as out of place as she felt in their travel-worn furs and mud-crusted boots.Once, they had belonged here; now they were intruders in a space that had already begun to forget them.
"What now?"Thalia asked, voice low despite the emptiness of the foyer.Every sound seemed magnified here, as if the very walls were listening, waiting to betray their presence.
Brynn's face hardened, the set of her jaw revealing determination that bordered on desperation."I'm going to find Instructor Marr," she said, checking the ice-steel daggers at her hips with practiced hands."He's my only chance.The Northern instructors won't listen—they're all part of the system that denied me what I earned."Her fingers curled into fists at her sides."But Marr's different.He's Southern.He'll understand what they've done.What I’m owed."
"Brynn, wait—" Thalia started.Instructor Marr, the grizzled former admiral who had commanded fleets against the Isle Wardens for decades, wasn't known for his generosity.Or his patience.His Southern heritage didn’t make him an ally by default.
But Brynn was already striding away, her footsteps sharp and deliberate against the stone.
Luna made a soft sound that might have been amusement or resignation."If she's set on confronting Marr, there's no stopping her," she said, dark eyes scanning the shadows that clung to the vaulted ceiling."I imagine that means our desertion will be discovered soon, one way or another."She turned to Thalia, head tilted slightly, a question in her gaze."What do we do with the time we have left?"
Thalia felt the weight of the question settle on her shoulders.She was here for Roran—to learn his fate, to intervene if possible.But where to begin?The prison cells would be guarded, the administrative chambers sealed to all but those with the proper authority.
"The Howling Forge," she said finally, the words forming before she had fully considered them."Kaine will be there.He’s the friendliest face we’re likely to find."
Luna's mouth curved into a knowing smile that made Thalia's cheeks warm despite the chill of the foyer."Kaine," she repeated, drawing out the name like tasting honey."The friendliest face at Frostforge, certainly.Particularly for you."
Thalia looked away, unable to meet Luna's gaze.Heat crept up her neck, and she was grateful for the dim light that hid her blush.Luna wasn't wrong.During their years at Frostforge, Thalia and Kaine had found moments of solace in each other's company, stolen hours in the depths of the forge where the roar of the furnaces drowned out the world above.What had begun as lessons in metallurgy—Kaine recognizing and nurturing her current-sensing abilities—had evolved into something more complex, more intimate.
And more dangerous, given Senna's obsession with Kaine, her conviction that they were destined for each other.
"We should take the servants' stairwell," Thalia said, deliberately changing the subject."It's less likely to be watched."
Luna's eyes gleamed with suppressed laughter, but she merely nodded, falling into step beside Thalia as they moved toward a narrow doorway half-hidden behind a tapestry depicting the Founding of Frostforge—Northern and Southern smiths joining hands over an anvil, a romanticized version of a unity that had never truly existed.
The servants' stairwell spiraled downward into the heart of the mountain, stone steps worn smooth by centuries of use.Torches set at irregular intervals cast just enough light to navigate by, their flames guttering in the constant draft that wound through the passage like a restless spirit.The air grew warmer with each turn of the stair, the cold of the upper levels giving way to a rising heat that carried the metallic tang of molten ore, the sharp bite of quenching baths, the earthy scent of coal dust.
