CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN
The summons came at dawn, delivered by a first-year whose cheeks still bore the roundness of childhood.
Thalia's name, spoken alongside Kaine's, Roran's, and Senna's, carried the weight of both honor and dread.
The instructors' meeting room—a chamber she'd only heard of in whispers—now awaited her presence.
As she climbed the spiraling staircase to the third floor of the keep, each step echoed against stone worn smooth by generations of boots, the sound a hollow reminder of her smallness within Frostforge's ancient walls.
Kaine appeared at the landing, his face drawn with exhaustion. Neither had slept since the mage's suicide, with all of its implications. The image of his body slumped against the cell bars was seared into Thalia’s mind.
"You look terrible," he said, the corner of his mouth lifting in the ghost of a smile.
"As do you," she replied, grateful for the moment of normalcy amid the chaos.
They continued the ascent together, silent save for their breathing.
At the top waited Roran and Senna, framed in the archway of a massive oak door banded with ice-metal.
Roran's expression brightened at the sight of Thalia, though shadows lingered beneath his eyes.
Senna merely nodded, her posture rigid as always, betraying nothing of her thoughts.
"Ready?" Roran asked, his voice soft.
Thalia wasn't, not really, but she nodded anyway. The mage's final words—and his desperate act to silence himself—had left her mind churning with questions. What waited beyond the fog? Why would he rather die than speak of it?
The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a chamber that made Thalia's breath catch in her throat.
Vaulted ceilings soared overhead, their beams carved with intricate patterns that told stories of battles long past. The walls were lined with weapons—not the practical, utilitarian blades of the training grounds, but ornate pieces inlaid with precious metals and rare gemstones.
Ice-metal gleamed from every surface, catching the light of crystal lamps and refracting it into patterns that danced across the stone floor.
At the center stood a massive table hewn from a single slab of granite, its surface polished to a mirror shine.
Around it sat the instructors—Wolfe at the head, her wounded shoulder still bound in bandages; Marr to her right, his scarred face impassive; Virek beside him, frost-scarred hands folded neatly before him.
Other instructors filled the remaining seats, their gazes heavy as they watched the newcomers enter.
"Sit," Wolfe commanded, gesturing to the empty chairs at the far end of the table.
Thalia sank into the nearest seat, acutely aware of the disparity between her battle-worn clothes and the grandeur surrounding her. The chair was cold against her back, unyielding, as if testing her resolve.
Wolfe wasted no time on pleasantries. "Frostforge has withstood four major assaults in three years," she began, her emerald eyes sweeping the assembly.
"First, the infiltration by Isle Warden sympathizers under Maven's command.
Then the attack during the Command Challenge that revealed Calloway's treachery, and the attack on the Crystalline plateau during the tribunal.
And now, this direct assault on our walls. "
She pressed her palms flat against the table, leaning forward.
"This pattern suggests a coordinated, escalating campaign against the academy.
Each attack has tested a different vulnerability—our trust, our training methods, our physical defenses.
The Wardens learn from each failure and return stronger. "
"We currently house thousands of refugees," Marr added, his voice carrying the weight of his years as an admiral. "Making us an even more tempting target."
Thalia's throat tightened at the mention of refugees. Her mother and Mari might be among them, if they had survived the fall of Verdant Port. If they had escaped. If, if, if—the word beat in her mind like a drum.
"The mage's interrogation revealed something troubling," Wolfe continued. "He spoke of 'those with potential,' indicating that the Wardens are seeking specific individuals among the Southern population."
"Potential for what?" Virek asked, his voice sharp.
Senna's lips pressed into a thin line. "He didn't elaborate,” she said. “But the prison camps along the Southern coast suggest they're processing people, categorizing them in some way."
"Which makes Frostforge an even more critical target," Wolfe said, breaking the silence. "We house refugees, whom they clearly see as resources to claim."
Thalia's hands curled into fists beneath the table, thinking of her mother, of Mari. Did they show the potential the Wardens were looking for? Had they been taken?
"Frostforge has stood for centuries," Marr said, straightening in his chair.
"It has weathered worse storms than this.
Our walls may be damaged, but they stand.
Our defenses may be tested, but they hold.
" His voice carried the certainty of one who had commanded fleets against impossible odds. "We are resilient."
Murmurs of agreement rippled around the table, a current of stubborn Northern pride that even Thalia found herself drawn to despite her Southern roots.
For all its flaws, Frostforge was a fortress unlike any other—built into the mountain itself, protected by generations of cryomancers, inhabited by the continent's finest warriors and craftsmen.
"Nevertheless," Wolfe said, "we must prepare for the worst. I propose a strictly defensive posture for the immediate future. Rebuilding and reinforcing our walls, shoring up our magical wards, seeking non-violent ways to reactivate the Founders' Price defenses."
"And preparing for siege conditions," Virek added, his whispery voice barely audible. "Our supplies must be cataloged and rationed."
"What of weapons?" Kaine asked, speaking for the first time since they'd entered the room. "The glacenite proved effective, but its side effects are problematic for extended combat."
Wolfe nodded. "I've been considering that.
The constructs we lost in the battle were ice-steel, which the Wardens' black metal rendered useless.
But glacenite golems might withstand their weapons.
" She turned to Kaine directly. "Your expertise in both metallurgy and construction design would be invaluable for such an endeavor.
Would you be willing to draw up a blueprint? "
Kaine's expression remained impassive, but Thalia caught the slight straightening of his shoulders—pride at being asked, perhaps, or simply determination. "Yes, I would."
Thalia could remain silent no longer. The discussion of walls and weapons and waiting felt like chains tightening around her throat while her family languished in a prison camp. She leaned forward, her chair scraping against stone.
"What about the Southern coast?" she asked, her voice tighter than she intended.
All eyes turned to her, but she pressed on.
"Purely defensive tactics only prolong suffering.
The Wardens hold Verdant Port and other cities as prison camps.
People—our people—are being held there, processed like cattle.
We can't just hide behind walls and wait for the next assault. "
A heavy silence fell over the room. Thalia's heart hammered against her ribs, but she held Wolfe's gaze, refusing to back down.
"What would you suggest?" Marr asked, his tone deceptively mild.
"A force could infiltrate," Thalia said, the words tumbling out now, fueled by desperation. "Small, fast, focused on liberation rather than conquest. Hit the prison camps, free the captives, disrupt their operations."
More silence. Then, softly, Roran spoke.
"She's right." All eyes shifted to him, and he continued with growing confidence. "The Wardens are extending their supply lines, stretching their forces thin between attacks along the Southern coast. Whatever the prison camp’s defenses look like, it’s likely not impenetrable. We could—"
"A charming fantasy," one of the other instructors interrupted, his voice dripping with disdain. "And how many of our limited resources should we divert to this suicide mission? How many soldiers can we spare from our damaged defenses?"
"A small team may be all we need," Thalia insisted, leaning forward. "Precise strikes at vulnerable points."
"Based on what intelligence?" Virek asked, his icy eyes narrowing. "You'd have us send our best fighters into enemy territory blind?"
The conversation deteriorated rapidly, voices overlapping as instructors dismissed the proposal as reckless, overly ambitious, a fool's errand. Heat crept up Thalia's neck, frustration building behind her eyes.
"You don't understand," she said, her voice cutting through the din. "Verdant Port is my home. My mother and sister were there when it fell. I can't—" Her voice cracked, emotion threatening to overwhelm her. "I can't just sit here and do nothing."
The room fell silent once more. Wolfe's expression softened fractionally, then hardened again with resolve.
"Your personal stake in this matter is precisely why you should recuse yourself from this discussion, Greenspire," she said, her tone leaving no room for argument. "Your judgment is compromised by emotion, which is understandable but unacceptable in strategic planning."
The rebuke stung like a physical blow. Thalia opened her mouth to protest, but Wolfe raised a hand, silencing her.
"You are dismissed," the instructor said, her voice gentler now but no less firm. "Please wait outside until we've concluded our business."