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.
Thalia's hand trailed along the wall as they descended, fingers finding familiar grooves and cracks in the stone.
How many times had she taken this path during her years at Frostforge?
How many nights had she slipped down to the forge when sleep eluded her, seeking comfort in the honest labor of the hammer, in the predictable behavior of metal under heat and pressure?
In Kaine's quiet company, his silent understanding of her need for space to breathe beyond the relentless demands of the academy?
They made their way down the final curve of the stairwell, where it opened onto a narrow corridor lined with rough-hewn stone. At one end, a simple archway framed a rectangle of flickering orange light—the entrance to the Howling Forge.
The heat struck Thalia like a physical blow as they stepped through, a wall of scorching air that seared her lungs and brought instant sweat to her skin.
After days in the bitter cold of the Northern Reaches, the forge's atmosphere was almost overwhelming—thick with the smell of hot metal, coal smoke, and sweat, vibrating with the rhythmic clang of hammers on anvils, the roar of the great furnaces, the hiss of steam rising from quenching baths.
The forge spread before them, a cavernous space carved into the granite, named for the constant, low moan produced by the wind rushing through ventilation shafts—a sound that underpinned all others, a resonant hum that seemed to emanate from the mountain itself.
Furnaces lined the far wall, their maws glowing with the white-hot heat of their fires, tended by figures whose features were lost in shadow and soot.
Anvils stood in ordered rows across the central floor, each at the center of its own constellation of tools, workbenches, and more portable furnaces.
And there, at his usual workstation, stood Kaine.
He worked alone at an anvil set apart from the others, stripped to the waist to fight the heat, a leather apron tied around his neck, protecting his skin from stray embers.
His broad shoulders and muscled back gleamed with sweat in the firelight.
Soot streaked his pale skin like war paint, emphasizing the sharp angles of his shoulder blades, the defined muscles of his arms as he brought a hammer down upon a glowing length of metal with practiced precision.
His dark hair had grown longer than she remembered, falling across his forehead in a way that softened the hard planes of his face without diminishing its intensity.
As if sensing her presence, he looked up mid-swing, the hammer freezing in the air as his gaze locked with hers across the forge.
For a heartbeat, the world seemed to narrow to that single point of connection—his ice-blue eyes widening in recognition, the blade forgotten on the anvil where it hissed and cooled, his lips parting in a silent exclamation she couldn't hear over the roar of the furnaces.
"Thalia," he finally said, her name barely audible over the ambient noise yet somehow cutting through it all to reach her. He set the hammer down with deliberate care, as if afraid any sudden movement might cause her to vanish like a mirage.
Luna busied herself examining a nearby rack of finished blades, her back turned in a show of tactful withdrawal that didn't fool Thalia for a moment. She knew her friend would be listening to every word.
Five quick strides brought Thalia across the scorched floor to where Kaine stood, close enough now to see the fine lines that had formed at the corners of his eyes, the new scar that bisected his left eyebrow, the way his attempt at a smile cracked his dry lips.
"Where is he?" The words burst from her before she could think better of them. "What have they done with Roran? Is he—"
Kaine flinched as if she'd struck him, his expression hardening into something guarded, remote.
The shift was subtle—a tightening around his eyes, a slight flaring of his nostrils—but to Thalia, who had spent countless hours studying his face in the intimate glow of the forge fires, it might as well have been a shout.
She stopped abruptly, belatedly recognizing the jealousy that flashed in his eyes. After months apart, the first words from her lips had been about Roran. The realization twisted in her chest, sharp with guilt. She swallowed, faltering under his stare, then cleared her throat.
"I'm sorry," she said, forcing herself to meet his gaze.
"I should have—it's good to see you, Kaine.
" The words were inadequate, but they were true.
Despite everything, despite Roran, despite the complications between them, seeing Kaine again settled something within her that had been restless since leaving Frostforge.
His soot-blackened fingers clenched around the tongs he'd been using, knuckles whitening with the force of his grip before he deliberately set the tool aside.
"Roran hasn't been allowed visitors," he said, his voice hard-edged, each word carefully measured. "No one has seen him since they took him to the cells beneath the north tower. No one has spoken to him. So I would have no way of knowing how he is."
The news hit Thalia like a blow to the chest, driving the air from her lungs.
Months of isolation. Months of solitary confinement in the cold darkness of the north tower cells.
The thought of Roran—vibrant, cheerful Roran—locked away from all human contact made her heart ache with a ferocity that surprised her.
"They can't just—that's not—" She struggled to form coherent thoughts, her mind racing with images of Roran, alone, forgotten by all save his jailers.
Something in her expression must have reached Kaine, because his face softened fractionally, the rigid set of his shoulders easing. "I've tried," he admitted, quieter now. "To get information, at least. The guards change every six hours. They bring food once daily. That's all I know."
Luna drifted back toward them, her casual posture belied by the intensity of her dark gaze. "Have they set a date for his trial?" she asked, her voice carefully neutral.
Kaine's eyes flicked to her, then back to Thalia. "It begins one week from tomorrow," he said. "On the Crystalline Plateau. They've constructed an amphitheater for it."
"An amphitheater?" Thalia repeated, confusion momentarily displacing her concern.
"They built it just after the end of last term," Kaine continued, running a hand through his sweat-dampened hair. "Massive thing. Seats for the entire academy. Every student, every instructor, every staff member."
"A spectacle," Luna said, her tone flat. "Not a trial."
Kaine grimaced, a muscle jumping in his jaw. "Based on the talk I’ve heard at instructors’ meetings, the academy leadership wants to send a message. Storm magic is Isle Warden magic. Using it anywhere on the continent is treason, and they want everyone to see the consequences."
A cold weight settled in Thalia's stomach, dread coiling through her veins like frost spreading across glass. "The verdict is already decided, isn't it?" she asked, though she knew the answer before Kaine's grimace deepened, before he looked away, unable to meet her eyes.
That was answer enough.