CHAPTER FIVE #2
Thalia's chest tightened in sudden fear. The momentary reprieve, the comfortable discussion of metallurgy and magic, evaporated like morning frost beneath the sun. Reality crashed back, and with it the knowledge of what she had done—what they had all done.
Marr's scarred face was set in stern lines, his eyes hard as he surveyed the three of them. The former admiral carried himself with the same rigid posture he'd maintained during their years as students, his brown skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat from the forge's heat.
"Greenspire. Meadows." He nodded to each of them in turn, his voice betraying nothing of his thoughts. "I thought I might find you here."
Thalia swallowed, her throat dry as dust. Her mind raced through the possible punishments she had already deemed acceptable: demotion, permanent servitude in the desolate North, even the dreaded frost-brand seared into her flesh. She had thought herself prepared to pay that price.
But as she stood under Instructor Marr’s impassive gaze, a colder, more terrifying realization dawned. The military’s wrath might not stop with her.
Her younger sister’s safety hinged on the money her mother had scraped together to bribe Frostforge’s recruiters.
Thalia’s own conscription had been a sacrifice to buy time and add to the family’s meager funds, which would never have been able to cover bribes to spare both Greenspire daughters.
Thalia had endured Frostforge so that Mari would never have to.
But a frost-brand on her record would brand her entire family as untrustworthy.
The recruiters, to avoid implication, might reject the bribe and take Mari anyway, citing the household’s newly tainted honor.
Or the military could revoke the small stipend they paid, leaving her mother and sister destitute and hungry on the eve of war.
The thought of Mari making the treacherous first trek up the mountain pass toward Frostforge made Thalia's heart constrict.
Her sister, with her bright eyes and clever hands, deserved better than the brutal training and constant danger that had defined Thalia's years at the academy.
She had sacrificed everything to ensure Mari would never face the Selection—and now, her impulsive actions might have undone it all.
Thalia opened her mouth to plead with Marr, to explain that whatever punishment was coming should fall solely on her shoulders, but he held up a hand to silence her.
"You shouldn't have abandoned your posts," he said, his voice stern but not as harsh as she'd expected. "All three of you." He glanced at Brynn, who had the grace to look abashed. "I understand your concern for your classmate, but desertion is a serious offense."
"What will happen to us?" Thalia asked, forcing the words past the knot in her throat. "Sir," she added belatedly.
Marr's expression softened fractionally, then hardened once more. "You're lucky," he said. "Under normal circumstances, the penalties would be severe, and their exact nature would be left up to your commanding officer’s discretion. However, circumstances are far from normal."
He looked past Thalia, at the full racks of weapons that hung behind her. "Frostforge has recently received word of refugees fleeing from the Southern Kingdoms toward the academy. We've been ordered to open our doors to people displaced from coastal cities that have fallen to the Isle Wardens."
A cold dread settled in Thalia's stomach, a chill that had nothing to do with Frostforge’s perpetual freezing temperatures nor her impending punishment.
Fallen cities. Refugees. Just as she’d feared, the war had escalated while they were isolated at the Northern fortress, cut off from news of the wider world.
"Instead of being sent back to face disciplinary action," Marr continued, "you'll be reassigned here.
Frostforge needs every trained hand it can get to help manage the influx of refugees and maintain security.
You're here now, so you'll serve. On probation, it goes without saying, and under watchful eyes.
Wolfe is writing the letter now; the raven will arrive at your outpost within the week. "
Relief flooded through Thalia, momentarily washing away her darker fears. They would stay at Frostforge. No frost-brand. No revoked stipend. Mari would be safe.
Then the full import of Marr's words registered, and the relief curdled into an even deeper anxiety. "Sir," she said, trying to keep her voice steady, "which coastal cities have fallen?"
Marr's eyes met hers, and in them she saw a flicker of sympathy that sent ice through her veins.
"Saltmarsh, three weeks ago," he said. "Southhaven, ten days after that.
And three days ago, we received word that Verdant Port has been overrun.
Its council was deposed by the Wardens. A survivor sent a raven to us with the news. "
The mention of her home struck Thalia like a spearpoint between the ribs.
Verdant Port. Her mother. Her sister. The small herb shop with its worn wooden counter and shelves lined with glass jars.
The narrow street where she'd grown up, the bustling market where she'd run errands for her mother, the harbor where she'd watched ships come and go and dreamed of a life beyond poverty.
Her home. Overrun.
She felt a hand in hers. Luna's. Of course, her friend would also be stricken, desperate for word of her father's safety.
Luna's father was a pariah among the other politicians who administered Verdant Port for his stances against the Selection, but he was still a city official.
Thalia doubted that invading Isle Wardens would discriminate between the leaders who stood with Frostforge and those who opposed it.
"Have there been any refugees from Verdant Port?" she asked, her voice a whisper. "Any word of survivors?"
Marr shook his head. "The first refugees only began arriving yesterday, mostly from Saltmarsh and the surrounding villages. They're coming over land, by caravan, and the journey is long. It's too soon for news from Verdant Port."
Thalia nodded mechanically, unable to form words past the tightness in her throat.
She didn't know if her mother and Mari had escaped, and the uncertainty felt worse than a raw wound.
Were they among the refugees making their way toward Frostforge?
Were they prisoners of the Isle Wardens? Or were they—
No. She couldn't allow herself to complete that thought.
Luna’s fingers tightened around Thalia’s hand. Beside her, Kaine had gone still, his eyes fixed on Thalia's face with an intensity that she might have found unsettling in any other moment. Even Brynn looked shaken, her usual hauteur replaced by genuine concern.
"Report to the western courtyard at dawn," Marr said, his voice gentler now. "Instructor Wolfe will assign your duties then." He hesitated, then added: "For what it's worth, Greenspire, Meadows, I'm sorry about Verdant Port. When we have news of survivors, you'll be the first to know."
He turned and strode away, the sewn glass on his cloak rippling like water in the forge light. Thalia stood frozen, Luna's hand still clasped in hers, the heat of the forge suddenly insufficient against the cold that had settled in her bones.
Her home was gone. Her family might be gone.
Everything she had fought to protect might already be lost. Verdant Port wasn’t just a place on a map — it was the salt-scented air in her lungs, the bells that tolled at dawn, the warm glow of the harbor lights spilling across black water.
It was her mother’s voice calling her in from the wharf, her sister’s laughter echoing between the narrow streets.
And now, if Marr’s words were true, it was nothing but ash and silence.
She felt Luna’s hand still in hers, anchoring her against the undertow.
Kaine stood nearby, his expression carved from the same steel he forged, though the tightness around his eyes betrayed the thought he wouldn’t speak: that she couldn’t fight every battle, couldn’t save everyone.
Brynn’s gaze was fixed somewhere far away, her mouth pressed into a line sharp enough to cut.
Distantly, Thalia remembered that she, too, was from Verdant Port.
It was likely that her family had already fled the city months before the attack.
They'd had the wealth required to do so, the contacts in other cities to ensure safe passage, but these means were a distant dream for Thalia's mother, who had already confided in her daughter that exodus from the slums of Verdant Port would be impossible.
The forge seemed to tilt beneath her feet, reality shifting like snowdrifts in a storm.
She had come to save Roran, and in the dark of night, around a campfire with three allies and several slain Rimwolves around her, she had allowed herself to imagine that it was possible.
That she could return to the world she'd known.
That she might be able to intervene in Roran's fate.
That she might be permitted to fight on the front lines instead of being sent back to the doldrums of the Reaches.
That she would find her way back to the Southern Kingdoms once the war was over, return to her family's herb shop and lay down her blade.
Now, those fragile hopes lay scattered like shards of ice underfoot.