CHAPTER EIGHT #3
"During the Storm Chase trial, in our third year, Roran was assigned to a skiff with me and Thalia Greenspire. Once out to sea, we found ourselves cut off from the rest of the regatta and surrounded by Isle Wardens. Roran used storm magic then — once again in defense of Frostforge students.”
This information seemed to land unevenly on the crowd.
Some of the faces around Thalia tightened with suspicion, while others remained intrigued.
Thalia exhaled silently, some of the tension leaving her shoulders.
She had known this line of questioning would occur, and had been worried it would derail Ashe’s testimony entirely.
This was better than what she’d expected.
Ashe’s credibility was bruised, but still intact.
On the whole, she’d managed to help Roran’s case rather than hurt it.
No sooner had Thalia had the thought than Virek spoke again, his words sharp like a well-aimed bolt from Ashe’s crossbow. “Have you ever witnessed the accused use forbidden storm magic techniques outside of emergency situations?”
Thalia blinked, stunned by the Founders. She had expected the questions about the Storm Chase, but not this. Never this.
“Not good,” Luna whispered tensely.
Unbidden, her mind rushed back to that night, to the moonlight rippling across the fjord’s still water and the sharp scent of the pines.
She and Ashe had been down at the docks, practicing a cryomantic form by dawn’s light, when they’d seen the searing light of electricity through the trees.
They’d watched, hidden, as Roran practiced his storm magic.
It had seemed like training, like ritual; the exercises were clearly familiar to him.
Ashe drew an audible breath, like the question had stung her. There was panic in her eyes as her gaze slid to Thalia — panic, and remorse.
Ashe’s tribe abhorred breaches of oath, disloyalty to sworn allies.
To lie to the tribunal, even with a single word, would be a transgression as taboo as murder.
Thalia felt cold as she locked eyes with Ashe, but she couldn’t bring herself to do anything other than nod.
Just once, a slight inclination of her head to show that she understood.
"Yes," Ashe admitted, her voice tight with reluctance. "Once."
Wolfe leaned forward, her eyes sharp with interest. "Explain," she commanded.
"Months before the attack," Ashe said, each word measured as if it pained her to speak them, "I saw him practicing with lightning in the woods at night. Alone."
A murmur of unease spread through the crowd, the fragile sympathy Ashe had built for Roran beginning to crumble under this new revelation. Thalia could see the calculation in Virek's pale eyes as he pressed his advantage.
"And did he know you saw him?" he asked, though the question was unnecessary—a theatrical flourish meant only to emphasize the point he was about to make.
Ashe's jaw tightened. "No."
"Then he was hiding it," Virek concluded, satisfaction evident in his whisper-soft voice. "Not using it in defense of others, not in desperation—but deliberately, in secret. It sounds as though he knew it was wrong."
Ashe opened her mouth to argue, her eyes flashing with frustration, but Instructor Solberg cut her off with a raised hand.
"Why did you not report this incident, Redwood?" he asked, his voice grave with disapproval. "As a loyal recruit, it was your duty to bring such a serious breach of academy rules to our attention. You were friends with the accused during your time at Frostforge, were you not?"
His implication was clear: Ashe's testimony was compromised by personal loyalty, her judgment clouded by friendship rather than duty.
Thalia watched as the careful mask of control slipped from Ashe's face—her jaw tightening, eyes glittering with barely contained anger at the tribunal's deliberate twisting of her words.
But the damage was done. The mutterings in the crowd made it clear that Ashe’s credibility was in shambles; if she had helped Roran’s case, even for a moment, that advantage had now been utterly lost.
"I believed then, as I believe now," Ashe said, her voice strained with the effort of maintaining her composure, "that Roran Bright's loyalty to Frostforge is beyond question. His actions during the attack proved—"
"That will be all, soldier," Wolfe interrupted, her tone brooking no argument. "You are dismissed."
Ashe stood rigid for a moment, the struggle evident in every line of her body—her instinct to fight warring with the soldier's duty to obey. Finally, she offered another salute, this one stiff with suppressed emotion, and stepped down from the platform. She crossed the space between the tribunal’s dais and the stands, pausing as she drew close to Roran.
Thalia was not near enough to hear the words they exchanged, but their expressions spoke volumes: Ashe’s brows furrowed, her open palms begging forgiveness; Roran’s lips pressed thin, his eyes downcast as he shook his head.
Then Ashe continued past him, her steps short and rigid, until she reached the stands and took her seat beside Thalia.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered, distraught. “I tried, Thalia. I really did.”
"I know," Thalia replied, squeezing Ashe's arm briefly. The gesture was automatic, a reflex of reassurance, though she felt none herself.