CHAPTER ELEVEN
Thalia's boots struck the frost-rimed stone of the Crystalline Plateau with angry precision, each step a punctuation to the rage coursing through her veins.
The cold air burned her lungs as she paced, her breath escaping in harsh clouds that dissipated into the bitter mountain wind.
Behind her, the wooden amphitheater loomed like a monument to injustice, its rough-hewn boards and hastily erected beams stark against the crisp blue sky.
She could still hear the echo of laughter following her retreat, could still feel the heat of shame burning beneath her skin.
Her hands clenched and unclenched at her sides, fingers stiff with cold and fury.
The words replayed in her mind, each syllable a fresh cut: Did you share his bed?
Solberg's pale eyes had gleamed with malice as he'd asked, his white beard failing to conceal the cruel twist of his mouth.
The memory of the crowd's reaction — the wave of laughter, the mocking whispers — made her stomach clench as if she'd swallowed broken glass.
The plateau stretched before her, a broad expanse of granite dusted with frost, eternally shadowed by the towering spire of Smith's Anvil.
In spring, wildflowers would pierce the thin soil between stone cracks — stubborn life asserting itself against the mountain's indifference.
But now, in winter's grip, the plateau was barren and unforgiving, reflecting her own stark emotions back at her with cruel accuracy.
The familiar terrain offered no comfort today. This was where she had trained for four grueling years, where she had forged bonds with her fellow students through shared pain and triumph. Now it felt alien, hostile, as if the very stone beneath her feet had turned traitor.
A murmur of voices drifted from the amphitheater, followed by the creaking of wood as people began to file out.
Thalia paused in her pacing, spine stiffening as she turned to watch the slow exodus.
Students emerged first, moving in tight clusters, their voices hushed and faces solemn.
A handful of instructors followed, their formal robes fluttering in the mountain breeze.
The tribunal members were noticeably absent.
"Thalia!"
Luna's voice cut through the cold air. She was pushing through the crowd, Ashe close behind her, both moving with the urgent purpose of those with important news. Thalia steeled herself, squaring her shoulders against whatever fresh blow was coming.
"They've called a recess," Luna said as she reached Thalia, slightly breathless from her rush across the plateau. "The tribunal's gone to deliberate."
Ashe's normally stoic face was tight with concern. "It could be hours before they reconvene."
Thalia's chest constricted, her earlier anger giving way to a nauseating wave of dread. "I've made things worse, haven't I?" The words tumbled out before she could stop them, her voice raw with self-recrimination. Her hands trembled as she ran them through her hair.
Luna reached out to clasp her shoulder. “No. You haven’t.”
"No single witness could have changed their course," Ashe said firmly, her green eyes intense with conviction. "The tribunal decided Roran's fate long before any of us took the stand. Before we even arrived at Frostforge."
Luna nodded, her usual playful demeanor replaced by something grave and knowing.
"The trial was never about justice," she said, her voice pitched low despite the distance between them and the dispersing crowd.
"They only brought you out there to drag Roran through the mud.
That was nothing more than political theater, designed to send a message. "
"A message," Thalia repeated, the word bitter on her tongue. She could see the truth clearly now. The tribunal had only called her as a witness to humiliate both of them, to punish Roran for his transgressions, and to make a laughingstock of his most ardent advocate.
"People in power sometimes act out of cruelty because they believe only cruelty can maintain their power," Luna continued, her dark eyes reflecting a wisdom beyond her years. "Fear keeps people in line. Especially when that fear is demonstrated publicly."
The words struck a chord in Thalia's memory.
She recalled a conversation from their first year at Frostforge, huddled in their dormitory long after curfew.
Luna had revealed how her father's political activism in Verdant Port had made him a target.
His bribes to the Selection officials — standard practice among those with means — had been rejected, and his only daughter shipped off to probable death at Frostforge as punishment for his dissent.
"Like what happened to you," Thalia said softly. "Your father's punishment."
Luna's mouth tightened into a grim line as she nodded. "Exactly like that, yes," She glanced back at the emptying amphitheater, her expression darkening. "Roran isn't just being punished for who he is or what he did. He's being made an example."
"A warning," Ashe added, her voice low and tense.
"To the refugees flooding into Frostforge. To every student who might feel a flicker of sympathy for the 'enemy.'" Luna’s fingers sketched mocking quotation marks around the word. "The message is clear: there is no tolerance, no mercy, no matter how loyal you've proven yourself to be."
Thalia absorbed this, feeling the cold grip of powerlessness settle deeper into her bones.
Every aspect of the trial now made hideous sense — the public spectacle, the deliberately humiliating questions, the dismissal of Roran's service to Frostforge. It wasn't about determining guilt or innocence; it was about reinforcing the dividing lines that had defined the conflict for generations. Frostforge’s students were future soldiers, and soldiers could not harbor doubts about their enemies’ inhumanity.
"The timing isn't coincidental either," Ashe added. "With refugees arriving daily and the academy's security compromised, the instructors need to make it clear where they stand."
Thalia stared past her, toward the distant peaks that surrounded Frostforge like sentinels. Somewhere beyond those mountains lay the ruins of Verdant Port, and perhaps, if she allowed herself the fragile hope, her mother and sister making their way toward safety.
"What can we do?" she asked, the question emerging as little more than a whisper.
Ashe shifted her weight, her military-trained mind already reviewing options. "We could appeal to Instructor Marr," she suggested, though her tone lacked conviction. "He might be sympathetic, especially given his Southern background."
"Wolfe holds the final authority," Luna countered. "And she's firmly Northern in her prejudices. Any appeal would have to go through her."
"What about escape?" Thalia's voice dropped even lower, the words dangerous even to voice aloud. "If we could get him out of here—"
"The security around him has only tightened in recent days," Ashe said, shaking her head.
"Golem sentries, wards on the doors. And even if we could get him out, where would we go?
Winter has closed the mountain passes, and we would be caught quickly if we tried to travel by sea.
We'd never make it to the Southern Kingdoms."
The bleak reality of their position settled over them like fresh snow, cold and smothering. Every path forward seemed blocked, every potential ally compromised or powerless.
"When will they announce the verdict?" Thalia asked after a long silence.
"Soon," Luna replied. "Perhaps by evening."
"I'm less concerned about the verdict than the sentence," Thalia said, her voice hollow. "We all know what they'll decide. The only question is what they’ll do next.”
***
The amphitheater filled once more like a wound drawing poison back to its center.
Students filed in with subdued movements, their earlier excitement curdled into something more solemn, more aware of the gravity they witnessed.
The tribunal members entered last, their robes sweeping across the wooden platform with the finality of an executioner's hood.
Thalia watched from her place between Luna and Ashe, her body rigid with tension, hands clasped so tightly that her fingers had gone numb.
In the center of it all knelt Roran, still chained, his face turned toward the tribunal with the resigned dignity of one who had already accepted what was to come.
Thalia searched the crowd for a friendly face, for anyone who might see the injustice unfolding before them.
Her gaze caught on Kaine, standing near one of the support pillars, his ice-blue eyes already fixed on her.
He gave her a slight nod, an acknowledgment of shared concern that provided little comfort against the tide of dread rising within her.
The wooden benches creaked beneath the weight of bodies as the last spectators found their places.
The noise settled into expectant silence, broken only by the occasional cough or whisper quickly hushed.
Winter sunlight slanted through gaps in the amphitheater's structure, casting bars of light across the assembled faces, illuminating some while leaving others in shadow.
The effect was like a painting Thalia had once seen in a Southern temple—the judgment of souls, some bathed in divine light, others consigned to darkness.
Instructor Wolfe rose from her high-backed chair, her emerald eyes sweeping the crowd with predatory intensity.
The fabric of her dark robes seemed to absorb the sunlight rather than reflect it, as if even light feared to touch her.
Her incisors gleamed unnaturally sharp as she opened her mouth to speak.
"The tribunal has reached its verdict," she announced, her voice carrying effortlessly to every corner of the amphitheater.