CHAPTER FOURTEEN #2
Thalia turned to address the entire group. "My name is Thalia. I'll be leading today's foraging expedition. We'll be focusing on the pine forest along the eastern edge of the fjord, looking for winter mushrooms, pine nuts, and any remaining berries that might have survived the frost."
One of the Northern men—tall and broad-shouldered with a beard streaked prematurely with gray—gave a derisive snort. "Following a Southerner into the wilderness. Perfect."
Thalia met his gaze evenly, refusing to rise to the bait. "This fjord isn't wilderness to me. I've spent five years learning every inch of the terrain around Frostforge." She gestured toward the gate. "Unless you'd prefer to lead?"
The man glanced away, his silence answer enough.
Thalia nodded once, then pushed through the heavy door that led to the switchback path descending from Frostforge's elevated position to the valley below.
The chill air struck her face like a physical blow, carrying the sharp scent of pine and the more subtle, troubling undertone of saltwater from the fjord.
The group fell into single file as they navigated the narrow path, ice crunching beneath their boots.
No one spoke, conserving breath for the demanding descent.
When they reached the valley floor, the pines rose around them like silent sentinels, their branches heavy with snow that occasionally released its burden in soft plumes of white powder.
Thalia paused, orienting herself among the trees.
The forest had changed in recent weeks. Normally abundant with life even in winter—squirrels chattering among the branches, birds calling to one another across clearings—now it stood unnaturally quiet.
The wildlife had grown wary, hiding from the academy's hunting parties that had intensified their efforts as supplies dwindled.
What few animal tracks she could spot in the snow were old, the impressions partially filled by recent dustings.
"We'll spread out," she instructed, pointing toward a stand of older pines.
"Felah, check the southern edge of that clearing—there were cloud-ear mushrooms growing on fallen logs there last time I came through.
You three—" she addressed the Northerners, "—fan out toward the east. Look for disturbances in the snow where animals might have dug for pine nuts.
Sometimes they leave caches we can harvest."
The Northern refugees moved off with visible reluctance, muttering among themselves in the guttural dialect of the upper Reaches. Thalia caught fragments that needed no translation—their disdain clear in both tone and the occasional glances thrown her way.
"They're frightened," Felah said quietly as they separated from the men. "Everyone is. Fear makes people cruel."
Thalia nodded, though she found little comfort in the observation. "Fear shouldn't make us stupid. Division is exactly what the Deep Ones want—or would want, if they were capable of wanting anything."
She knelt beside a fallen log, brushing away snow to examine the north-facing side where moisture gathered even in winter.
A small cluster of withered mushrooms rewarded her search, their edges frost-damaged but the centers still viable.
She harvested them carefully, placing them in one of the collection sacks at her belt.
The work fell into a rhythm—search, evaluate, harvest when possible, move on when not.
The forest yielded its bounty grudgingly, as if aware of the darkness approaching and reluctant to sustain those who might soon join it.
Thalia found herself stretching to reach bark higher on the trees, where the most nutritious inner layers might still be harvested, her earlier excitement about the hybrid blade gradually giving way to the practical demands of survival.
A voice rose from the eastern edge of their search area, sharp with complaint. "There's nothing here! We've been at this for an hour and found barely enough to feed a child!"
Thalia straightened, her back protesting the movement after so long bent in examination of the forest floor. The Northern man with the gray-streaked beard stood with empty hands, his face flushed with cold and frustration.
"Winter foraging is always lean," she called back, keeping her voice neutral. "But every bit helps."
"I haven't had a proper meal since we reached this damned fortress," he continued, stomping through the snow toward her. "Half-portions of thin stew, bread that's more sawdust than grain. And now we're expected to survive on pinecones and frozen mushrooms?"
Thalia felt a flare of irritation despite her resolve to remain diplomatic. "None of us are eating well," she pointed out, gesturing toward Felah who had emerged from the trees with a small collection of wizened berries. "We're all hungry. We're all making sacrifices."
The man's face darkened. "Some sacrifices are forced upon us by the incompetence of others," he spat. "If the Southern port cities hadn't fallen so quickly, if they'd held the line against the Wardens and their black sorcery, we wouldn't be trapped here now."
Thalia clenched her jaw, biting back the angry retort that rose to her lips. Instead, she turned toward a nearby pine, its bark rough beneath her fingers as she worked her knife into a seam. With practiced movements, she peeled back a section to reveal the pale inner layer.
"Here," she said, offering the strip to the Northern man. "The inner bark is edible. Bitter, but nutritious. It will help with hunger pangs until we return to the keep."
He stared at the offering as if she'd presented him with something foul. "I'm not eating wood like some desperate animal."
"I thought Northerners prided themselves on being tougher than Southern folk," Thalia replied, unable to keep a sardonic edge from her voice. "Capable of surviving anything the mountains throw at them."
The words left her mouth before she could reconsider, fatigue and frustration overwhelming her better judgment. She regretted them immediately as the man's face contorted with rage, his companions moving to flank him in a show of Northern solidarity.
"You dare mock us?" he growled, stepping close enough that she could smell the sourness of his breath.
"While we're forced to scrape by on meager resources because your people let the enemy walk right through your lands?
While we share what little food remains with Isle Warden prisoners who should be executed like the vermin they are? "
The mention of the Wardens sent a cold jolt through Thalia's veins that had nothing to do with the winter air. "The prisoners receive the same rations as everyone else," she said carefully. "No more, no less."
"They shouldn't receive anything!" the second Northern man interjected, his younger face flushed with anger. "Every bite they take is stolen from proper people. From children! From our children!"
"People have to eat," Felah said quietly, having moved to stand near Thalia. "All people."
The gray-bearded man rounded on her, his contempt undisguised. "Wardens aren't people. They're animals. Worse than animals. They're monsters who brought this curse upon us with their foul magic."
"That's enough," Thalia snapped, stepping between Felah and the man. "I won't listen to that kind of talk. The Wardens aren't responsible for the Deep Tide—they're its first victims. They've been fighting it for generations while we ignored their warnings."
"Listen to her," sneered the third Northerner, his thin face sharp with malice. "Defending the enemy. Typical Southerner—weak, sympathetic to those who would destroy us."
Something snapped inside Thalia—the fragile control she'd maintained over her temper, already frayed by exhaustion and frustration. She stepped forward, her hand finding the hilt of her harvesting knife without conscious thought.
"Say that again," she challenged, her voice dropping to a dangerous quiet. "Call me weak one more time while I'm holding this blade."
The gray-bearded man's eyes widened slightly, but he didn't back down.
Instead, he moved closer, deliberately invading her space, using his greater height as intimidation.
"You're not just weak," he said, his voice pitched low.
"You're a traitor. We've heard the whispers, even as newcomers.
How you speak for the Wardens. How you claim this black water is something other than their sorcery.
" His lip curled in disgust. "Perhaps you're more than a sympathizer. Perhaps you're a collaborator."
Thalia's vision narrowed, rage burning through her veins like wildfire. Her grip tightened on the knife, her body tensing for the violence that seemed inevitable. One swift movement. One sharp lesson in respect. One—
"Thalia, don't." Felah's hand closed around her wrist, gentle but insistent. "They're not worth it. And we need to bring back whatever we've found. People are counting on us."
Reality crashed back through Thalia's anger—the reality of their desperate situation, of the black waters rising in the fjord, of the weapon she and Naj had forged that might represent their only hope. All of it jeopardized if she gave in to this petty provocation.
She forced her fingers to release the knife, though the tension remained coiled in her muscles, ready to spring. "You're right," she said to Felah, though her eyes remained locked on the Northern man. "They're not worth it."
With deliberate movements, she turned away, bending to gather the collection sack she'd dropped during the confrontation. The snow soaked through the knees of her trousers, the cold a sharp counterpoint to the heat of her anger.
"Let's move further west," she said to Felah, her voice steadier than she felt. "There might be better foraging at the treeline."
As they trudged through the snow, leaving the Northerners to follow or not as they chose, Thalia felt the earlier excitement drain from her completely.
The hollow pit of hunger in her stomach seemed to expand, consuming her hope along with her energy.
Luna had been right. An alliance between peoples who had been enemies for generations was unlikely, perhaps impossible, even with the shadow of extinction looming over them all.
Yet what choice remained? Divided, they would fall to the darkness. United, they might at least face it standing.
The blade she and Naj had forged proved cooperation was possible. One small light against the gathering dark. Whether it would be enough—whether they could forge more such lights before the Deep Tide consumed them all—remained to be seen.
For now, she would gather what nourishment the winter forest offered and return to Frostforge with her meager harvest. And tonight, when darkness fell and the keep grew quiet, she would descend once more to the Howling Forge to continue the work that might yet save them all—with or without the blessing of those who refused to see beyond their ancient hatreds.