CHAPTER TWENTY #2
As she climbed the spiraling staircase toward the eastern tower, memories of her previous ejection from the Council rose unbidden.
Wolfe's dismissal had been cold, final—a reminder that even heroes could become pariahs when they challenged established beliefs.
Today would be worse. Today she came not merely with uncomfortable questions, but with proof of active sedition.
The massive ironwood doors of the War Council chamber loomed before her, emblazoned with the academy's crest—a stylized mountain peak wreathed in frost. Two guards flanked the entrance, their postures stiffening as she approached. One raised his hand in warning.
"The Council is in session," he stated, voice flat with practiced authority. "No admittance without—"
"I know what they're discussing," Thalia interrupted, her voice steadier than she felt. "And I have information they need to hear."
The guards exchanged glances, doubt evident in their expressions.
Thalia was nothing to them—a demoted soldier, assigned to menial tasks, stripped of whatever standing she once possessed.
Their hesitation gave her the moment she needed.
Before either could move to stop her, she pushed past them and shoved the heavy doors open with both hands.
The sudden silence that fell over the chamber was absolute.
Eight pairs of eyes turned toward her—the five instructors who comprised the War Council, two senior officers, and Ashe, who stood against the far wall, her red-streaked hair instantly recognizable even in the chamber's dim light.
Ashe's expression shifted from surprise to dismay to resignation in rapid succession.
"Greenspire." Wolfe's voice cut through the silence with lethal precision. She stood at the head of the massive stone table, her scarred hands planted firmly on its surface, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in its customary severe knot. "Explain this intrusion, or be removed."
Thalia stepped fully into the chamber, allowing the doors to swing closed behind her.
Maps covered the walls—detailed renderings of the fjord, the surrounding mountains, potential evacuation routes marked in red ink that somehow resembled bloodstains in the torchlight.
On the table itself, a three-dimensional model of Frostforge and its immediate surroundings dominated the center, surrounded by smaller representations of defensive structures.
"I can see the black waters from the Smith's Anvil," Thalia said, her voice carrying in the high-ceilinged room. "They've reached the fjord's mouth."
No shock registered on the assembled faces. They already knew.
"Your point?" Virek asked, his thin frame appearing even more skeletal in the chamber's harsh lighting. Frost patterns decorated his hands—evidence of recent cryomantic work—and his eyes held the cold dismissal she remembered so well.
"My point is that news will spread," Thalia replied, stepping closer to the table. "Panic will follow unless you offer a real plan. Not evacuation routes that lead nowhere. Not defenses that can't possibly hold."
"You presume to instruct the War Council on strategy?" Wolfe's voice remained level, but danger sharpened its edges. "Remember your place, Greenspire. You were removed from this chamber once before. Do not force me to have you physically ejected."
Thalia met Wolfe's emerald gaze without flinching. "I remember my place perfectly. It's here—fighting for Frostforge's survival, regardless of the personal cost."
She turned toward Virek, who had begun to speak again.
"We have a plan in development," he said, gesturing toward the model. "A defensive barrier utilizing advanced cryomancy techniques. Three layers of reinforced ice-steel walls across the narrowest point of the fjord, with—"
"It won't work." Thalia's interruption hung in the air, brazen in its certainty. She read the anger that flashed across Virek's face, the indignation at being cut short by someone so far beneath his station.
An uncomfortable silence stretched between them, taut as a bowstring. Thalia could feel Ashe's gaze on her back, could sense the room's collective tension rising with each heartbeat.
"You seem very certain," Wolfe said finally, her voice dangerously soft. "Perhaps you would care to elaborate on this expertise you've suddenly acquired?"
Thalia unhitched the hybrid blade from her belt, its weight familiar in her hand. With deliberate care, she placed it on the table beside the Frostforge model.
"I know better than anyone that conventional defenses will fail," she said, her fingers lingering on the weapon's hilt.
"The Deep Ones will cut through ice-steel like it's made of paper.
They'll consume stone, metal, flesh—anything they touch.
No wall will stop them. No ordinary weapon will harm them. "
She tapped the hybrid blade. "But this might."
The Council members stared at the sword, their expressions ranging from skepticism to outright hostility. Only Marr, the sole Southern instructor, leaned forward with something resembling interest, his brown eyes narrowing as he studied the weapon's unusual construction.
"What am I looking at, Greenspire?" he asked, his naval officer's training evident in the precise economy of his words.
"An experimental weapon," Thalia answered, grateful for the opening. "Ice-glacenite infused with storm magic during the forging process. Designed specifically to combat the Deep Ones."
The reaction was immediate. Solberg, a burly Northern instructor with a beard like steel wool, slammed his fist on the table. "Storm magic? You dare bring Warden sorcery into this chamber?"
"I was on Thrum'kith when the Deep Ones attacked," Thalia continued, her voice rising to match Solberg's volume but remaining steady.
"I watched the fortress-whale's captain, Cassia, hold them back long enough for us to escape.
She used storm magic in the water—electricity.
It drove them back. Temporarily, yes, but it bought us time we desperately needed. "
"I care nothing for the struggles of stormspawn against a plague they themselves unleashed," Solberg spat, his face flushing with anger beneath his beard. "If their dark magics have finally turned against—"
"Did you just hear what I said?" Thalia cut in, her patience fracturing. "I said she used storm magic to hold back the Deep Ones. I'm saying the storm magic was effective against them, even if it was only temporary."
Solberg rose from his seat, towering over the table. "You will address members of this Council with respect, girl, or—"
"Let her speak." Marr's voice carried the weight of decades commanding ships in storm-tossed seas. He raised one hand, a simple gesture that nonetheless silenced Solberg's brewing tirade. "We face death, Solberg. I, for one, will hear any potential solution, regardless of its source."
Thalia nodded gratefully to Marr, then continued, her throat suddenly dry. "The Deep Ones weren't hurt by the electricity, exactly. But they were affected by it—disrupted, driven back. I remembered that moment when I examined the black metal blades we confiscated from Warden raiders."
She hesitated, knowing the next words would ignite the powder keg she'd been carefully building. "I met in secret with Isle Warden prisoners. They revealed that the black metal of recent attackers’ blades was sourced from deep-ocean vents near the trench where the Deep Ones originated."
The chamber erupted. Solberg shouted accusations of treason, his face purple with rage. The two senior officers rose from their seats, one reaching for the sword at his hip. Even Virek, normally so contained, hissed something that sounded like "treachery" through clenched teeth.
Only Marr and Wolfe remained silent, watching Thalia with unreadable expressions as chaos swirled around them. Ashe had pushed away from the wall, her posture suggesting she might intervene if the officers moved against Thalia.
Wolfe raised her hand, and silence fell gradually, like snow settling after a storm. "Continue, Greenspire." Her voice revealed nothing of her thoughts, but the fact that she hadn't immediately ordered Thalia's arrest suggested at least a willingness to listen.
Thalia drew a deep breath, acutely aware that her next words might determine not just her own fate, but that of everyone within Frostforge's walls.
"I theorized that a hybrid weapon might be effective against the Deep Ones," she said, her voice steadier now.
"A blade forged from ice-glacenite—like those that resisted the black metal's corruption—but infused with storm magic during creation.
Something that combined both traditions, both forms of power. "
She placed her hand on the hybrid blade. "I've been working in secret with Isle Wardens to create these weapons."
Another wave of outrage swept through the chamber, but it lacked the raw force of the first. Shock had begun to temper anger, uncertainty bleeding into the gaps between certainties.
"The Isle Wardens are people, just like us," Thalia continued, raising her voice to be heard over the commotion.
"People trying to survive. Unlike many here, they recognize the genuine threat we're facing—a threat that will come for all of us.
Yes, they've done terrible things on the continent.
I don't deny that. But these ones are different, and if we're going to survive, we need to be open to alliance. "
Virek's thin face contorted with contempt. "You don't know what you're doing, Greenspire. You have no proof these weapons will do anything against the Deep Tide beyond your own misguided conjecture. You've committed high treason based on nothing but desperate hope and the lies of our enemies."
Thalia faltered, the truth of his words striking home with unexpected force. She didn't know if the weapons would work. Couldn't know without facing the Deep Ones directly. All she had was theory, observation, and desperate hope—
The chamber doors swung open with enough force to strike the walls on either side. Every head turned, conversations halted mid-syllable.
Roran stood in the doorway, his travel-worn figure silhouetted against the corridor's torchlight.
His wild black curls were matted with what might have been dried blood, his clothing torn and stained, his face gaunt with exhaustion.
But his eyes—dark, intense—found Thalia immediately across the crowded chamber.
For a heartbeat, all thought of the Council, of consequences, of the Deep Tide itself vanished from Thalia's mind.
She moved without conscious decision, crossing the room in quick strides to throw her arms around him.
He was solid beneath her touch, real despite his haggard appearance, his arms encircling her with equal need.
"You're alive," she whispered against his shoulder, the words meant for him alone.
His embrace tightened briefly before he pulled back, his hands remaining on her shoulders as he searched her face. The look in his eyes—a mixture of relief at seeing her and tension at whatever knowledge he carried—told her everything she needed to know before he spoke.
Then he turned to face the Council. When he spoke, his voice was rough, strained; the words were simple, but the weight of his tone suggested dire consequence. “I’m here to deliver my report from the North.”