CHAPTER TEN
Verdant Port’s harbor slumbered beneath a blanket of stars, its waters still as glass, reflecting pinpricks of celestial light like scattered diamonds.
The schooner floated in the center of this mirror world, a darker shadow against the night-painted water, its sails furled tight, its lines coiled in patient readiness.
Not a single lamp burned aboard her, save for the small, shuttered lantern at Thalia's feet, casting just enough light to illuminate the parchment balanced precariously on her knee.
The quill in her hand trembled slightly, hovering above the page as she gathered her thoughts, as she prepared to commit to words the decision that had crystallized in her heart.
A decision that would either save them all or condemn her to a watery grave far from everything she'd fought to protect.
Behind her, the ship creaked, a gentle complaint against the pre-dawn stillness.
The sound was punctuated by the occasional soft clink of a rigging chain teased by the breeze that whispered across the harbor.
In the distance, Verdant Port's lanterns glowed faintly, their light a dim promise of life returning to a city so recently freed from occupation.
Somewhere among those lights, Kaine slept, unaware of her plans, of the betrayal she was about to commit.
He’d rented a room at a local inn rather than sleeping in the ship’s hold. Kaine was stoic about most discomforts, but he had always been less than fond of the constant sway of the ship, the creaking of its timbers.
Thalia closed her eyes briefly, steadying herself. Then she lowered the quill to parchment and began to write.
Kaine, she began, the familiar shape of his name flowing from her hand with a strange finality.
Thank you for everything you've done for me.
For risking your life, time and again. For letting me come with you on this mission, even though orders dictated that I should stay at Frostforge.
For recognizing that those orders meant less than the lives of my mother and sister.
The words came easier now, flowing like water down a hillside, finding their natural path.
I had a personal stake in the mission to Verdant Port, and I'm eternally grateful to you for seeing that. Without you, I don't know if I would've been able to rescue my family.
Thalia paused, lifting her gaze to the horizon where the faintest suggestion of dawn had begun to color the edge of the world.
The sliver of light reminded her of the glacenite blades they had forged together, of hours spent in Frostforge's howling forge with sparks dancing around them like captive stars.
Those memories now seemed to belong to someone else—a girl who had believed in the sanctity of orders, in the wisdom of her superiors.
A girl who had not yet seen her home transformed into a prison camp, who had not yet felt the weight of her sister's too-thin body against her own as they embraced for the first time in years.
A breeze ruffled the parchment, threatening to snatch her words away. Thalia pressed it more firmly against her knee and continued writing.
The first part of your mission isn't over yet.
The people of Verdant Port, people you were sent here to protect to the best of your ability, are not safe yet, and the intelligence we gathered needs to be returned to Frostforge.
I'm trusting you with something more important than chasing down a fortress-whale: getting my mother and Mari, and anyone else who doesn't feel secure within Verdant Port, to Frostforge.
Her hand faltered for an instant, the quill hovering above the page.
Was she asking too much? Was she being selfish, entrusting him with her family while she pursued the more dangerous path?
She thought of her mother's weathered hands, of Mari's hollow eyes—eyes that had seen too much suffering.
They deserved safety, security. They deserved Frostforge's impenetrable walls and the protection of its glacenite weapons.
And Kaine could bring them to safety just as effectively as she could.
Perhaps even more effectively. Upon her return to Frostforge, she was sure to face consequences for her desertion.
Kaine, a graduate in good standing, would have more power than she would to ensure her family was taken care of at the academy.
I need to know they'll be protected, she wrote, her letters growing sharper, more urgent, and there's no one I trust more than you to make that happen. Take them to the academy. Keep them safe.
Thalia paused again, grimacing as she pictured Kaine's inevitable reaction to this letter. His pale face would flush with anger, then drain to a cold white as fear took hold. She could almost hear the Northern curses he would mutter, the accusations of recklessness he would level against her.
She adjusted the lantern, turning its flame higher to combat the deepening shadows as clouds drifted across the stars.
Beyond the schooner's hull, something splashed—perhaps a fish, perhaps something larger.
The waters here had grown strange since the Wardens' occupation, hosting creatures not native to Verdant Port's harbor.
Another reason to leave before full light revealed their intentions.
You'll have the captured Warden documents as well, she continued, her quill scratching against the parchment, another reason this mission matters.
They need to get to Frostforge for translation and study.
What we've seen here proves the Wardens are working toward something bigger than raiding.
We need answers, and those papers might hold them.
Behind her, she heard the subtle stirring of the sails as Roran moved silently across the deck, preparing the schooner for departure.
His footsteps were deliberately muffled, his movements measured to prevent any noise that might carry across the still water to the docks.
They were thieves in the night, stealing not gold or jewels, but a ship and a mission not meant for them.
As for me, Ashe, Roran, and I are going after the fortress whale.
The words looked stark against the parchment, a declaration that might well serve as her epitaph.
Thalia paused, stifling the bitter sentiments that threatened to spill onto the page.
If she didn't survive this mission, this note would be the last Kaine heard from her.
The last words exchanged between them would be ones of anger and hurt.
She couldn't leave it that way, couldn't allow resentment to be her final legacy.
Instead, she wrote: If I don't come back, take care of them. Take care of yourself.
Her quill hovered over the parchment again. Was that enough? Did those simple words convey everything she felt—the complex tangle of gratitude, frustration, and affection that defined her relationship with Kaine? No, there was more to say.
I want you to know that I don't need a guardian to shield me from danger, she added, the words flowing more freely now.
I need comrades who will face that danger with me.
I don't want you to stand with your back to me, trying to protect me from the world.
I want you to stand beside me, facing it together.
As she wrote, Thalia realized that this was the crux of their disagreement—not the mission itself, but how they viewed her role within it. Kaine saw her as something to be protected; she saw herself as his equal.
I hope you understand, she continued, and I hope that when I return, you'll be proud of me rather than angry. This is something I have to do—not just for the mission, but for myself. To prove that I am more than someone to be sheltered.
With a steady hand, she signed her name at the bottom of the page. The ink glistened in the lantern light, still wet, still vulnerable to being smudged or erased. Like the future itself—malleable, uncertain, but rich with possibility.
Thalia blew gently on the parchment, watching as the ink dried into permanence.
She folded the letter along its center, then folded it again, creating a neat square that fit easily in her palm.
From a pocket, she withdrew a stub of sealing wax and held it briefly to the lantern's flame.
When a red droplet formed, she let it fall onto the folded edge of the parchment, then pressed her thumb into it, leaving an impression that, while not a formal seal, would keep the letter closed until Kaine received it.
She looked over her shoulder, meeting Roran's gaze across the deck.
He stood by the mainmast, his curls wild in the pre-dawn breeze, his expression caught somewhere between anticipation and concern.
But there was something else there too—pride, perhaps, or admiration.
He offered her a smile that transformed his features, making him seem younger, less burdened by the weight of his heritage and the death sentence that still hung suspended over his head.
She stood, the letter clutched in her hand, and crossed the deck to where the tender had been secured alongside the schooner.
The small boat bobbed gently on the water, its wooden frame darker than the surrounding sea.
With practiced movements, Thalia climbed down into it, settling herself on the center bench.
The oars felt familiar in her hands, extensions of her arms as she began to row toward the shore.
Each stroke broke the stillness of the water, sending ripples across the surface that caught the light from Verdant Port's lanterns, transforming them into wavering lines of gold and amber.
The sound of her passage seemed unnaturally loud in the pre-dawn quiet, though she knew it was unlikely to draw attention.
The city was exhausted from battle and celebration; few would be awake at this hour.
Thalia guided the tender to a small, unmarked section of the dock, away from the main berths where fishing vessels and captured Warden ships were moored. She secured the boat with a quick, tight knot, then stepped onto the weathered planks, her boots making only the faintest sound against the wood.
The streets of Verdant Port lay before her, shadowed and unfamiliar in the darkness.
Buildings that had once been as familiar as her own reflection now loomed like strangers, their facades altered by fire and occupation.
Thalia moved through them like a ghost, keeping to the edges of the streets where shadows were deepest.
The inn where Kaine had taken lodging stood near the docks, a three-story structure of weathered stone and timber that had somehow escaped the worst of the occupation's destruction.
A single lantern burned in its front window, marking it as one of the few establishments already returning to normal operation.
Thalia pushed open the door, wincing at the soft creak of hinges that needed oil. The common room beyond was empty save for a sleepy-eyed man behind the counter, his head nodding as he fought to stay awake through the final hours of his night shift.
He straightened as Thalia approached, blinking rapidly to clear his vision. "Miss? Can I help you?"
"I need to leave this for one of your guests," Thalia said, keeping her voice low. "A Northern man, tall, pale hair. He's staying in one of your rooms."
The innkeeper nodded, recognition dawning in his eyes. "I know the one. Came in asking for a room that doesn't move with the tides." A small smile creased his weathered face. "Can't say I blame him. Sea legs aren't for everyone."
Thalia placed the folded letter on the counter between them. "Please make sure he receives this as soon as he wakes. It's important."
"Consider it done," the man assured her, taking the letter and tucking it beneath the edge of a heavy logbook. "First thing, on my honor."
"Thank you." Thalia turned to go, then paused. "When he reads it... he may be upset. Just—just tell him I'm sorry."
Before the innkeeper could respond, she slipped back out into the night, pulling the door closed behind her. The pre-dawn air felt cooler now, carrying the first hints of morning on its edge. She had to hurry; the window for their escape was narrowing with each passing moment.
Thalia retraced her steps to the dock, untied the tender, and rowed back to the waiting schooner with quick, powerful strokes. The sky had begun to lighten almost imperceptibly, the stars fading one by one as night retreated before the advancing day.
When she climbed aboard the schooner once more, she found Ashe and Roran making final preparations.
Ashe moved along the port side, checking lines and rigging with the efficiency of one long accustomed to seafaring, despite her Northern upbringing.
Roran stood at the helm, his eyes closed, face tilted upward as he communed with the air around them, sensing currents and pressure changes that would inform their passage.
"It's done," Thalia said simply, securing the tender's line to a cleat on the schooner's hull.
Ashe nodded, her red-streaked hair gleaming like fresh blood in the faint light. "Good. We've got maybe twenty minutes before the harbor watch changes. We need to be well away by then."
Roran opened his eyes, his gaze finding Thalia's across the deck. "Are you ready for this?" he asked, his voice soft but carrying clearly in the stillness. "Last chance to change your mind."
"I'm not changing my mind," Thalia replied, moving to join him at the helm. "This is where I need to be."
He nodded once, satisfaction evident in the set of his shoulders. Then he raised his hands, fingers splayed as if feeling for something invisible. The air around them stirred, then strengthened, a breeze that seemed to respond directly to his will rather than any natural pattern.
Thalia leaned against the railing, her eyes drawn to the slowly lightening horizon.
Somewhere beyond that line where sea met sky, a fortress-whale waited—a monster of legend, a harbinger of doom.
And they were sailing directly toward it, three graduates of Frostforge against the might of the Isle Wardens' greatest weapon.