CHAPTER SIXTEEN #2
He was silent for a long moment, his gaze returning to the distant horizon where the black tide waited. When he spoke again, his voice had dropped even lower, as though he feared being overheard by the wind itself.
"The Founders died, didn't they? When they created the first seal."
The directness of the question caught her off guard, though she should have known he would cut straight to the heart of the matter. It was one of the things she loved most about him—his refusal to dance around difficult truths.
"Yes," she admitted, the word like ice on her tongue. "The magic overwhelmed them. It was... a willing sacrifice. They knew the cost when they began."
Roran absorbed this with outward calm, though she could feel the tension in his body where their shoulders pressed together. "Why didn't that happen to you? When you activated the chamber before?"
"Because I failed," Thalia said, the admission bitter but necessary.
"I created a temporary barrier, yes, but not a true seal.
Not what the chamber was designed for. I didn't have access to all three forms of magic—just my own current-sensing and whatever residual power remained in the chamber itself. "
"And now?" His eyes met hers, dark and serious. "Even with Tamsin's teaching, you still don't have all three. You're not a storm-caller. You never will be."
The truth of his words struck her with unexpected force.
In her determination to master root-singing, she had somehow overlooked this obvious flaw in her plan.
Storm magic was not something that could be learned through study or practice.
It lived in the blood or it did not. And despite the strange energies that had coursed through her during her coma, despite the lingering sensitivity to weather patterns that remained, she was no storm-caller.
Before she could respond, Roran continued, his voice gaining strength and purpose with each word. "But I am."
Understanding dawned, cold and sharp as the winter air around them. "No," she whispered, the word emerging before she could stop it. "Roran, you can't—"
"I can," he interrupted, his hand finding hers on the frost-covered stone. "And I will. If you're determined to do this—to create a new seal—then I'll stand with you. Help you. Be the storm to your earth."
"You know what that means," Thalia said, searching his face for any sign of hesitation, any crack in his resolve that she might use to dissuade him. "You understand what happened to the Founders. What would happen to us."
"I do." His fingers tightened around hers, warm despite the cold.
"When you fell into that coma after activating the chamber, when I thought I might lose you.
.. my only regret was that I hadn't been there with you.
That you faced that moment alone." A sad smile touched his lips. "I won't make that mistake again."
"I can't ask this of you." Her voice broke on the words, emotion rising in her throat like floodwaters against a failing dam.
"You're not asking. I'm offering." His free hand rose to brush a strand of hair from her face, his touch achingly gentle.
"I know you, Thalia. I know the strength of your convictions.
I won't try to stop you—that would be like trying to stop the tide or turn back the wind. But I won't let you face this alone."
The truth of his words settled into her bones.
He did know her, better perhaps than anyone else at Frostforge.
And she knew him—knew the fierce determination that burned behind his easy smiles, the courage that had allowed him to reveal his storm-caller heritage despite knowing it could mean his death.
They had never tried to change each other, never demanded the other be less than what they were.
It was the foundation upon which their bond had been built.
And he was right about something else, too—something she had been avoiding acknowledging even to herself. She needed him. Not just emotionally, but practically. The seal required all three magics, united with purpose and understanding. Without a storm-caller, her plan was doomed from the start.
"You're sure?" she asked, though she already knew the answer. "Absolutely sure?"
"As sure as the storm in my blood," he replied, the ghost of his usual crooked smile touching his lips. "Besides, if the choice is between dying with you or living without you..." He shrugged, as though the decision were simple, trivial even. "Not much of a choice at all."
Tears pricked at the corners of her eyes, hot against the cold air.
She blinked them away, unwilling to let them fall.
Not from sadness or fear, but from something else entirely—something that expanded in her chest until she thought it might crack her ribs from within.
How strange, she thought, to find such joy in this moment, on the edge of oblivion.
Without conscious thought, she leaned toward him, drawn by a force as natural and inevitable as gravity.
Her lips found his, cold at first contact, then warming with shared breath and quickening blood.
His hand moved to cradle the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair as he pulled her closer, deepening the kiss with a hunger that matched her own.
In that moment, with the sun climbing higher above them and the black tide waiting patient and terrible on the horizon, Thalia forgot about the end that awaited them.
Forgot about seals and sacrifices, about Deep Ones and darkness.
There was only this—Roran's arms around her, the taste of him on her tongue, the knowledge that whatever came next, they would face it together.
When they finally parted, breathless and flushed despite the bitter cold, Roran pressed his forehead against hers, their breath mingling in the space between them.
"Together, then," he whispered, the words both promise and prayer.
"Together," she agreed, sealing the pact with another brief, fierce kiss.
They turned as one to face the rising sun, their hands still clasped between them.
The light had fully claimed the sky now, revealing the world in all its battered glory.
Despite the darkness that waited at the edges, despite the knowledge of what must come, Thalia found herself filled with a strange, quiet peace.