CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Morning light spilled across the Crystalline Plateau like liquid silver, casting long shadows behind Thalia and Mari as they emerged from the narrow stairwell carved into Frostforge's highest point.
Thalia paused at the summit, one hand steadying herself against the stone archway, her breath forming delicate clouds that dissipated in the bitter Northern air.
The vast expanse of the plateau stretched before them, its surface glittering with frost despite the strengthening sun—a reminder that winter's grip never fully released this place, even in the gentler seasons.
Mari drew in a sharp breath beside her, eyes widening at the savage beauty of the mountain-ringed training ground.
"It's different from up here," she whispered, pulling her borrowed fur cloak tighter around her shoulders. "You can see... everything."
Thalia nodded, allowing her sister this moment of wonder.
From this height, the world seemed both infinite and comprehensible—the jagged peaks of the Rimspires framing the horizon, the shadowed valleys below where patches of black water gleamed like spilled ink, a grim reminder of how far the Deep Tide had already advanced.
Beneath their feet, the plateau itself thrummed with ancient power, currents of energy flowing through the stone like blood through veins. Once, Thalia would have missed these subtle vibrations. Now, they sang to her, a constant melody underlying every moment since her awakening from the coma.
She had brought Mari here for reasons she hadn't fully articulated, even to herself.
The simplest was to share this rediscovered piece of their heritage—the root-singing that had once been as natural to Southerners as breathing.
But beneath that noble purpose lurked another, more desperate hope: that Mari might carry the same gift in her blood, might learn what Thalia was learning, might one day continue what Thalia wouldn't live to finish.
Might teach Niko, when he was old enough. Might preserve knowledge that had nearly vanished from the world.
"There," Thalia said, pointing to a small figure seated cross-legged at the plateau's eastern edge, where the stone met the sky. "That's Tamsin."
As they approached, the old man's head lifted, though Thalia doubted his clouded eyes could make out their features at this distance.
He seemed to sense them in other ways—perhaps through the subtle vibrations of their footsteps on the stone, perhaps through the same current-sensing that Thalia was learning to hone.
"You've brought another," he called, his rich voice carrying across the open space. "I wondered if you might."
Mari glanced at Thalia, uncertainty flickering across her features. "You didn't tell him I was coming?"
"I didn't need to," Thalia replied, a small smile tugging at her lips. "He knows more than he lets on."
When they reached him, Tamsin was already climbing to his feet with surprising agility for a man his age, his weathered hands brushing frost from his simple robes. His cloudy eyes fixed somewhere between them, his head tilted slightly as though listening to voices only he could hear.
"This is my sister, Mari," Thalia said, guiding Mari forward with a gentle hand at the small of her back.
"I know who she is," Tamsin said, his tone warm with amusement. "The currents remember those who share blood." He extended one gnarled hand. "Come, child. Let me see if you hear them too."
Mari hesitated, throwing a questioning look at Thalia, who nodded encouragement. "It's alright. He just wants to see if you have the gift."
"What gift?" Mari asked, but she placed her slender hand in Tamsin's nonetheless.
The old man's fingers closed around hers, and for a moment, they stood in perfect stillness.
Thalia watched, her breath caught in her throat, hoping against hope.
If Mari had no aptitude for root-singing, this moment would reveal it.
And with it would die Thalia's secret plan for ensuring Tamsin's knowledge wouldn't vanish with her own sacrifice.
"Ah," Tamsin breathed at last, a smile creasing his weathered face. "There it is. Faint, but present. Like a stream running deep beneath the earth—hidden, but flowing nonetheless."
The knot in Thalia's chest loosened, relief washing through her in a warm tide. "She has it? The gift?"
"She does," Tamsin confirmed, releasing Mari's hand with a gentle pat.
"Though it sleeps more deeply than yours did.
It would take time to awaken fully—years, perhaps, with daily practice.
" He turned his face toward Mari, who stood wide-eyed and confused.
"You've felt it, haven't you? In your mother's herb shop?
Moments when you knew, without being told, which plants would work best together? Which would heal, which would harm?"
Mari blinked, surprise flaring across her features. "How did you—yes. Sometimes. I thought it was just... intuition. Things Mother had taught me without my realizing."
"Intuition," Tamsin chuckled. "That's what they call it when magic becomes so rare that no one recognizes it for what it is." He gestured to the stone beneath their feet. "Sit. Both of you. We begin with the most basic exercise—feeling the currents that flow beneath us."
They settled on the frost-crusted stone, forming a small triangle with Tamsin at its apex.
The old man guided them through the beginning of the lesson, his voice taking on the cadence of ancient teaching—rhythmic, patient, designed to sink into memory rather than merely bounce off the surface of understanding.
"Close your eyes," he instructed. "Not to shut out the world, but to better see what lies beneath its skin. The stone beneath you lives, though more slowly than we do. It breathes across centuries rather than moments. Listen for that breath. Feel how it moves."
Thalia sank easily into the meditation, having practiced this basic exercise daily since Tamsin began teaching her.
The currents revealed themselves immediately—glowing threads of energy crisscrossing beneath the plateau's surface, pulsing with the mountain's ancient heartbeat. Thalia opened her eyes slightly, watching her sister’s face as she strained to sense what Thalia now perceived without effort.
"I don't—" Mari began, frustration creasing her brow.
"Patience," Tamsin soothed. "It's like learning to hear a specific instrument within an orchestra. At first, all is noise. With practice, each voice becomes distinct."
Mari nodded, her eyes squeezed shut, concentration evident in every line of her body. Several minutes passed in silence before her eyes flew open, wonder replacing frustration.
"I felt something," she whispered. "Just for a moment—like... like water flowing far below."
Tamsin smiled, nodding approvingly. "Good. Very good for a first attempt. With practice, those moments will extend, become clearer."
"She'll have plenty of time to practice," Thalia said, the words emerging bright with false optimism.
She caught Mari's eye and offered an encouraging smile, even as guilt twisted in her stomach at the deception.
Her sister would indeed have time—but Thalia wouldn't be there to see Mari's progress, to celebrate each milestone as the gift awakened.
A sudden flare of blue-white light drew Thalia's attention to the far side of the plateau, where Roran and Naj stood silhouetted against the morning sky.
Lightning arced between them, not wild but controlled, moving in intricate patterns that reminded Thalia of the weaving gestures she'd seen in her visions.
Roran's arms swept through precise forms, his fingers directing currents of electricity that danced and spiraled before dispersing into the clear air.
She watched, momentarily transfixed by the raw power he commanded with such graceful restraint.
This was his birthright, his natural magic finally unleashed after years of suppression.
The way his face lit with each successful manipulation of storm energy, the confidence in his stance—this was Roran as he was meant to be, not hiding, not diminished, but fully himself.
He would join her in the final ritual, he had promised. Would give his life alongside hers to forge a new seal against the darkness. The thought sent a pang through her chest—not regret for her own fate, which she had accepted, but sorrow that his newfound freedom would be so brief.
"Your attention wanders," Tamsin observed, his voice cutting through her thoughts. "The storm-caller's display is impressive, but your focus must remain here." He tapped the stone beneath them. "The root-singer's strength lies in remaining grounded while others chase the sky."
Thalia pulled her gaze from Roran with effort, forcing herself back to the present moment, to the task before her. "You're right," she admitted. "I'm sorry."
"Don't apologize," Tamsin replied, his tone gentler now. "Simply return. Again and again, as often as necessary. That, too, is part of the practice."
She nodded, settling her palms flat against the frost-covered stone.
Beneath her fingers, the currents pulsed with ancient patience, unconcerned with human fears or hopes.
They had flowed before her birth, would continue long after her death.
In their constancy lay a strange comfort—a reminder that some things endured, even when individual lives did not.
"I'm ready," she said, pushing thoughts of sacrifice and separation to the edges of her consciousness. "Let's continue."
***
The descent from the Crystalline Plateau twisted Thalia's already tired legs into knots of complaint, each step down the narrow stone staircase a reminder of how much strength she had yet to recover.