CHAPTER NINETEEN
Thalia's knuckles hovered inches from Brynn's door, hesitating in the dim corridor light.
The weight of what she'd come to ask pressed against her chest like a physical burden—heavier than the exhaustion that had clung to her since awakening from her coma, more insistent than the root-singer knowledge that whispered at the edges of her consciousness.
Since her training with Tamsin had begun, sensing currents had become second nature, to the point that she felt herself doing it constantly; it no longer required the intense focus it once had.
Her focus was reserved for stronger acts of magic, and the currents had become her constant periphery, like a second sight.
Beside her, Roran stood silent, his wild curls framing a face etched with the same grim purpose she felt in her own bones. They were about to ask another person to die with them.
"Are you certain this is our best option?" Roran murmured, his voice barely audible above the distant echoes of activity that permeated Frostforge's halls.
Thalia nodded, her throat too dry for immediate speech. Of all the cryomancers at the academy, none possessed Brynn's raw talent or technical precision. And of all those skilled enough to attempt what they needed, Brynn alone might be desperate or daring enough to agree.
"She has no reason to say yes," Thalia whispered back, finding her voice at last. "But we have to try."
Their relationship had always been complicated—competitors first, reluctant comrades later, never quite friends.
From that first day at Selection, Brynn Firstborn had made it clear that she viewed Thalia as an obstacle to overcome, a measuring stick against which to prove her superiority.
Yet beneath the rivalry, Thalia had glimpsed something else in rare unguarded moments—a shared determination, a refusal to surrender no matter the odds.
Now, that quality might mean the difference between salvation and annihilation.
Thalia rapped her knuckles against the weathered wood, the sound sharp and definitive in the hushed corridor.
"Enter," came the immediate response, Brynn's voice carrying its distinctive crisp authority.
Thalia pushed the door open, stepping into the small quarters with Roran close behind.
Unlike the sparse cell-like rooms assigned to most recruits, Brynn's space reflected her aristocratic Southern heritage—a woven rug of deep burgundy covered the stone floor, and a small collection of brass figurines lined the narrow shelf above her bed.
The room smelled faintly of polishing oil and the distinctive metallic tang that clung to those who worked with enchanted weapons.
Brynn herself sat cross-legged on her bed, a whetstone in one hand and a blade in the other.
Not just any blade, Thalia noted with a spark of professional interest. The weapon gleamed with the distinctive blue-silver sheen of ice-glacenite, its edge licked occasionally by tiny arcs of contained lightning—a hybrid weapon of impressive craftsmanship.
A matching blade lay beside her, forming a paired set that echoed the twin daggers Brynn had always favored during their training days.
"Greenspire. Bright." Brynn acknowledged them without looking up, her hands continuing their rhythmic motion across the blade's edge. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" The question held no warmth, merely efficient curiosity.
Thalia studied her former rival—noting the shadows beneath Brynn's eyes that matched her own, the slight hollowness to her cheeks that spoke of missed meals and sleepless nights, the dull tone of her normally rich brown skin.
The Deep Tide's advance had taken its toll on everyone within Frostforge's walls.
"We need to talk," Thalia said, striving to keep her voice steady.
"About what? I'm due at the training grounds in twenty minutes." Brynn tested her blade's edge with her thumb, nodding with satisfaction before finally raising her gaze to meet theirs. Something in their expressions made her pause, her hands stilling. "What's happened?"
"Nothing yet," Roran said, stepping forward. "But we may need more from you than the standard participation in hybrid magic training."
Brynn's eyebrows rose slightly. "More? What exactly are you asking for, Bright?"
Roran shifted his weight, the floorboards creaking beneath him. "What are you prepared to give for Frostforge, Brynn?"
The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. Thalia watched as Brynn's expression shifted from confusion to understanding, then hardened into something bitter and sharp-edged. She set her blade aside with deliberate care, a humorless laugh escaping her lips.
"For Frostforge?" Brynn's mouth twisted. "I wouldn't give a spoonful of my stew for Frostforge."
Thalia and Roran exchanged a worried glance. This was the reaction they'd feared.
"Let me be clear," Brynn continued, rising to her feet with fluid grace.
"I've been exceptional my entire time here.
Head and shoulders above my peers. The best fighter in our year.
The best cryomancer Frostforge has seen in a generation, according to Virek himself—though he'd never say it where anyone could hear.
Not about a sun-rotter." She paced now, energy radiating from her slender frame.
"I'm a damn good smith, too. And what has the Northern Reaches given me for it? Condescension and denial."
The bitterness in her voice wasn't new, but its intensity had grown since their days as students.
Thalia remembered how Brynn had been passed over for the officer's post her top ranking should have earned her, how Northern commanders had consistently placed less qualified Northerners in positions above her.
"When I graduated top of our class, they assigned me to a remote outpost with a commanding officer who could barely form ice without shattering it," Brynn continued, her hands balled into fists.
"Meanwhile, Einar Frostborne—who barely passed his finals—was given command of a squadron in the primary defense line.
" Her eyes flashed. "So no, I won't give anything for Frostforge.
This institution has never given me what I've earned. "
"We're not asking you to defend Frostforge," Thalia broke in, her voice cutting through Brynn's tirade. "Not as the institution stands."
Brynn paused, her head tilting slightly to one side. "What, then?"
Thalia stepped forward, closing the distance between them.
"We're asking you to help defend the people within these walls.
The refugees who've lost everything. The children who never asked to be part of any war.
" She gestured toward the window, where the distant sounds of training echoed from the courtyards below.
"Our old classmates. The healers working themselves to exhaustion.
The smiths forging weapons until their hands blister. "
She took a deep breath, feeling the weight of root-singer currents beneath her feet, sensing the steady pulse of ancient energies that had flowed through Frostforge's foundations long before any of them were born.
"This isn't about Frostforge," she continued. "It's about the Southern Kingdoms and the Northern Reaches alike. It's about the archipelago. It's about humanity itself standing against extinction." Her voice softened. "That's what we're asking you to defend."
Something shifted in Brynn's expression—a barely perceptible softening around the eyes, a slight easing of the tension in her shoulders.
“And,” Thalia added, squaring her shoulders like a card player laying down a flawless hand, “you told me to inform you next time I was intending to do something foolish to save this miserable old ruin.”
Brynn was silent for a long moment, her expression unreadable. Thalia held her breath, watching her, waiting for the frost to thaw.
Then a smile split Brynn's stern features—a real one, sharp and sudden as a crack in ice. "That’s true. I did."
She sat back down on the edge of her bunk and gestured for them to continue.
"I'm listening.”
Roran moved to stand beside Thalia, his presence solid and reassuring.
"We've found a way to banish the Deep Tide," he said.
"Not just push it back temporarily, as Thalia did when she activated the Founders' Price chamber, but to drive it into the abyss where it was originally bound by the Founders. "
"How?" Brynn asked, her attention sharpening.
Thalia took up the explanation. "Through my visions while unconscious, I witnessed how the original Founders created the seal.
It requires a fusion of all three magical traditions—cryomancy, storm-calling, and root-singing.
" She paused, choosing her next words carefully.
"One practitioner from each discipline, channeling their power into a unified ritual. "
"And you two represent storm-calling and the other one," Brynn said, quick as ever. Her gaze flicked between them, understanding dawning. "You need a cryomancer. The best cryomancer you can find."
"Yes," Thalia admitted. "The magic we need to channel is ancient and powerful. It requires complete precision, perfect control."
"And what happens to the three practitioners during this ritual?" Brynn asked, her voice carefully neutral.
The question Thalia had been dreading. She met Brynn's gaze steadily, refusing to look away. "In my vision, when the original Founders completed the ritual, they collapsed. Their bodies went still. The magic... I think it killed them."
A heavy silence filled the room. Thalia could hear the soft hiss of Brynn's hybrid blades as residual electrical currents traveled along their edges.
From somewhere in the distance came the muffled sounds of Frostforge preparing for war—hammers striking metal, orders being shouted, boots marching along stone corridors.
"You're asking me to die with you," Brynn stated finally, her voice flat.
"Yes," Roran answered when Thalia couldn't. "Though we can't be certain death is inevitable. The vision wasn't entirely clear on that point."
It was a small mercy, this sliver of uncertainty that allowed them all to pretend there might be survival on the other side of sacrifice. Thalia was grateful for Roran's words, even as she knew in her bones the truth of what awaited them.
Brynn's face remained impassive as she absorbed their words, though Thalia thought she caught a flicker of something—fear, perhaps, or resignation—in the brief moment when Brynn's gaze dropped to her weapons. Then her expression smoothed back into unreadable calm.
"When would this happen?" she asked.
"Soon," Thalia replied. "We don’t have long before the final assault, but we need to perfect our fusion technique first. I've been training with Tamsin to master root-singing, and Roran has been honing his storm-calling abilities with Naj."
"And me?" Brynn raised an eyebrow. "I'm already the best cryomancer in this frigid place."
"You'll need to learn to channel your power in conjunction with ours," Roran explained. "It's not enough for each of us to be skilled individually. Our magics must flow together, become a single force."
“That will take work,” Thalia said. “A lot of work, particularly since neither of you have much knowledge of root-singing.”
Brynn nodded slowly, processing this. Then, without warning, she stood and strode toward the door. Thalia and Roran exchanged a confused glance, uncertain what to make of this sudden movement. Was she leaving? Refusing their request?
At the threshold, Brynn paused and looked back at them, one eyebrow arched in impatience. "Well?" she said, jerking her head toward the corridor. "Come on, then. It sounds like we have preparations to make."
Roran blinked, surprise evident in his expression. "You're agreeing to help us? Just like that?"
A smile spread across Brynn's face—not her usual smirk of superiority, but something more complex, tinged with resignation and a strange, fierce pride.
"This place never deserved me," she said, her fingers trailing along the hilt of one of her blades as she tucked it into her belt.
"But if this is truly the only way to defeat the Deep Tide for the long term, then yes, I'll do it.
" Her gaze hardened. "Not for Frostforge.
Not for the Reaches. For the world this one will become, once this is all over. "
Something tight and painful unwound in Thalia's chest, relief washing through her so powerfully that for a moment she felt lightheaded. She moved forward, clasping Brynn's arm in a warrior's grip.
"Thank you," she said simply.
Brynn's fingers returned the pressure briefly before releasing. "Don't thank me yet. We still have to make this work."
Roran stepped forward to join them, clapping a hand on Thalia's shoulder. The three of them stood together at the threshold of Brynn's quarters—not friends exactly, but united by a common purpose more binding than friendship.
"I always imagined going out in some glorious last stand," Brynn said with a sigh as they moved into the corridor.
"Preferably saving a group of children or defenseless villagers.
Something they'd tell stories about for generations.
" Her lips quirked up at the corners, though the smile still didn’t reach her eyes.
"Never thought I'd be a third wheel to you two in my final moments. "
Heat rose to Thalia's cheeks, but Roran laughed, the sound echoing off the stone walls around them.