Chapter 4
Chapter four
The Imbuing Day celebration was a thrilling affair in the villages of Mystralos.
Villagers prepared food for a grand feast and decorated the village center and council building with colorful banners and streamers.
Lively sounds of bagpipes, lutes, and tambourines filled the square as people danced and sang.
Children sprinted through the streets, their giggles blending with applause for magicians who performed enchanting shows.
Hollowed gourds carved with the sigils of the Six were hung from every post, their firelight meant to ward off misfortune for the year to come.
Fires blazed in stone braziers, their warmth cutting through the night chill.
The aroma of spiced meats, fresh bread, and ale mingled as laughter and cheers drifted from the square’s edge.
It was usually Gisela’s favorite day of the year, when the village felt like one beating heart.
She could almost forget, for a moment, that the Stones were gone.
Almost.
This year, without the Life Stone on its pedestal, the mood was more subdued. Though the music played and food was abundant, villagers exchanged wary glances. Their hands gripped walking sticks tighter than necessary. Even the air was heavy, as if the land itself hesitated to celebrate.
When the Valors entered the Council Building, they were met with a warm reception.
Ivy and Orion moved toward the council members, who appeared relieved to have Orion there instead of Cillian as their Village Lord.
Vivi hurried off with her friends, twirling and giggling in the great hall.
Gisela lingered in the doorway, a step behind her family.
She wore the new gown she’d picked up from the tailor—a pale pink dress with an intricately embroidered bodice that hugged her figure and flowed into a full, elegant skirt.
She ran her fingers over the smooth fabric, allowing herself a rare moment of satisfaction.
She wasn’t used to wearing luxurious fabrics and had never cared for such things.
But tonight, she felt beautiful in them.
Beside her, Noah stood, glancing between Gisela and Ruby across the room.
“Go on,” Gisela said. “She’s waiting for you.”
Tristan appeared next to Ruby, tracing her line of sight to Noah. But his attention was drawn to Gisela, and he moved toward her with a face of determination.
“By the Six,” Gisela muttered.
“I got him,” Noah said, giving her a nudge. “Run.”
Gisela ducked behind a group of villagers deep in conversation. Tristan wove through the crowd, but Noah intercepted him.
“Hey, man . . .” Noah said, steering Tristan back toward Ruby.
Gisela couldn’t help but smirk.
She slipped down a hallway lined with doors and leaned against the wall, wondering how long it would take Tristan to stop trying. As she collected herself, one of the doors burst open and Thorne stumbled out, looking disheveled.
Cillian stormed past him, shoving him roughly, his face twisted in a scowl.
“If you dare question my authority again, you will regret it, boy,” Cillian spat. “Pain is how you’ll learn.”
“I’ve learned enough,” he bit back. “So has Mother.”
The two of them were nose to nose.
Gisela tucked herself into a shadowed alcove a few doors down. She pressed into the stone, holding her breath as Cillian turned and marched down the hall to rejoin the party.
When his footsteps faded, she exhaled slowly and stepped from the shadows.
Thorne’s shoulders dropped, his hands running through his hair. He went still when he saw Gisela, his eyes dragging over her for a beat too long before he turned and walked away.
Thorne’s pain was evident in his shoulders and the look of embarrassment that flashed across his face.
She could almost feel his pain, her own shoulders tensing at the sight of his discomfort.
She wondered what it would be like to be raised by a father so cruel.
Someone who strikes first and asks questions never.
Gisela hesitated a moment before continuing down the hallway in the direction Thorne had gone. Her footsteps were light as she approached a door she’d never been through before. She pushed it open and stepped inside.
It was the Village Lord’s chamber, cluttered with crates stacked in the corner. The room smelled of old parchment and dust. Gisela hesitated at the threshold, biting her lip before deciding to sift through the contents of Cillian’s old documents.
She glanced around, taking in the heavy curtains meant to shut out the sun—curtains Orion hadn’t yet replaced.
Moving to the desk in the back of the room, she skimmed through the papers strewn across the surface—council records, supply tallies, and petitions from the villagers—finding nothing of note. She tried the drawers one by one, but the bottom refused to budge.
Gisela braced her foot against the desk and yanked. The drawer gave with a sharp crack. Inside lay a letter sealed with the King’s black seal.
Without hesitation, she opened it to find a map of Mystralos.
But as she studied the map more closely, the name of a neighboring realm caught her eye.
To the North was Noxis, a realm that had never appeared on any map she’d studied at school.
The land was marked with dark shading. A thin white line encircled Mystralos, separating it from the unknown realm.
She ran her finger across the area, wondering why it was never taught. She folded the map and tucked it into her bodice.
Gisela left the chamber and returned to the grand hall, darting her eyes around the area to ensure she didn’t run into Tristan again.
Her attention fell upon Selene Alderose, standing slightly behind her husband, Cillian.
Selene’s posture was stiff, her stare locked on the floor, a bruise darkening the corner of her eye.
The Alderoses were speaking with Elder Aldric, who made eye contact with Gisela and sent over a small wink.
She scanned the room further, finding each of her family members engrossed in conversation.
As she eased through the door, she nearly bumped into Elysande, who was stepping inside.
“Going somewhere?” Elysande asked with a smile.
“I need some fresh air.”
“Already?”
“Yeah, it’s crowded. I’m feeling a little short of breath.”
Elysande’s smile softened into a concerned frown. “Hmm, well, be careful out there.”
Before Gisela could respond, Orion’s voice cut through the crowd. “Well, if it isn’t my favorite Frosthaven scribe,” he called out with a playful grin.
Elysande turned her attention to Orion, hand on her hip. “I’m the only Frosthaven scribe,” she said, shaking her head.
Their easy banter brought a smile to Gisela’s lips, but an urge pulled at her, and she slipped into the night.
Gisela’s journey into the forest filled her with dread as she neared the Guardian Tree.
The forest was quiet, save for the faint rustle of trees swaying in the breeze.
Some plants were wilting—not terribly so, but enough to unnerve her.
It had only been a couple of days since the King had taken the Ice Stone from its pedestal.
She would have to inform her father. They could send a raven to warn the King that the land was already suffering.
A jagged branch caught the hem of her new gown and the silk tore. Gisela glanced down at the embroidery, now split at the seam. She clicked her tongue against her teeth. Moments ago, it had been precious. Now, it was only fabric. She pulled it loose and kept moving.
When she reached the clearing, the Guardian Tree stood as beautiful as ever. Unchanged. Unharmed. Relief escaped in a soft sigh as she laid a hand on its trunk. A subtle warmth spread through her fingers as if the tree recognized her.
She spun at the sound of brush rustling behind her.
A figure emerged from the shadows, and she squinted, instinctively reaching for the knife strapped beneath her dress.
“Always with that knife,” Thorne said, rolling his eyes.
She drew it anyway. “What’re you doing here? Did you follow me?”
He advanced with an air of annoyance. “Don’t be afraid. I’m not going to hurt you.”
“I’m not afraid of you.” She tightened her grip on the knife.
“Then lower it.”
She paused to wonder if that would be a mistake. With fragile trust, or perhaps misjudgment, she lowered her arm, letting the blade drop to her side, and shot him a warning glare.
In the Council hallway, she hadn’t taken him in properly—but now, in a velvet doublet and silver-clasped cloak, he was striking. He looked every bit his family’s heir.
Her gaze lingered longer than she meant before she forced herself to look away.
Thorne studied her face intently, a slow smile spreading across his lips. “I know what you are.”
She huffed, the words of Elder Aldric echoing in her mind. “Doesn’t everyone?”
He opened his mouth to speak but she cut him off with a mocking tone. “What is it you said to me earlier? Whatever you think you know about me, you don’t.”
Thorne laughed, a genuine sound that caught her off guard. “Clever.”
It was an endearing laugh, and she hated that it made her soften.
He inched closer, and she took a cautious step back.
His laughter faded and his expression narrowed. The arrogance he usually wore like armor peeled away, revealing something different. Something she had never seen from him. Away from the scrutiny of his friends and family, he was stripped of his edges, unrecognizable.
“You really think I’m a monster, don’t you?”
“I know you’re a monster, Thorne.”
“If I were a monster,” he said, stepping closer, “you’d already be dead.”
She glared at him. “What the hell does that mean?”
“I’ve seen you come here,” he said. “You make that mixture.”
Gisela stiffened, her fingers curling into the fabric of her dress.
He knew.
Cillian had always advocated for executing Mystics, she assumed Thorne was the same. But Thorne had known about her—and she was still standing here.