Page 10 of Frostforge, Passage Four

The wind on the Crystalline Plateau tore at Thalia's cloak with vicious fingers, whipping the heavy fabric around her like the wings of a panicked bird.

Her eyes watered against the biting cold, frost gathering on her lashes as she squinted through the swirling snow.

The distant rumble of an approaching storm vibrated through the soles of her boots, a warning that echoed in her bones — they shouldn't be out here today, not with a blizzard clawing its way across the mountains toward Frostforge.

Before her, the four recruits of her squad struggled against the elements.

Felah's slight frame swayed precariously with each new gust, her footwork sloppy and uneven as she parried Sigrid's aggressive strikes.

The Northern girl advanced with cold precision, exploiting Felah's instability with ruthless efficiency.

Several paces away, Daniel and Rasmus circled each other like wary wolves, the Southern boy's movements hesitant where the Northerner's were confident and assured.

"Felah, widen your stance!" Thalia shouted, cupping her hands around her mouth. "Plant your back foot firmly —"

The howling gale caught her words and scattered them across the plateau like dead leaves. Neither recruit showed any sign of having heard her instruction. Frustration bubbled in Thalia's chest as she watched Felah stumble again, nearly losing her grip on her practice blade.

"Sigrid! Less force, more control!" She tried again, her throat already raw from shouting against the wind. The words vanished into the white void around them, as useless as smoke signals in a tempest.

Thalia clenched her jaw. Aside from Roran, who stood fifty feet away directing his own squad, every other fourth year had had the good sense to stay within the fortress walls today, training in the covered courtyards or the cavernous halls.

But Thalia’s squad needed the extra practice, needed to learn to move together despite the hostility between them.

There wasn’t enough room to drill formations within the keep.

A sudden, strange stillness enveloped her, as if she'd stepped into the eye of the storm. The wind still howled—she could see it tearing at her recruits' clothing, could see the snow dancing furiously across the plateau—but around her, the air had gone eerily calm.

Thalia's neck prickled with warning. She knew this feeling, this charged sensation that made the fine hairs on her arms stand at attention. She turned sharply, seeking its source.

Roran now stood only a few paces away. His hands hung casually at his sides, but Thalia recognized the subtle tension in his fingers, the barely perceptible shimmer of energy that pulsed between them.

He was manipulating the air currents, creating a pocket of calm around her with a finesse that hadn't been present when lightning had arced between his fingers just days ago.

As if sensing her gaze, he looked over, his dark eyes meeting hers.

A smile tugged at one corner of his mouth, and he winked — a quick, conspiratorial gesture that sent an unwelcome flutter through her chest. Thalia scowled inwardly at her reaction.

She never knew how to interpret these moments with Roran.

Was that wink merely friendly, or something more?

And why did it matter either way, when her feelings for Kaine were already so complicated?

Besides, she shouldn’t be encouraging his reckless behavior. She shouldn’t let herself be charmed by his public use of storm magic, however subtle.

A harsh metallic clang jolted her from her thoughts, followed by a warping shriek that raised the hairs on the back of her neck.

Thalia whirled to see Daniel staggering backward, his shield crumpled inward like paper crushed in a giant's fist. Rasmus stood over him, practice sword still raised, his expression a mixture of surprise and smug satisfaction.

"Halt!" Thalia commanded, the stillness around her carrying her voice clearly now. She strode forward, positioning herself between the two boys with practiced authority. "What happened?"

"I barely struck it," Rasmus said, a defensive edge to his voice. "Not my fault if Southern equipment can't withstand Northern strength."

Daniel's face flushed with anger and humiliation as he clutched the ruined shield. "The shield was fine until today."

Thalia held out her hand. "Let me see it."

The shield felt wrong the moment her fingers touched the metal.

Where there should have been a sturdy, balanced current flowing through the ice-bronze alloy, Thalia sensed jagged disruptions, areas where the magical binding had been compromised.

She ran her fingertips along the buckled edge, feeling the disharmony in the material like sour notes in a melody.

This shield hadn't failed from stress or poor craftsmanship.

Someone had deliberately weakened it, introducing impurities that destabilized the metal's magical structure.

The tampering was subtle — invisible to anyone who lacked her sensitivity to magical currents — but unmistakable to her trained touch.

Her stomach twisted with cold certainty. First Felah's shattered sword, now Daniel's shield. Both failures targeted at the Southern recruits in her squad, both engineered to humiliate them in front of their Northern peers. The pattern was too precise to be a coincidence.

It was her first year at Frostforge all over again — the systematic sabotage, the strategic undermining of Southern students.

"Everyone back to the keep," Thalia ordered, her voice cutting through the sudden silence.

She glanced toward where Roran had been standing, but he and his squad had already begun their descent from the plateau, dark silhouettes against the gathering storm.

The protective bubble of calm dissipated as she watched him go, the wind immediately reclaiming its territory with vindictive force.

"But we've barely started training," Sigrid protested, her copper hair whipping around her freckled face.

"The storm's getting worse," Thalia countered, tucking the damaged shield under her arm. Evidence . "We'll resume tomorrow in the covered courtyard."

As they trudged toward the fortress, Thalia's mind raced through possibilities. Who would gain from making her squad look weak? The obvious answer — the Northern students who resented Southern leadership — seemed almost too convenient. Thus far, the sabotage had been minimal, almost beneath notice. If Thalia wasn’t already suspicious from overhearing the Northerners’ plotting, she might not have thought anything of a broken blade, a damaged shield.

In all likelihood, other Southerners had already experienced this sabotage and thought nothing of it.

But if someone was truly targeting the Southern squads, Thalia knew the sabotages would only escalate.

How far would this enemy go? What would they risk?

Her hand drifted to the hilt of the sword at her hip, fingers tracing the familiar cold grooves in its ice-steel pommel as the fortress gates loomed out of the storm ahead, their torches flickering like watchful eyes.

***

The mess hall's clamor washed over Thalia in dull waves, the scrape of utensils against bowls and murmured conversations blending into white noise that matched her turbulent thoughts.

Steam rose from her untouched stew, curling like ghostly fingers before dissipating into the rafters above.

She traced the rim of her bowl with one finger, the rough ceramic warm against her skin, while her mind replayed the image of Daniel's buckled shield again and again — the warped metal, the disrupted currents, the unmistakable signature of deliberate tampering.

Around her, students laughed and argued, their problems as ordinary as cryomancy exams and training scores.

They seemed to exist in another world entirely, one where sabotage wasn't lurking in the shadows, waiting to strike again.

Thalia envied their oblivion, their simple concerns.

Her spoon clinked against the bowl as she halfheartedly stirred the cooling stew, watching chunks of meat and root vegetables swirl like debris caught in a whirlpool.

The bench across from her creaked under sudden weight.

Thalia looked up to find Kaine settling himself opposite her, his broad shoulders blocking out the torchlight behind him.

The shadows accentuated the sharp planes of his face, casting his expression in somber relief.

His eyes, ice-blue and piercing, locked onto hers with an intensity that made her breath catch.

"I heard what happened on the plateau today," he said, his voice low enough that only she could hear. He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. "Daniel's shield buckled?"

Thalia nodded, abandoning all pretense of eating. "Rasmus claimed it was ‘Southern weakness meeting Northern strength.’"

"It shouldn't have failed." Kaine's jaw tightened, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. "I inspected the first-year equipment myself three days ago. Every shield was sound — I'd stake my reputation on it."

The certainty in his voice sent a chill down Thalia's spine. Not because she doubted him — quite the opposite. If Kaine had personally verified the equipment, then the tampering was even more recent than she'd suspected.

"It's starting to feel targeted," she admitted, lowering her voice further. Her fingers curled around her spoon, gripping it like a talisman. "First Felah's sword shatters, now Daniel's shield fails. Both Southern recruits."

"Both in your squad," Kaine added, his gaze never wavering from hers.

Thalia exhaled slowly, the truth of his words settling like a stone in her stomach. "I hate this," she said, the words bitter on her tongue. "The way this place pits North against South, as if we aren't training to defend the same continent."

"I don't think this is about North versus South, not entirely." Kaine shook his head, a strand of dark hair falling across his forehead. "The pattern is too specific. Someone's focusing on your squad in particular."

He leaned closer still, the distance between them narrowing until she could see the faint scar that bisected his right eyebrow, a relic from his time in prison. The mess hall seemed to recede around them, the ambient noise fading to a distant hum as Kaine's presence filled her awareness.

"I'm going to find out who's doing this," he promised, his voice dropping to a near-whisper that sent a shiver across her skin. The intensity in his eyes burned like blue flame, fierce and unwavering. "No one targets you — or your recruits — while I'm here."

Thalia's heart stuttered in her chest. The protectiveness in his tone, the determination etched into every line of his face — it stirred something deep within her, a longing she thought she'd managed to bury during their months apart.

She was acutely aware of his proximity, of the scent of forge-fire and pine that clung to him, of the calloused hands that rested just inches from her own.

Words deserted her, caught somewhere between her racing heart and her dry throat. The moment stretched between them, taut as a bowstring, heavy with unspoken feelings and possibilities that neither of them dared to voice.

Kaine's eyes flickered over her shoulder, and something in his expression shifted, closing like a door against a winter storm. He straightened, pulling back as his gaze fixed on something — or someone—approaching from behind her.

"I should go," he murmured, rising from the bench in a single fluid movement. "We'll talk more tomorrow."

Before Thalia could respond, he was gone, striding away with purposeful steps that carried him out of the mess hall. The space he'd occupied seemed to hollow out in his absence, leaving a void that the hall's ambient noise rushed to fill.

"Was that Kaine?" Luna's voice came from behind her, curious and lightly teasing. "He left in quite a hurry."

Thalia turned to see Luna and Ashe approaching, each carrying a tray of food. They slid onto the bench across from her, Ashe's eyebrows raised in silent question.

"He wanted to discuss what happened with Daniel's shield today," Thalia said, aiming for casual and missing by several leagues. Her voice sounded strained even to her own ears.

Ashe snorted softly. "Must have been a fascinating shield to put that look on your face."

"What look?" Thalia demanded, heat rising to her cheeks.

Luna grinned, her dark eyes twinkling with mischief. She nudged Thalia's untouched bowl toward her. "You should eat. Pining on an empty stomach leads to poor decision-making."

"I'm not pining," Thalia protested, but the words rang hollow. She stabbed at a chunk of potato with unnecessary force. "He's concerned about the pattern of sabotage targeting my squad."

"Of course he is," Ashe agreed, her voice suspiciously neutral. "And I'm sure his concern is purely professional."

"Entirely," Luna added solemnly. "Just as I'm sure the way you stare at the forge door every time we pass by is purely about your love of metallurgy."

Thalia opened her mouth to defend herself, but no retort came. Her mind was still tangled in the intensity of Kaine's gaze, the fierce promise in his voice, the charged space between them that seemed to crackle with possibilities. How could she explain what she herself didn't fully understand?

Instead, she took a bite of her cold stew, chewing methodically while her friends exchanged knowing glances. The flavors barely registered through the lingering warmth of Kaine's presence, the echo of his words reverberating in her mind: No one targets you — or your recruits — while I'm here.