Page 20 of Frostforge, Passage Four

Dawn light spilled across the fjord's glassy surface, fracturing into a thousand gleaming points like scattered diamonds.

Thalia stood at the shoreline, boots sinking slightly into the damp, pebbly sand as she surveyed the row of skiffs lined up along the water's edge.

The air tasted clean, crisp with morning chill and salt spray on a light breeze, carrying none of yesterday's foreboding. A perfect day for sailing — almost ironically so, given what she and Kaine suspected about sabotage and Northern plots. Her gaze swept across the gathering students, searching for any hint of malice beneath their excited chatter. After the previous night’s vigilance, her eyes burned with fatigue, but her mind remained sharp, alert to any threat that might endanger her team or derail the race.

"Checking for traps?" The voice, thick with Northern accent and derision, belonged to a fourth-year she recognized but couldn't name. He sneered as he passed, deliberately knocking against her shoulder.

Thalia didn't dignify him with a response, just straightened her spine and continued her inspection. Her fingers trailed along the hull of her assigned skiff, probing for hidden weaknesses or sabotage. Nothing. The wood felt solid beneath her touch, unmarred by drill holes or weakening magic.

She ducked beneath the gunwale, checking the interior.

The mast was secure, the rigging intact.

No frayed ropes, no compromised metal fittings.

Her current-sensing ability — the same skill that served her so well in metallurgy — told her that the metal components hadn't been tampered with.

Unlike Felah's blade or Daniel’s shield, this skiff seemed untouched.

Perhaps their stakeout had deterred the saboteurs. Or perhaps the targets lay elsewhere today.

"All clear?" Kaine's voice startled her. He looked more rested than she felt, though shadows still lingered beneath his eyes.

"Nothing I can find." Thalia straightened, brushing sand from her knees. "Either they got spooked by our watch, or they're planning something else entirely."

Kaine's expression darkened. "Stay alert. I don't trust this calm." He glanced toward the instructors gathering near the water's edge. "I'll keep an eye on things from shore. Good luck out there."

As he walked away, Thalia spotted her team approaching. Daniel and Felah huddled together, the Southern pair clearly nervous about the trial ahead. Rasmus and Sigrid moved behind them. The Northern pair kept their distance, as always, their disdain evident in the set of their shoulders.

"Morning," Thalia greeted them, keeping her tone brisk and professional. No point in pretending they were friends — they weren't, and likely never would be. But they were her responsibility, and she would see them safely through this trial. "Let's go through the rigging check one more time."

She led them through each step methodically, noting with approval that Daniel seemed to have improved his knot-tying since their last practice.

Felah still struggled with the heavier ropes, her thin arms straining, but her determination never wavered.

Rasmus performed each task with sullen efficiency, while Sigrid displayed surprising skill with the rigging, her fingers working nimbly despite her perpetual scowl.

"The mast seems solid," Thalia noted, rapping her knuckles against the wooden pole. "Remember, if the wind picks up too much, we reef the sail — better to lose speed than capsize."

"We know how sailing works," Sigrid muttered, rolling her eyes.

Thalia bit back a sharp retort. "Good. Then you'll know exactly what to do when I give the order."

Across the shoreline, other squads were engaged in similar preparations.

Luna's team worked with quiet efficiency, her seemingly distracted manner belying the sharp instructions she gave.

Further down, Brynn stood tall in her skiff, barking orders that carried across the water.

Her Southern teammates scrambled to obey, while her Northern first-years complied with visible reluctance.

"My father owned three trading vessels," Brynn was saying loudly enough for nearby teams to hear. "I've been sailing since before I could walk. I could direct a crew in my sleep. This race is merely a formality for my squad."

"Trading vessels?" Einar, a broad-shouldered Northern fourth-year with frost-pale eyes, spat into the sand. "You mean the floating coffins you Southerners use to flee whenever the Isle Wardens appear on the horizon? At least Northerners know how to stand and fight."

A dangerous silence fell. Thalia tensed, watching Brynn's hand drift to where her dagger would normally hang. They’d been forbidden from carrying weapons during this trial; it was likely for the best, Thalia thought nervously as she watched Brynn lower her hand slowly, fingers twitching as if in displeasure.

Before the confrontation could escalate, a horn blast cut through the morning air — sharp, clear, and commanding attention. Instructor Calloway stood at the water's edge, his imposing figure silhouetted against the brightening sky.

"Squads to your vessels!" he called, voice carrying without effort across the assembled students.

"The course is marked by the red buoys. You will sail to the mouth of the fjord, around the sentinel rock, and back to shore.

First team to return with all members intact wins.

Capsizing results in disqualification—" his gaze swept the crowd, "—as does deliberately interfering with another vessel.

This is a test of sailing skill and teamwork, not combat. "

Thalia caught the subtle emphasis in his words. Clearly, the instructors were aware of the tensions between North and South. Whether they suspected deliberate sabotage was another matter.

"Boarding positions!" Calloway raised his arm, and students moved to their assigned skiffs.

"Remember," Thalia told her team as they climbed aboard, "we don't need to win — we just need to finish without incident. Stay focused on our boat, not the others."

Daniel and Felah took their positions near the bow, ready to manage the jib.

Rasmus settled amidships to handle the mainsail, while Sigrid positioned herself near the stern, where she could assist Thalia with the tiller if needed.

The arrangement placed the stronger team members where their strength would be most useful, while keeping the Northerners separated to prevent them from conspiring during the race.

The distrust for half her squad left a foul taste in her mouth, but it was involuntary, the caution necessary.

Based on what Ashe had told her, both Rasmus and Sigrid were likely receiving orders from their elders, instructions to disobey and undermine Thalia’s leadership.

She couldn’t afford to give them the benefit of the doubt, not entirely.

A second horn blast sounded. The skiffs pushed off from shore, oars dipping into the clear water to propel them toward the starting line marked by two tall poles jutting from the fjord's surface.

All around them, other vessels did the same, creating a loose formation of small craft bobbing in the gentle current.

Thalia gripped the tiller, feeling the responsive weight of the rudder beneath the water. The wind caressed her face, steady and promising — perfect sailing conditions.

"Get ready," she called to Rasmus. "When the horn sounds, unfurl the mainsail immediately. Daniel, Felah — jib comes next, on my mark."

Tension thickened the air as they waited, positioned among the other skiffs.

Luna's vessel floated to their right, her gaze briefly meeting Thalia's in silent communication — be careful .

To their left, a squad led by Morrigan, a fourth-year Thalia recognized as one of those who had attacked Roran previously.

His eyes narrowed when he caught her looking.

The third blast came, long and commanding.

Immediately, Thalia nodded to Rasmus, who unfurled the mainsail with a sharp tug.

The canvas snapped taut, catching the wind.

Daniel and Felah followed with the jib, their movements less graceful but effective.

The skiff lurched forward, water hissing along its hull as they picked up speed.

All around them, sails bloomed like sudden flowers, white against the blue sky. The race was on.

Thalia kept her focus forward, adjusting the tiller to maintain their course toward the first marker.

The morning sun warmed her back as the wind filled their sails, driving them across the water's surface with increasing speed.

For a brief moment, she allowed herself to enjoy the sensation — the freedom of sailing, the thrill of movement, the perfect balance of wind and water and skill.

The moment shattered as a larger skiff veered suddenly toward them from the left — the vessel she'd noticed earlier. Its bow sliced through the water on an intercept course, Morrigan at its helm, wearing a smile that promised trouble.

"Brace!" Thalia shouted, adjusting their course to minimize impact.

Morrigan’s skiff cut across their path, its hull scraping against theirs in a shallow feint — not enough to damage either vessel, but sufficient to throw them off course and steal their wind.

"Northern bastard!" Daniel shouted, his knuckles white on the jib sheet.

Sigrid snarled back, "Watch your tongue, Southerner!"

"Eyes forward!" Thalia snapped, fighting to regain control of their vessel as it wallowed in the larger skiff's wake. "They're trying to distract us. Don't give them what they want."

She steadied the tiller, finding their heading again. Morrigan’s skiff had already moved on to harass another Southerner’s team, leaving them to recover. Thalia didn't waste time on anger — she'd expected such tactics. The best response was to sail a clean race and refuse to be provoked.