Page 22 of Frostforge, Passage Four

The soft, regular breathing of Rasmus on the infirmary cot before her should have been a comfort, but Thalia found no relief in it.

Her sodden clothes clung to her skin like a second, unwelcome layer, and the chill that had seeped into her bones when they'd plunged into the fjord's icy embrace showed no signs of releasing her.

Numbness crept through her limbs, though whether from the cold or from witnessing one of her first-years nearly drown, she couldn't say.

She watched Rasmus's chest rise and fall, rise and fall, the rhythm a fragile reminder that death had been cheated today.

The cost of that victory had yet to be tallied.

The academy healer had assured her that Rasmus would recover — "thanks to that Southern boy's quick thinking," she'd added with a rare note of approval in her voice. Roran's quick thinking. And his magic. Thalia's throat tightened.

Across the room, Daniel and Felah huddled together on another cot, wrapped in thick woolen blankets, their faces ashen and drawn.

They hadn't spoken since being pulled from the water, not even to each other.

Shock had claimed their voices, leaving behind only wide eyes that darted nervously around the infirmary as if expecting the waves to reach them even here.

The room smelled of drying seaweed, medicinal herbs, and the sharp tang of healing salves.

Normally bustling with healers attending to training injuries, the infirmary had fallen into an unusual hush, as if the very air respected the gravity of what had almost happened.

The only sounds were the soft clink of glass vials as the healer prepared another tonic at her workbench and the occasional drip of water from Thalia's hair onto the stone floor.

Sigrid hadn't come.

As soon as they'd returned to the docks, the Northern girl had stalked off, refusing any offer of help or medical attention.

"Northerners don't fear the cold," she'd spat, though her lips had been blue and her entire body shaking.

Pride, Thalia had learned, could be as deadly as any storm.

She'd let Sigrid go, too consumed with getting Rasmus to the infirmary to argue.

A slight movement at the doorway drew Thalia's attention.

Luna stood there, silent as a ghost, her eyes taking in the scene with calculated precision that belied her habitually distracted demeanor.

When her gaze met Thalia's, she gave a brief, tight nod — a signal so subtle that anyone watching would have missed it entirely.

Time to go.

Thalia rose from her seat beside Rasmus's bed, her waterlogged boots squelching on the stone floor. Her muscles protested the movement after sitting still for so long, sending sharp pains shooting up her calves and thighs.

"I'll be back later," she told the healer, who acknowledged her with a distracted wave.

To Daniel and Felah, she said, "Rest. That's an order." A weak attempt at normalcy that earned her nothing but blank stares.

Luna had already disappeared from the doorway by the time Thalia stepped into the corridor.

She spotted her friend's slight figure turning a corner farther down the hall and quickened her pace to catch up, each step a leaden effort.

Her body felt distant, as if she were moving someone else's limbs by pulling invisible strings.

They walked in silence, past closed doors and narrow windows that framed slices of the gray afternoon sky.

The corridors of Frostforge were emptier than usual — everyone would be discussing the disaster at the fjord, huddled in common rooms and training halls, whispering theories and spreading rumors that would grow more outlandish with each retelling.

Luna led her to a small alcove tucked between two rarely-used storage rooms, where a narrow window overlooked the sheer drop to the fjord below.

The perfect spot for a conversation meant for no other ears.

They'd discovered it during their first year, when Luna had been mapping the academy's hidden corners with meticulous care that she disguised as aimless wandering.

"You look terrible," Luna said as soon as they were alone, the blunt assessment delivered in her characteristically soft voice.

Thalia leaned against the cold stone wall, suddenly aware of how heavily she was breathing just from the short walk. "I feel even worse, if you can believe it."

"You should change. Get warm."

"This can't wait." Thalia crossed her arms over her chest, partly to ward off the chill, partly to steady herself. Water dripped from her sleeves, forming a small puddle at her feet. "Tell me what you know."

Luna's eyes narrowed slightly — the shift so subtle that only someone who knew her well would catch it. "I know what you know. That wasn't natural weather."

Thalia nodded. "Isle Wardens."

"That's what everyone's saying." Luna glanced toward the window, where fog was rolling in from the sea, obscuring the view. "It's the obvious conclusion."

"I didn't see anyone," Thalia said, her voice hardening. "No ships, no sharks. No Isle Warden banners. They don't tend to operate in silence."

"You weren't meant to see them, not this time." Luna's reply came swiftly, grimly. "They didn't need to show themselves. They just needed to make Roran look guilty."

The words struck Thalia like a physical blow. Her breath caught in her throat, and for a moment, the cold that gripped her had nothing to do with her wet clothes. "You think they did this to frame him?"

Luna nodded slowly, her dark eyes never leaving Thalia's face.

"There's no doubt in my mind. Whoever wrote the letter I intercepted?

They're inside Frostforge, and they knew exactly how to stir things up.

A storm in the fjord..." She paused, letting the implication sink in.

"It would've had everyone shouting for Roran's blood if he hadn't jumped in to save you. "

Thalia remembered the sudden fury of the storm, how quickly it had descended upon them. The unnatural speed with which the clouds had gathered, the wind that seemed to target their boat specifically. And then Roran dived into the churning waters without hesitation.

"Are they?" Thalia asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. "Shouting for his blood?"

"Einar is," Luna said with a dismissive flick of her fingers. "But he'd find reason to blame Roran for the sun rising in the east. The rest..." She tilted her head, considering. "No one's more suspicious than usual. They're rattled, though. Everyone agrees Isle Wardens were nearby, watching."

The thought sent a chill down Thalia's spine. "Who won?" she asked, desperate to change the subject.

Luna's eyebrows rose slightly at the abrupt shift, but she answered smoothly.

"Brynn's team." She leaned against the opposite wall, her small frame barely casting a shadow in the dim light.

"Though Roran's team had a good lead before he jumped in after you.

They fell back, but still managed to finish second.

" A pause. "They were disqualified, of course. No leader, no ranking."

"So what were the official standings?"

"Brynn first, Einar second, Ashe third." Luna's voice was gentle, as if she knew exactly how much the news would sting. "Your team wasn't the only one affected. But… you were the only one who fully capsized."

Thalia closed her eyes briefly, fighting back a wave of frustration.

After their victory in the Golem Fields and their strong showing with the war canoes, they'd been gaining ground.

Building confidence. Now, with this disaster, they'd lose whatever progress they'd made in the Command Challenge rankings, which meant her chances of securing a leadership position after graduation were slipping away like sand through her fingers.

Leadership meant a larger stipend and more security for her family.

It also meant purpose. It was a source of pride across the continent, particularly for Southerners, who survived Frostforge in far smaller numbers than their Northern counterparts, and rarely with high rank.

"It's not the ranking that matters," she said aloud, trying to convince herself as much as Luna. "Everyone's alive. That's what counts."

"It is," Luna agreed. "But it's not the only thing that matters to you, and we both know it."

Thalia didn't deny it. The silence between them stretched, filled with the distant sounds of Frostforge — boots on stone, the faint metallic ring from the forge far below, the constant whisper of wind against the mountain.

"I should've seen it coming," Thalia finally murmured, her voice barely audible. "Something like this. The canoe sabotage, the letter, the tension in the halls... I knew they were planning something."

"Your stakeout with Kaine prevented any Northerners' sabotage," Luna reminded her. "And you can't predict a storm conjured by ghosts." Her voice was quiet but firm. "You did everything you could. And besides, you saved your team. You all came back."

Except that wasn't entirely true; Thalia hadn't saved anyone. Roran had. She'd been flailing in the water herself, desperately trying to free Rasmus from the riggings. It was Roran who had pulled them all to safety, Roran who had breathed life back into Rasmus's still lungs.

Roran, who would feel the fallout from this day’s events.

"If the Isle Wardens have their eyes on the academy again," Thalia said slowly, "then no one is safe. Not Northerners, not Southerners.”

Luna nodded, then said softly, “That attack lined up quite neatly with the Command Challenge, didn’t it? They struck just as we were all out on the fjord, away from the safety of the keep.”

Thalia caught her breath. “Are you suggesting….”

“They could’ve had an informant on the inside,” Luna said, nodding. “Someone who told them when and where to strike.”

Thalia sat with that for a moment, digesting the possibility.

It couldn't have been the Northern extremists; Isle Wardens would pose a danger to all students, regardless of their regional affiliation.

The idea of an Isle Warden informant within the school's walls suggested an internal war on two fronts, a keep filled with enemies and few allies, despite their allegedly shared cause.

"If that’s true, we need to find out who it is," Thalia muttered.

Luna nodded. "We will. But first —" She gestured at Thalia's sodden clothing. "Change. Warm up. You're no good to anyone if you catch your death from a cold."

"And Roran?"

"I'll find him. Make sure he's not alone right now."

Relief washed over Thalia. "Thank you."

With that, Luna slipped away, leaving Thalia alone in the alcove. The cold had settled deep into Thalia's bones now, but she remained standing, staring out at the fog that shrouded the fjord. Somewhere out there, invisible but present, enemies watched and waited outside the walls and within them.

She pressed her palm against the window, leaving a handprint on the frosted glass.

The imprint began to melt immediately, droplets of water tracking down the pane like tears.

She would not let them win. Not the Isle Wardens, not the Northern extremists.

Not the traitor within Frostforge, the intended recipient of the mysterious message — the saboteur with orders to sow chaos among the ranks.

Thalia pushed away from the wall and started toward her quarters, her waterlogged boots leaving a trail of footprints behind her.

Her shoulders were squared, her jaw set — but beneath the facade of determination, she trembled.

From the cold, yes. But also from the fear that they were facing an enemy more deadly than aggrieved Northerners or angry elders from the Reaches.

They were facing the Isle Wardens themselves, and potentially, a traitor within Frostforge’s walls.