Page 26 of Frostforge, Passage Four

Dusk spilled across the training yard in violet shadows, casting the clashing soldiers in silhouette against the fading light.

Thalia pressed her back against the cold stone of the archway, watching as Senna Drake barked commands at her squadron.

Even from this distance, the precision of their movements was undeniable — a coordinated dance of steel and discipline that made something uncomfortable twist in Thalia's gut.

Admiration, however reluctant, for a woman she'd sooner throw from the academy's highest tower than compliment.

"She's good," Luna whispered beside her, her dark eyes assessing. "Hate to say it, but she knows what she's doing."

Thalia clenched her jaw. "Knowing how to swing a blade doesn't make her trustworthy."

"No," Luna agreed, "but it might make her useful."

The soldiers — twelve in all, from the Northern Reaches by their bearing — moved with alarming synchronicity.

Senna stood among them like a conductor before her orchestra, each sharp command setting off a new flurry of precise movements.

Her voice carried across the yard, clipped and authoritative, brooking no hesitation or dissent.

"Form up!" The squadron shifted into a defensive formation, shields locking together as seamlessly as puzzle pieces. "Break! Reform!" They scattered like birds startled from a branch, then coalesced into an offensive wedge, ice-steel blades gleaming in the last rays of sunlight.

"They move like they're one creature," Thalia muttered.

She'd seen the challenge in training her own small squad of first-years — the constant pushing back from Rasmus and Sigrid, the tentative uncertainty of Daniel and Felah.

Senna had somehow erased all individual friction from her unit, leaving only smooth, lethal efficiency.

Luna nudged her ribs, then raised her hand in a subtle signal. Across the yard, Senna's eyes flickered their way, narrowing as she spotted them lurking in the shadows. She gave no outward sign of recognition, merely continued drilling her soldiers through another series of maneuvers.

"Again!" Senna snapped when one man's shield drifted too low. "The Wardens won't politely wait while you fix your stance, Connor."

Thalia watched the chastened soldier adjust, his shoulders rigid with embarrassment. She'd never seen Senna in her element before — had only known her as the sneering rival, the conniving adversary in the halls of Frostforge. This Senna, sharp and authoritative, somehow felt more dangerous.

Finally, after what seemed an eternity of drills, Senna stepped back and addressed her squadron.

"That's enough for today," she called, voice carrying across the stone yard. "Remember your watch rotation. I want everyone in their quarters reviewing defensive formations before lights out. Dismissed."

The soldiers dispersed with military efficiency, filing past Luna and Thalia with curious glances but saying nothing. Senna remained in the center of the yard, her silhouette stark against the deepening twilight as she rolled her shoulders and began collecting discarded training weapons.

"Let's go," Luna murmured, pushing away from the wall.

Thalia followed, crossing the yard with measured steps. Senna didn't look up as they approached, methodically gathering shields and stacking them against a rack.

"This better be good," she muttered when they were within earshot, sweat beading at her temples, her dark braid damp and clinging to her neck. Her armor was scuffed with the day's exertion, and a fresh bruise darkened along her jawline. "I have a shift on the wall in ten."

Thalia held out the crumpled note, her voice pitched low. She didn't bother with pleasantries. "We found this attached to a gull that was flying toward the academy. Do you recognize the handwriting?"

Senna's eyes flicked from the paper to Thalia's face, measuring. With a sharp movement, she snatched the note from Thalia's fingers, scanning the cryptic lines.

You are instructed to escalate tensions between Northern and Southern students.

Succeed, and you will be rewarded.

Her expression darkened as she read it again, the hard line of her brows drawing tighter. The wind picked up around them, sending loose strands of Senna's hair dancing across her face, but she didn't move to brush them away.

"No idea who wrote it," she finally said, voice flat. "But whoever did has too much nerve." She handed the note back, fingers brushing Thalia's with uncharacteristic gentleness. "There’s treason afoot. Have you brought this to Wolfe? To Calloway?”

“Either of them could be the intended recipient,” Luna said grimly. “The note talks about ‘influence’ within Frostforge. We can’t trust any of the instructors.”

Senna’s lips thinned, and she gave a tight nod.

"Is that all you can tell us?" Luna pressed, stepping closer, her body tense with anticipation. "Have you noticed anything unusual among the Northern students? Any strange correspondence?"

Senna's eyes narrowed. "You two have been investigating this?"

"As best we can," Thalia admitted, tucking the note back into her pocket. "We think whoever was meant to receive this letter is a saboteur trying to destabilize Frostforge from within."

Senna snorted. “No kidding.”

“We had hoped you would help us,” Luna said.

"And what makes you think I'd do that?" Senna asked, though there was less venom in her words than usual.

Luna tilted her head. "Because, whatever your faults, Drake, I don't think you want to see Frostforge torn apart from the inside. Not if it helps the Wardens gather strength."

A muscle worked in Senna's jaw. She glanced toward the darkening horizon, beyond which lay the vast, treacherous sea where Isle Warden ships prowled.

"I want to be kept up to date on whatever you find," she said at last. "In exchange, I'll help." She turned back to them, eyes glinting like steel in the growing darkness. "I'm on watch every night. I see who comes and goes. And no one thinks twice about a soldier overhearing things."

Luna gave a small nod of approval, impressed despite herself. "You'd be useful. But if you turn this into a personal crusade —"

"I don't care about glory," Senna cut her off, voice like iron. "I care about getting whoever's behind this before someone else gets killed." She adjusted her armor with a grimace.

"We need to watch for birds," Luna said, her mind clearly racing ahead. "Inbound gulls, or outgoing ravens heading west toward the sea rather than north into the Reaches. Any communication in or out of Frostforge could be significant."

Senna nodded. "I can intercept messages. No one questions a soldier doing her duty." Her lips curved into something almost feral. "Always wanted to read everyone's mail."

"Keep a low profile," Luna warned. "If our saboteur realizes we're onto them, they'll change tactics."

"I know how to be discreet," Senna scoffed. She glanced at the sky, judging the time. "I need to get to my post. We'll meet again — tomorrow, after final bells. The old storeroom by the south tower. No one uses it anymore."

Without waiting for confirmation, she strode past them, armor gleaming dully in the fading light. At the edge of the yard, she paused, looking back over her shoulder.

"Watch yourselves," she called, voice soft enough that only they could hear. "Whoever's behind this — they've already shown they're willing to kill."

Thalia and Luna watched her go, her silhouette blending with the growing darkness.

"Do you trust her?" Luna asked quietly.

Thalia considered the question, watching the space where Senna had disappeared. "No," she admitted. "But I believe she wants to catch this traitor as badly as we do."

"That'll have to be enough," Luna said, her eyes sharp in the gathering night. "For now."

***

Thalia stood before Roran's door, fist raised and frozen mid-air, her courage faltering like a flame in a draft.

Five days since they'd spoken alone. Five days since the mess hall brawl and Wolfe's lecture, and since then, Roran had retreated into himself; outside of classes, Thalia had barely seen him.

The smooth wood of his door seemed suddenly insurmountable, the inches between her knuckles and its surface stretching into leagues.

She took a deep breath, steadied herself, and knocked — three sharp raps that echoed down the empty corridor.

Silence stretched between her and the closed door.

Thalia shifted her weight, wondering if she should knock again or simply leave.

Perhaps he was asleep, or not there at all.

She raised her hand to try once more when she heard movement within — the whisper of footsteps, then the soft creak of the latch turning.

The door opened a few cautious inches, revealing Roran's face half-hidden in shadow.

His eyes, normally bright with mischief, looked hollowed out, the skin beneath them bruised with exhaustion.

His wild black curls hung loose and unkempt around his face, several days' worth of stubble darkening his jaw.

"What do you want, Greenspire?" His voice was rough from disuse, stripped of its usual warmth.

Thalia hesitated only a moment, then decided on directness. "I need your help."

Something flickered across Roran's face — surprise, then wariness, then a spark of his old self. He studied her face, searching for signs of pity or manipulation. Finding none, he gave a single, sharp nod and reached for his cloak, hanging from a hook beside the door.

"Give me a minute," he said, pulling the door wider. His room beyond was spartanly neat, bed made with military precision, personal effects minimal. Not the chaos she'd expected from someone as naturally effervescent as Roran. Another reminder of how little she truly knew him, despite everything.