Page 27 of Frostforge, Passage Four

He emerged a moment later, cloak fastened at his shoulders, and pulled the door shut behind him. They fell into step together, walking through the stone halls of Frostforge. The silence between them felt less tense than Thalia had expected, almost companionable.

"I spoke with Ashe a while back," Thalia said at last, her voice low despite the empty corridor. "She told me Northern elders have been sending ravens to students from the Reaches."

Roran glanced at her, a furrow appearing between his brows. "What kind of messages?"

"Encouraging them to undermine Southern leadership at the academy," Thalia explained, watching his reaction carefully.

Roran's jaw tightened. "Charming."

"What I can't figure out," Thalia continued, "is why the Northern elders suddenly took such an interest. I doubt they wake up every morning thinking about Frostforge's internal politics."

"Someone must have written to them first," Roran concluded, following her logic. "Someone inside the academy who wanted to stir up trouble."

Thalia nodded. "Exactly. And I think I know who might know more about it."

They found Einar alone in the archives, hunched over a heavy tome bound in weathered leather. The lamplight cast deep shadows across his face, making the angles of his Northern features even sharper. He looked up as they approached, his expression immediately darkening at the sight of them.

"What do you two want?" he asked, not bothering to keep his voice down despite the sanctity of the archives. "I'm busy."

Thalia stopped a respectful distance from his table, Roran at her shoulder like a silent sentinel.

"We need information," she said, keeping her voice cold and sharp.

"The Northern elders didn't just wake up and decide to flood the academy with ravens.

Someone wrote to them to complain about Marr and the Command Challenge. Who was it?"

Einar scoffed, closing his book with deliberate slowness. "As if I'd talk to you about this."

"It's a simple question," Thalia pressed, taking a step closer. "Who contacted the elders first?"

"I don't owe you answers, Southerner." Einar's eyes flicked to Roran, narrowing with undisguised contempt. "Or your pet Warden."

She felt Roran tense beside her, but he remained silent. Thalia leaned forward, placing her palms flat on the table. "You know how dangerous storm magic can be," she said quietly, watching understanding dawn in Einar's eyes. "How unpredictable. How... destructive."

She glanced sideways at Roran, who caught on immediately, shifting his stance to something more imposing. He cleared his throat and added, “You know what they say about storms, Einar. Even the quiet ones break.”

Einar straightened defensively, scowling. "Are you threatening me?"

"Just making an observation," Roran replied, his voice level. "About the volatile nature of certain forces."

Einar glared at them both, his pale fingers tightening on the book before him. "I haven't sent any damned ravens to my clan," he spat. "So you can take your threats elsewhere."

Roran spoke again, his voice quiet but firm. "You've been the loudest to complain. It's not a stretch to imagine you running crying to your grandfather."

"For your information," Einar said, each word cutting like ice, "I've only received missives from my clan's elders. I haven't sent any back."

Thalia frowned, caught off guard by his insistence. "Has anyone? To your knowledge?"

Einar shook his head, the motion sharp and impatient. "Not that I know of."

Thalia exchanged a glance with Roran. If Einar was telling the truth — and his indignation seemed genuine — then he wasn’t their saboteur.

He was certainly one of the Northern extremists Senna had warned about; he was definitely responsible for some of the Southerners’ troubles.

But he wasn’t the architect of the chaos. He was merely a pawn.

"We're done here," Thalia said, straightening. "Enjoy your reading."

They left Einar glaring after them, his face a mask of Northern disdain. Once they were safely beyond the archives' heavy doors, Roran exhaled slowly.

"Well, that was useful," he muttered. "Or not."

Thalia shook her head, frustration bubbling in her chest. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have used the rumors about your magic that way."

Roran glanced at her, surprise evident in his dark eyes. "It's fine," he said after a moment. "It worked, didn't it? Even if we didn't get the answer we wanted."

They walked in silence for several paces, footsteps echoing against stone. Roran seemed lost in thought, his brow furrowed in the way that meant he was working through a problem.

“Whoever told their elders about the Command Challenge may well have been trying to stir up trouble,” he said finally, “but they weren’t doing it on behalf of the North.”

“No,” Thalia agreed, her mouth dry. “I’m inclined to think it was the intended recipient of the gull Luna found. The Isle Wardens’ informant on the inside, the one who was ordered to stir up tensions.”

“Which means we’re dealing with threats from all sides,” Roran muttered. “A genuine traitor, and all the useful idiots following their lead, whether they know it or not.”

Thalia nodded; he was right. The Northerners’ hatred for their Southern comrades was strong enough to blind.

They would do the Wardens’ work for them, destabilizing the continental alliance, disrupting unity at Frostforge, with no knowledge of the consequences.

And someone at Frostforge was intentionally fanning the flames of that discord, stoking suspicion and chaos like dry kindling in a gale.