Page 6 of Frostforge, Passage Four

Moonlight sliced through the narrow window of Thalia's chamber, casting frigid blue shadows across the stone floor.

She lay rigid beneath her furs, eyes fixed on the ice-veined ceiling, sleep a distant memory.

Her thoughts prowled like hungry wolves — Einar's sneering face, Rasmus and Sigrid's deliberate insubordination, Roran's cryptic warning about Isle Warden movements.

The Command Challenge loomed over it all, a test she couldn't afford to fail, not when her family's future hung by such a slender thread. If Thalia graduated from Frostforge and was placed in the military’s ranks, the stipend she could send back to her mother would keep them fed.

If she failed, or was killed, her mother would have to choose between feeding herself and Mari — or bracing for the Selection.

A sudden movement at the edge of her vision sent her pulse racing. A silhouette detached from the darkness, sliding closer to her bedside like a phantom. Thalia's fingers crept toward the dagger she kept beneath her pillow.

"Are you awake?" Luna whispered, her face materializing in a shaft of moonlight. Her dreadlocks cast spidery shadows across her cheeks, the tiny metal rings catching the pale glow.

Thalia's grip on the dagger relaxed. "Luna? What are you —"

"Shh." Luna pressed a finger to her lips, eyes darting toward Ashe's bed. "You need to hear something. Come with me."

Thalia nodded, pushing back her furs and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The air bit at her exposed skin, raising bumps along her arms. She reached for her cloak, draping it over her nightclothes, and slipped her feet into thick wool socks.

Across the room, Ashe's steady breathing continued uninterrupted. The Northern girl slept soundly, one arm flung above her head, the red streaks in her black hair gleaming faintly in the dim light. Thalia envied her peaceful slumber, even as she followed Luna to the door.

The corridor outside stretched dark and silent, save for the distant crackle of torches and the mournful howl of wind through Frostforge's stone arteries.

Luna moved with practiced stealth, her footfalls whispering against the floor.

Thalia matched her pace, grateful for the skills honed through three years of midnight wanderings and dawn training sessions.

"Where are we going?" Thalia breathed, her words barely disturbing the air between them.

Luna didn't answer, only gestured down the hall where light spilled from beneath the common area door. As they drew closer, voices emerged from the hushed quiet — tense, conspiratorial tones that raised the hairs on Thalia's neck.

"Redwood is no good to us." Einar's voice sliced through the stone walls, sharp as an ice-blade. "She's too fond of her snow-blind Southern roommates."

Thalia froze, a knot forming in her stomach. Luna pressed a finger to her lips again, guiding them both to the wall beside the door. They flattened themselves against the stone, ears straining to catch every word.

"The instructors have gone too far," Morrigan muttered, her normally melodious voice sour with contempt. "Putting Southerners in command of Northern first-years? It's an insult to tradition."

"Hiring Marr was the beginning," Einar replied. "A Southern instructor at Frostforge… it signals the academy no longer values strength — only appeasement."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the room. Thalia pressed her palm against the wall, as if she could push through the stone and confront them.

"The Southerners need to be taught a lesson," Ragna sneered, her voice a venomous whisper. "A reminder of their place."

More agreement, like the rumble of distant thunder. Thalia's breath caught in her throat as Einar spoke again, his words precise and cutting.

"Especially the Isle Warden."

The blood in Thalia's veins turned to ice. Roran. They were talking about Roran. Last year's rumors hadn't died as she'd hoped; they'd merely gone underground, festering like infected wounds.

"Greenspire is so quick to defend him," Einar continued, disgust dripping from every syllable. "The Southerners treat him like one of their own. It only shows how they weaken our ranks. We can't let this go on."

A tremor worked its way through Thalia's body — not fear, but fury, burning hot against the academy's perpetual chill.

She'd heard enough. Her fingers found Luna's sleeve, tugging gently.

Luna nodded, and they retreated down the hall, each step careful and measured until they reached the relative safety of the stairwell.

The stone steps were cold beneath them as they sat side by side, their breath clouding in the frigid air. Thalia's mind raced, replaying Einar's words, calculating the threat they posed.

"I can't believe they're targeting Roran again," she finally said, the words bitter on her tongue. "And it sounds they're planning something — something to put the Southerners in their place.'" Her fingers curled into fists. "We need to warn him."

Luna's expression remained carefully neutral, her dark eyes reflecting the dim light from the corridor. "The rumors about Bright have gotten worse since the break."

"Worse? How?"

"People are saying he returned to the Isles during the off-season," Luna replied, her voice low and measured. "That he's feeding information about Frostforge to the Wardens."

"That's absurd," Thalia hissed. "He was tracking their movements, not joining them."

"I know." Luna's gaze was steady, unflinching. "But not everyone wants facts, Thalia. They just want someone to blame for their fear."

Thalia leaned back against the stone, exhaustion suddenly weighing on her like a physical burden. "He's not as safe as he thinks he is, is he?"

"No." Luna shook her head, the metal rings in her locks clicking softly. "He's on thinner ice than he believes."

"The Northerners still think he's a spy. Even after everything last year — even after he nearly died fighting the Wardens."

"Being stabbed by the enemy doesn't prove as much as you'd think," Luna murmured. "Not when people are determined to see betrayal." She paused, studying Thalia's face. "Einar's comment about Southerners treating him like one of their own—that's not entirely accurate, is it?"

Thalia's jaw tightened. Luna, as always, saw too much. "No. Most of the other Southerners keep their distance. They're… still uncertain about him."

"Which means if Einar and his friends decide to move against Roran —"

"I might be the only one who stands with him," Thalia finished, the realization settling heavily in her chest.

Luna reached over, her fingers finding Thalia's in the darkness. "Not the only one," she corrected softly. "But you should talk to him. Warn him. Soon."

Thalia nodded, squeezing Luna's hand in silent gratitude. Tomorrow, she decided. She would find Roran tomorrow and make him understand. The Northern students weren't just harboring suspicions — they were planning something. And this time, they might not stop at mere whispers and glares.

As they rose to return to their rooms, Thalia cast one last glance down the corridor toward the common area. The voices had fallen silent, but the threat they carried lingered in the air, as tangible as the frost creeping across Frostforge's ancient stones.

***

The mess hall's warmth hit Thalia like a physical force as she stepped through the arched doorway, a welcome reprieve from Frostforge's biting corridors.

Steam rose from copper cauldrons along the far wall, carrying the bland scent of Northern porridge that never quite satisfied her Southern palate.

Her eyes swept across the crowded tables, past clusters of first-years huddled together like nervous prey, past instructors with their ramrod postures and watchful gazes, until she found him — Roran, alone at the end of a long table, spooning porridge into his mouth with theatrical reluctance.

She wove between the tables, ignoring the occasional glances that followed her path.

Three years at Frostforge had taught her to recognize the weight of stares — the curious, the dismissive, the hostile.

Today, they seemed heavier somehow, charged with something beyond the usual Northern disdain for Southern students.

Roran spotted her approach and his face brightened.

"There she is," he called, his voice carrying just enough to turn a few nearby heads.

"Come suffer this Northern excuse for breakfast with me.

I swear they make it bland on purpose." He gestured to the gray mass in his bowl.

"Remember when breakfast meant freshly sliced fruit? Smoked fish on nut bread? I’d kill for some nut bread. "

Thalia slid onto the bench across from him, her own bowl of porridge untouched before her. Any other morning, she might have matched his banter, added her own complaints about missing the spiced teas and honeyed breads of Verdant Port. Today, the words stuck in her throat.

"Roran," she said, her voice low and steady. "We need to talk."

Something in her tone cut through his cheerful facade. His smile faltered, eyes narrowing slightly as he studied her face. "That sounds ominous."

Thalia glanced around. Too many ears, too many eyes. "Not here," she murmured, rising from her seat. "Bring your breakfast."

He followed without question, balancing his bowl and a chunk of dark, stale bread as she led him to a quieter corner of the hall, near one of the massive stone hearths that kept the chill at bay. The crackling fire would mask their voices from casual eavesdroppers.

"You're making me nervous, Greenspire," Roran said as they settled on a bench, his attempt at lightness not quite reaching his eyes. "Last time you looked this serious, we were facing down a half-dozen Warden ships, and that didn’t go very well for me."

Thalia placed her bowl on the hearth's edge, hunger forgotten. "The rumors about you from last year — they haven't gone away."

Roran tore off a piece of bread, the movement casual, but his fingers betrayed a slight tension. "They've died down considerably. I'm hardly getting any sideways looks anymore."

"You're not paying attention, then." Thalia leaned closer, voice dropping further. "Last night, Luna and I overheard Einar and his friends. They're still convinced you're working with the Isle Wardens."

Roran's laugh was soft but dismissive. "Einar Frost-for-brains? He's been after me since the first year."

"This isn't a joke, Roran."

"Who says I'm joking?" He shrugged, spooning up another bite of porridge. "Getting stabbed by a Warden was the best thing that could've happened to me. Now nobody thinks they're on my side." His smile turned wry. "It would be a nasty way to treat an ally, don't you think?"

The memory of Roran's blood spreading across the slick boards of a skiff’s deck flashed through Thalia's mind. Her fingers curled into fists beneath the table. "This isn't the time for humor."

"It's exactly the time for humor," he countered, though his voice softened at her expression.

"Look, it's much better this year. Nowhere near as many stares.

Even the instructors have eased up." He nudged her bowl toward her.

"Eat your gruel. You'll need your strength to terrorize those first years of yours. "

"Einar called you 'the Isle Warden,'" Thalia pressed. "They're planning something, Roran. I don't know what, but it's not just talk this time. They have it out for all of the Southerners, too. Not just you."

Something flickered in his eyes then — a momentary crack in his carefree mask. But it vanished as quickly as it appeared. "Einar is just one idiot."

"With friends. Influential friends."

"Who are all too busy trying to impress Instructor Wolfe to bother with me.

" He set down his spoon, meeting her gaze directly.

"I appreciate the concern. Really. But you don't need to worry.

Besides —" he lowered his voice to a near-whisper "— you and Ashe are the only ones who know my secret.

As long as that doesn't change, I'm safe. "

Thalia hesitated, guilt twisting in her stomach. "That's... not entirely true."

"What?"

"Luna knows," she admitted, watching his expression carefully. "She's seen you practicing your magic."

At that, finally, Roran’s face fell. "That's not possible. I was careful."

"Luna sees everything," Thalia said quietly. "But she won't tell anyone. She's on our side."

"You can't know that." For the first time that morning, real fear edged into his voice, which Thalia found almost gratifying. "If word gets out —"

"It won't. Not from her." Thalia reached across the table, her fingers finding his wrist. "But that's why you need to be careful. Watch your back. Keep your head down."

Roran pulled his arm away, the gesture less a rejection than a retreat. "How long has she known?"

"I don't know exactly. But Luna wouldn't have kept quiet this long just to betray you now."

He nodded slowly, but the ease had gone out of him, replaced by a tightly coiled tension Thalia recognized from their most dangerous moments at the academy. "I'll be careful," he finally said, his voice low and serious.

"Good." Thalia pushed her bowl toward him, her appetite completely gone now. "And stay away from the fjord for a while. Find somewhere else to practice, somewhere no one will stumble across you."

Roran nodded again, his gaze distant, calculating. Then, with visible effort, he forced his expression back to something resembling nonchalance. "Enough doom and gloom. Tell me about these recruits of yours. As terrible as mine?"

Thalia allowed the change of subject, recognizing his need to regain his footing.

But as they slipped into safer conversation, she couldn't shake the chill that had settled between her shoulders.

She'd delivered her warning, but whether it would be enough — whether Roran would truly heed it — remained to be seen.