Page 9 of Frostforge, Passage Four

A hiss of steam greeted Thalia as she pushed open the heavy oak door to the Howling Forge, the wave of heat washing over her face like a physical force.

Cradled against her chest was Felah's broken blade, wrapped carefully in cloth, each jagged edge a silent accusation.

The familiar scent of hot metal and coal smoke filled her lungs, a harsh comfort that reminded her of purpose, of belonging.

Here, among the anvils and fires, she understood the language being spoken.

The Forge breathed around her, a living entity of fire and metal.

Hammers rang against anvils in rhythmic percussion, sparks dancing through the air like fireflies caught in an updraft.

Sweat beaded instantly on her brow as she navigated between workstations, her eyes fixed on the broad-shouldered figure at the far end of the chamber.

Kaine stood with his back to her, muscles bunching beneath his thin linen shirt as he lifted a glowing blade from the coals.

Steam erupted as he plunged it into a basin of water, the sharp hiss momentarily drowning out the constant background roar of the furnaces.

His movements were precise, economical — a craftsman who had learned that wasted motion meant wasted energy.

He turned, sensing her presence before she announced it. Those ice-blue eyes found hers across the forge, and for a heartbeat, Thalia forgot why she'd come.

"I thought you might be down here soon," he said, setting the newly forged replacement blade aside to cool. His voice carried easily despite the ambient noise, as if the Forge itself hushed to allow his words passage.

Thalia nodded, clutching the cloth-wrapped fragments tighter. "I needed to be sure."

He gestured to his workbench, cleared of all but the essential tools. "Let's see it then."

With careful hands, she unwrapped the broken blade, laying the shards on the scarred wooden surface.

The ice-steel caught the forge light, refracting it in ways that made her eyes ache if she looked too long as she arranged the pieces to approximate their original form, her current-sensing ability stirred within her — an awareness like fingertips brushing across her consciousness.

She felt the disruptions in the metal's flow before she saw them, tiny eddies of wrongness in what should have been a smooth magical current.

"There," she murmured, pointing to a section near the hilt where the break had originated. "The current's all wrong."

Kaine moved beside her, his presence solid and warm as he leaned in to examine the blade. His brow furrowed, eyes narrowing as they traced the fracture lines. He didn't need her ability to see what she meant — his craftsman's eye had years of experience reading metal like others read books.

"Impurities," he confirmed, voice dropping lower.

"But not natural ones." His callused fingers hovered over the metal, not quite touching it.

"See how the crystalline structure changes here?

And here?" He pointed to microscopic variations in the metal's pattern.

"Someone introduced foreign elements during the tempering process. "

Thalia's stomach tightened. She'd known it, felt it in her bones the moment Felah's blade had shattered against the golem. But having Kaine confirm it made the sabotage real in a way her suspicions hadn't.

"Just like what happened to me," she whispered, memories of her first year flooding back — the Frost Walk, the imposing bulk of a golem descending on her, her blade shattering when she needed it most. The fear that had gripped her as she'd faced death on the ice.

She bit back the name that rose to her lips.

Senna. No use reopening that wound, especially not with Kaine, whose relationship with Senna remained a tangled mystery she couldn't unravel.

Besides, she didn't have to worry about Senna anymore. The Northern girl had graduated from Frostforge last year and been assigned to an officer's post in the military. She was gone, likely halfway across the continent, caught up in the war that would soon take them all.

Kaine's gaze sharpened, something unreadable flickering across his features before settling into grim certainty. "This wasn't an accident."

He brushed his thumb over the fracture lines, the gesture almost tender.

"Someone knew exactly what they were doing.

These impurities were introduced during final tempering — when the blade was almost complete.

" His voice held the quiet authority of absolute knowledge. "It's subtle work. Deliberate."

"Someone who knows metallurgy," Thalia added, the implications clear between them. Not many at Frostforge possessed such specialized knowledge. Even fewer had access to the forges.

They bent their heads together over the broken weapon, shoulders nearly touching as they examined the evidence of malice.

The heat of the forge pressed around them, but Thalia barely noticed it anymore — her awareness had narrowed to the small space she shared with Kaine, to the rhythm of his breathing, to the scent of smoke and metal that clung to his skin.

For a moment, Thalia thought about the calculating look on his face as he’d stared at her and Roran.

She wondered if she should ask him what he’d seen, make sure Roran’s secret was intact, but mentioning Roran in Kaine’s presence felt like a direct provocation.

By now, even though none of them had ever spoken of the tension, Thalia was certain Roran and Kaine were well aware of the split in her attentions, the confused, complicated attraction she felt for each of them.

Roran’s jealousy had been obvious from the involuntary sparks of electricity arcing between his fingers.

Kaine’s was more subtle, but no less dangerous.

"Your first-year — Felah?" Kaine asked, not looking up from the blade. "Has she made enemies already?"

Thalia shook her head. "She's too quiet for that. Keeps to herself." She frowned, thinking of the girl's slight frame, her nervous hands. "But she's Southern. That might be enough."

Kaine's jaw tightened. He didn't need to voice his agreement; they both knew the tensions between Northern and Southern students had only worsened since last year.

The regional antagonisms were like a tight, inward spiral, intensifying with each successive year, heedless of any efforts to stop them.

The Command Challenge seemed to have inflamed them further.

"I'll need to warn her to be careful," Thalia said. "And the others in my squad."

"Be careful yourself," Kaine replied, his voice softening in a way that made her pulse quicken. "Whoever did this might be targeting you throughout your first years."

He shifted closer, his arm brushing against hers as he reached for a magnifying lens.

The contact, brief as it was, sent a current through Thalia that had nothing to do with metal or magic.

She became acutely aware of how alone they were in this corner of the forge, the nearest smith a dozen benches away, focused on their own work.

Kaine must have felt it too — the sudden charge between them.

His movements slowed, and he set the lens down deliberately, turning toward her.

His eyes, when they met hers, held the same intensity she remembered from their last moment alone in the forge.

Heat bloomed in her chest that had nothing to do with the surrounding furnaces.

With the warmth came a prickle of unease at the thought of Roran, of the look on his face as he’d watched her and Kaine speak on the Crystalline Plateau.

"Thalia," he murmured, low enough that only she could hear him.

At the sound of his voice, her uncertainty began to melt as if thawed by the forge fires.

She leaned in slightly, drawn by the gravity of him, by the memory of his lips on hers.

The forge seemed to fade around them, the clanging of hammers and hiss of steam receding into distant background noise.

There was only Kaine, the warmth radiating from him, the question in his eyes, the slight parting of his lips.

Then came the rush of cold air — a shock to the system that made every smith in the forge look up in irritation. The massive door had opened, letting in a draft from the frigid corridor outside. The intrusion scattered the intimate moment like ash in a gust of wind.

Thalia knew who it was before she turned. Some primal instinct, honed by years of hostility, recognized the presence at her back. She tensed, muscles coiling tight as a spring, as she forced herself to look.

Senna Drake stood in the doorway, silhouetted against the relative darkness of the corridor beyond.

The frost seemed to cling to her, reluctant to relinquish its chosen vessel to the forge's heat.

She stepped inside, allowing the door to swing shut behind her, and the light caught her properly — illuminating her practical braid of brown hair that ran down one shoulder, her precise posture that spoke of rigid training and rigid belief.

But it was her attire that made Thalia's breath catch.

Gone was the standard leather armor of Frostforge students.

In its place was something altogether more imposing — high-end armor of tooled leather and ice-aluminum, the metal catching the forge light with a blue-white gleam.

Military issue, without question. And not just any rank — the insignia at her collar marked her as an officer.

Thalia's hand instinctively moved to cover the broken blade, a pointless gesture of protection. Senna's piercing silver-gray eyes had already cataloged everything in the room, lingering with particular interest on the narrow space between Thalia and Kaine.

"I should have known I'd find you down here," Senna said, her voice carrying the familiar Northern accent that turned even casual observations into accusations. Her gaze shifted from Thalia to Kaine, warming fractionally. "I came looking for you."

Kaine straightened, surprise evident in his expression — but not displeasure, Thalia noted with a sinking feeling. "Senna? What are you doing here? I thought you'd been assigned to the Northern Fleet."

Senna's lips curved into something approximating a smile, though it never reached her eyes. "I've been reassigned." Pride laced her words as she added, "My squadron has been detailed to reinforce Frostforge's defenses, in light of increased Isle Warden activity."

The implications landed like a physical blow. Senna wasn't just visiting. She was stationed here. Permanently.

Thalia's fingers curled against the workbench, seeking purchase against the sudden vertigo that threatened her balance.

After everything — after narrowly surviving Senna's previous attempts to eliminate her as competition — she would now have to navigate Frostforge with Senna as a constant presence.

A sanctioned, officially empowered presence.

Kaine moved away from the workbench, from Thalia, crossing the distance to Senna with long strides. "Congratulations," he said, and there was genuine warmth in his voice that twisted something in Thalia's chest. "You earned it."

Before Senna could respond, he pulled her into an embrace that clearly caught her off guard. Her eyes widened momentarily before she returned the gesture, her armored arms encircling him with what looked like practiced restraint.

Left at the workbench, Thalia busied herself with rewrapping the broken blade fragments, using the task as an excuse to avoid watching their reunion. Her jaw ached from clenching, and she forced herself to relax, to breathe through the complicated emotions churning in her gut.

She couldn't forget what Senna had done — the calculated sabotage that had nearly cost Thalia her life during the Frost Walk.

The threats, the intimidation, the clear message that Thalia didn't belong at Frostforge, that she was stealing Kaine's attention from where it rightfully belonged. With Senna.

Yet she also couldn't deny that Senna had twice come to her defense since then, proving a grudging loyalty to Frostforge if not to Thalia personally. Did that erase the attempted murder? The constant undermining? The territorial claim she'd laid on Kaine?

Thalia's fingers traced the cloth-covered edges of the broken blade, feeling the wrongness in its currents even through the barrier. Sabotage. Again. Was it a coincidence that Senna returned now?

She risked a glance upward and immediately regretted it. Kaine and Senna had separated from their embrace, but remained standing close, his hand still resting lightly on her armored shoulder as she spoke to him in low tones. The familiarity between them was a physical ache in Thalia's chest.

Then Senna's eyes flicked over Kaine's shoulder, meeting Thalia's gaze with cold precision. There was no mistaking the message in that silver stare, the silent declaration of intent that had nothing to do with her military posting and everything to do with the man standing between them.