Page 84 of Fated to the Frost King

“Indeed it does,” Isren responded gently. “I would ask only that you contemplate the benefit of trying one last time. I have every reason to believe that you do have mana. If you would allow me the opportunity to check, we might be able to find answers together that allow you to begin to heal. What you do with those answers is your choice, and yours alone.”

I opened my mouth to tell him I didn’t need answers when they had already been wrenched from me in blood, but the barest tendril of doubt stilled my tongue. The Archmage wasprobablylying, and Draven wasprobablydelusional.

The Shard Motherprobablyhad chosen me as a punishment or some joke that only she knew the punchline of, but could I really walk away with probably? Without knowing the truth, beyond any shadow of possibility?

I sucked in a breath, already hating myself for what I was about to do. But in the end, I nodded.

One more chance to put this all to bed, then we could all move on with our lives.

Chapter 29

Everly

“Would you like tea?” Isren asked, already moving toward a side table stacked with mismatched porcelain.

I blinked. “What?”

“Tea,” he repeated, glancing over his shoulder with a faint smile. “Unless you’d prefer something stronger, but it’s a little early for Shivermark Gin.”

I didn’t answer right away. My body was still humming from too many things I hadn’t had time to process. I was mentally preparing myself for another frost-damned test, and instead, he offered…tea?

It felt harmless, which made me instantly suspicious.

“…Tea is fine,” I said at last, even though I didn’t particularly want it.

He poured a cup for all three of us, his movements unhurried, graceful without being showy.

“Please,” he said, gesturing toward a pair of armchairs near the hearth. “Sit. It will help if you’re comfortable.”

I glanced at Draven, who made no move to join us. He stood near the wall, arms crossed, still and silent as one of his damned wolves.

Batty gave a tiny chirp of protest as I sat, curling tighter beneath my collarbone, and I let my hand rest on her wing. Isren took the seat across from me, setting his cup on the low table between us.

“I find it helps,” he said, lifting a small wooden box from a nearby shelf. “The tea. Something warm in the hands. Softens the edge of difficult memories.”

I didn’t respond, not sure if he was referring to the difficult memories of my time with mages or if he planned on dredging up a different kind of hell for me. He didn’t seem to mind my silence.

“Tell me,” he continued conversationally, opening the box to reveal several polished crystals inside. “What do you remember of your childhood?”

I stiffened. “Why?”

“Because mana is a thread that weaves through experience, not just blood,” he replied, selecting a small violet stone and setting it gently on the table between us. “Mana anchors itself in memory, especially formative ones. Early exposure. Emotional impact. Pain. Joy. Sometimes it’s buried in the places we stopped looking.”

“I don’t remember much,” I lied, eyes flicking to the stone. “Small village. Faded memories. Nothing special.”

“Mmh.” He didn’t challenge me, just pushed the violet stone closer. “This is arctenite. Mined deep beneath the ice fields of Vyr. It resonates with hidden grief, or so the scholars claim.”

I didn’t touch it.

He didn’t force me. Just picked up another.

“This one,” he said, holding out a pale blue shard with fine golden veins, “is everglass. I found it nearly a century ago in the ruins of an old Seelie observatory. It reflects echoes of unspoken truths.”

I stared at the crystal, then at him. “Do you often monologue like this, or am I just lucky?”

Isren chuckled softly. “You’re not the first to accuse me of being long-winded. I take it as a compliment.”

He handed me the everglass. I hesitated before taking it. If ever one was going to flare to life… but it was cold in my palm, but no colder than the rest of the room.

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