Page 85 of Fated to the Frost King

No reaction. No spark. No pain. Just another rock. I set it down.

He offered another without pause. “Sunwrought quartz. Brightens in the presence of joy. Yours or mine, I suppose we’ll find out.”

I didn’t smile, but I took it. Nothing.

I hadn’t really believed I would react, hadn’t let myself get anywhere close to hope. Yet the boulder in my stomach felt suspiciously close to disappointment.

“I did tell you,” I muttered.

“We have many options yet,” he said kindly, reading me better than I would have liked. “Mana is unique, and as I indicated, can be as finicky and nuanced as our own emotions.”

He set down a deep green gem, oddly shaped, a bit chipped on one side. “This one’s from the Wildlands. Rare. Craves truth. Sears your skin if you lie to it.”

“Great. Add it to the pile,” I said with far more confidence than I felt.

I hated this. Hated these crystals and all the memories they brought with them. It was worse with Draven standing in the corner, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to ask him to leave.

“You’re doing well, Everly,” Isren insisted.

I wasn’t. I felt like a sheet of parchment someone kept writing on, then erasing, over and over until it thinned to near nothing. My hands trembled slightly as I set the green crystal aside.

“Why are you being nice?” I asked before I could stop myself. “Why are you acting like this is a conversation instead of a… procedure?”

Isren met my eyes, and the levity in his expression faded.

“Because healing starts when force stops,” he said. “And you, My Queen, have had quite enough of the latter.”

I looked away, a muscle in my jaw tightening. Batty rubbed her head against my throat again, soft and warm, trying to ground me.

Then Isren reached for a final crystal. It was darker than the midnight sky, and nearly as ethereal.

“This one,” he said, his tone quieter now, “is older than the Sanctum itself. I only use it when nothing else listens.”

He didn’t offer it to me, just set it on the table between us, like he was leaving it there for Fate to decide.

The crystal gleamed obsidian, but the longer I looked at it, the more I could swear something moved inside, like tiny streaks of violet starlight, shifting like a galaxy trapped in glass.

It didn’t feel like the others. It felt like it was watching. Or waiting.

My breath hitched, and I didn’t move.

Batty pressed close, chirping nervously against my neck. The stars inside the obsidian swirled faster.

Something in it called to me—not in words. Just a pressure in my chest, a pull in my bones.

I reached out. My fingers hovered above the surface—just barely, and then I touched it.

Everything stopped.

The heat of the fire. The chill of the air. The stinging in my palms. Time itself, maybe. It all paused. For one silent second, the world held its breath.

And in that stillness, something cracked inside me.

Not a break. A shift.

Images flooded in, uninvited, uncontainable.

My mother’s green eyes, bright and laughing. Her obsidian hair spilling over her shoulders as she knelt beside me, conjuring dancing lights in the air. Mana curled like ribbons between her fingers, shaping into butterflies that shimmered and twisted, leaving glittering trails of gold and violet in the dusk.

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