Page 34 of Frostforge, Passage Six
Guards stood at intervals along this passage—true Warden warriors, not the desperate civilians they'd encountered below.These men and women wore fragments of the distinctive black armor Thalia associated with coastal raids, though their equipment appeared incomplete, as if they'd prioritized function over ceremonial completeness.
Their guide stopped before a door larger than the others, marked with symbols etched in silver that caught the light as they moved.She rapped her knuckles against the wood in a pattern that suggested a code rather than mere announcement, then stepped back, hands folded before her.
"The captain sees you now," she said, her gaze lowered."Do not speak unless spoken to."Her eyes flicked to Roran, lingering on his hands where static electricity occasionally sparked between his fingers."And control your storm, mainlander.Or she will control it for you."
The door swung inward, revealing a chamber that made Thalia's breath catch in her throat.Unlike the stark military efficiency of Frostforge's command rooms or the practical simplicity of Verdant Port's administrative buildings, this space married function with a beauty that bordered on reverence.
Charts covered tables of polished whale bone, held in place by weights of amber containing preserved sea creatures.Instruments of navigation crafted from materials unknown to continental shipwrights gleamed in recessed shelves.The far wall contained no charts or maps but instead displayed a massive mosaic fashioned from mother-of-pearl, depicting what appeared to be a stylized fortress-whale surrounded by swirling currents represented in shades of blue and green.
At the chamber's center sat the captain.
She was smaller than Thalia had expected—shorter than Thalia herself, though her presence filled the room like a physical force.White hair pulled back in intricate braids revealed a face weathered by sun and salt, lined with age but possessed of a fierce vitality that made guessing her years impossible.Her eyes were the precise gray of storm clouds gathering on the horizon, and they assessed the three intruders with the cool calculation of a predator.
Even seated behind her desk of carved stone, the captain radiated authority.Her fingers were adorned with rings fashioned from materials Thalia couldn't identify—not gold or silver, but substances that seemed to shift and change with the light.Tattoos covered her exposed forearms, swirling patterns in deep blue and black that spoke of rank and accomplishment in a language Thalia couldn't read but instinctively understood.
The sword at her hip caught Thalia's attention immediately—not the black metal of Warden raiders, but a curved scimitar of ordinary steel, its hilt wrapped in weathered leather.A weapon of defense rather than conquest.An older weapon, from a time before the Wardens had mastered the forging of their signature black metal.
Thalia had encountered storm mages before—Roran chief among them—but the power that emanated from this woman was of a different order entirely.It hung in the air like the electric tension before lightning strikes, making the fine hairs on Thalia's arms rise in instinctive response.This was storm magic refined through decades of practice, controlled with a precision that made Roran's considerable talents seem crude by comparison.
The captain's eyes settled on Roran, narrowing slightly as she assessed him.Then she spoke, her voice carrying the rhythmic cadence of the Warden tongue—flowing and guttural by turns, like waves crashing against stone then retreating in whispered withdrawal.
Roran stepped forward, his own posture straightening as if in unconscious response to her authority.He replied in the same language, though Thalia could hear the hesitation in his speech, the careful consideration of each word before utterance.His accent, she realized, was different from the captain's—flatter, less musical, as though he were reading from a text rather than speaking a living language.
The exchange continued for several moments, the captain's expression shifting from wariness to something approaching curiosity.Then, unexpectedly, she smiled—a slight curve of lips that transformed her stern features without diminishing their intensity.
"You speak our tongue poorly," she said, switching to lightly accented continental speech."Better we use yours, yes?For your companions who listen but understand nothing."
Thalia released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.Communication would be possible, if difficult.
The captain's gaze shifted to Thalia, assessing her with the same penetrating focus she had directed at Roran."You are the one who lowered your weapon first," she observed."Bold.Foolish, perhaps.But bold."
She gestured to three stools positioned before her desk."Sit.We have much to discuss, little time."
As they settled onto the offered seats, the captain leaned forward, her rings catching the light as her hands spread flat against the stone surface before her.“The deep hungers," she said, her voice dropping lower, "and the hunger worsens with the dark.By nightfall, we must be moving."
Despite the captain's stern demeanor, Thalia sensed fear beneath her words—a fear at odds with the confident authority she projected.Whatever threatened the Isle Wardens was powerful enough to terrify even their most seasoned commanders.
"May I ask your name?"Thalia ventured, testing the boundaries of this fragile truce.
"I am called Cassia."The captain's eyebrows rose slightly, as if surprised by the question's simplicity.
"Thank you, Captain Cassia," Thalia said carefully."I'm Thalia Greenspire.This is Ashe Redwood, and Roran Bright.".
Roran shifted on his stool, his discomfort evident in the tension of his shoulders."Who are these people?"he asked, gesturing toward the door through which they'd entered."The civilians we found below."
Cassia's gaze lingered on Roran, her head tilting slightly as she studied him."Interesting," she murmured, almost to herself."The storm in you is strong, yet isle-speak sits foreign on your tongue."Her eyes narrowed."Why?"
Roran stiffened visibly."I'm a mainlander," he stated flatly.
A soft laugh escaped Cassia, more surprise than humor."No," she said, shaking her head."The storm marks you a child of the archipelago."She gestured to his hands, where faint sparks danced between his fingers despite his obvious efforts to suppress them."Your blood sings with our magic, yet you deny your heritage.Curious."
Before Roran could object, Cassia pressed on, her attention returning to his original question."These people come from many isles," she explained."Eastward, where few islands remain.They fled when their homes..."She hesitated, searching for the right word."When their homes were taken by the deep."
"What do you mean, 'taken by the deep'?"Thalia asked, leaning forward despite herself."What happened to the islands?"
Cassia's expression grew grave."Consumed," she said simply."The Deep Tide hungers again, as it has not for many decades."She traced a pattern on the stone desk with one fingertip, her eyes distant with memory."Before, a ship would vanish here and there.Normal loss to storm, we thought.Then, ninety summers past, an entire isle—gone.Ancient warnings remembered.Old tales of dangers, awakened."
She looked up, meeting Thalia's gaze directly."Some among us believed the Deep Ones stirred from slumber.First wave of our people fled to mainland shores, seeking refuge from what pursued us."
