Chapter 7 — Iron Beneath the Frost
The winter sun bled pale across the ridgeline, its light slipping weakly between the trees. The cold no longer whispered—it cut. It pressed against skin and bone like a whetstone on steel.
I found Kael where I always did—half-shrouded in fog, leaning against a tree as if the forest itself bent to make room for him.
“Late,” he said, not opening his eyes.
“I’m early.”
“You’re late to what matters.”
Training with Kael wasn’t like sparring with Elias or drilling recruits. He didn’t correct mistakes. He let the Echo punish me for them.
“Again.”
I inhaled slowly and reached beneath the soil, letting the Echo hum against my skin. Cold and fluid, like snowmelt beneath the frost. I released it in a controlled pulse that rolled through the ground, rattling the frost-dusted leaves.
Kael’s silver eyes opened a fraction. “Better.”
Every lesson with him feels like a duel. Not of blades—but of will.
Hour by hour, pulse by pulse, my control sharpened. When it faltered, the Echo struck back, slamming into my chest and knocking me into the snow. Kael never helped me up. He just watched.
“Get up,” he said again.
And I did.
When the lesson finally ended, my breath came in clouds, sweat freezing on my skin. Kael stepped close enough that the frost around us seemed to retreat.
“You’re getting faster.”
“I don’t need fast,” I muttered. “I need control.”
He smirked, small, precise. “Then you’re learning the right thing.”
His Echo brushed faintly against mine—not a challenge, but a reminder. A warning.
“Remember,” he said, fading into the mist, “power doesn’t keep you alive. Cunning does.”
The Enshrouded One. That’s what I called him in my head. A man who moved through the world like a shadow no sun dared cast.
The manor was warm, but it couldn’t melt the cold buried beneath my skin. Father sat in his study, map spread across the desk, the flicker of firelight dancing over the borders of our lands. His attention was fixed on the northern trade line, red ink tracing winter’s chokehold.
“The northern route’s nearly frozen,” he muttered. “If the snows come early, we’ll lose three months of trade and half our leverage with the border merchants.”
I stepped closer, eyes scanning the familiar lines of the map. “And the south?”
He exhaled through his nose, low and sharp. “Too expensive. His Majesty’s taxes grow heavier each year. If they tighten it again, we won’t just lose profit—we’ll owe.”
And when a duke owes the Empire, His Majesty tightens the leash.
Father looked up at me, his gaze narrowing. “You’ve been spending a lot of time in the north lately. Hunting? Or something else?”
“Training,” I answered. “And listening.”
“Listening?”
I pointed at the ridge north of the hunter’s lodge. “That place. I felt something beneath it. Not just stone. Iron.”
He froze. One word changed everything.
“Iron?” His voice dropped. “How much?”
“Enough to make the winter bleed less. Enough to give us leverage.”
He leaned over the map, tracing a calloused finger to the area I’d marked. “No merchant has ever claimed deposits there. It’s too remote, too cold. Even the Empire hasn’t surveyed that far.”
“Because they didn’t know what to look for,” I said. “But I’m not guessing. I’m certain.”
His eyes narrowed. “How?”
The silence stretched. This was the moment I couldn’t walk back from.
“Because,” I said slowly, “I’ve been learning magic.”
The fire cracked behind him, throwing sparks into the air. Father didn’t speak. He just studied me, the way a commander studies a blade to see if it will hold.
“You understand what this means,” he said finally.
“Yes.”
“If the Empire learns—”
“I know,” I cut in. “That’s why I’ve kept it secret. But this gives us an advantage. We can claim the veins before His Majesty even hears a whisper.”
Father rose from his chair, moving closer to the map. “Magic is a chain, Ardyn. The moment His Majesty finds out, he’ll wrap it around your neck.”
“He won’t,” I said. And I meant it.
We stood in silence, frost creeping along the windowpanes like eavesdropping fingers. Finally, he nodded slowly.
“If what you sensed is real, we’ll act. No merchants. No miners. Only trusted people. If the Empire learns before we move, it won’t belong to us.”
Good. He understands.
It began with whispers.
Not from nobles or soldiers, but from children.
Stable boys heard what merchants boasted too loudly. Servant girls overheard patrols complaining about their shifts. Young apprentices noticed when Imperial supply wagons changed direction.
Elias thought it was reckless, but he didn’t stop me. Lira—quick-tongued and quicker-thinking—became my voice among them. She wove through alleys and kitchen corridors, trading pastries and copper coins for words.
Information isn’t bought with gold. It’s traded in trust, favors… and silence.
By the end of the week, I knew when Imperial scouts changed their routes. Which merchant wagons entered Frostwood. Which guard captains drank too much at night.
Nothing on its own. But together? A map.
“You’re turning kids into spies,” Elias muttered.
“No,” I said, flipping a coin. “I’m giving them a reason to talk.”
He gave me a look. “Same thing.”
“Then it’s working.”
The days bled together.
Mornings with Kael, pressing deeper into Echo’s pulse.
Afternoons with Father, whispering strategy over maps and claiming hidden veins of iron.
Evenings with Elias and the Shadows, blades and whispers sharpening together.
Outside, the forest grew quieter. Imperial torches burned faintly through the treeline at night.
Father watched them through the frosted window, his expression unreadable. “They’re moving closer,” he said at last.
“Then we stay ready,” I replied.
No speeches. No declarations. Just two Valemonts standing before a winter that wasn’t meant to break us.
This time, it wouldn’t.