CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
The Frozen City
Thornhaven rose from the ice like a dream of stone and frost.
The city clung to the face of a massive cliff, its buildings carved directly into the rock or built on terraces that stepped down toward the frozen valley below. Steam rose from vents scattered throughout the structure—geothermal heat, Orion realized, the only thing that made life possible this far north. Without it, Thornhaven would be a tomb.
With it, the city was... beautiful. Strange and harsh and utterly unlike anywhere he'd ever been, but beautiful nonetheless.
"It looks like someone carved a city out of a glacier," Nera breathed. She was huddled inside his coat, only her face visible, her breath crystallizing in the frigid air.
"Probably because someone did." Gareth had joined them at the wagon's edge, his weathered face softening as he gazed at their destination. "The founders were dwarves, originally. Miners who followed a vein of silver into the mountain and found the hot springs instead. Decided to stay."
"How long ago?"
"Four centuries, give or take. The dwarves invited humans in after the first generation—needed more hands for the work. Now it's about half and half, with a smattering of everything else." He pointed to a section of the city where the buildings seemed slightly different—more organic, less angular. "Elven quarter there. Small gnome community near the lower vents. Even a few beastkin families."
"And they all survive? This far north?"
"Survive and thrive. The springs provide heat. The caves provide shelter from the worst storms. And the isolation..." Gareth's expression flickered. "Well. The isolation keeps certain problems away."
Orion understood. A city this remote, this difficult to reach, wasn't attractive to empires or armies. The Frostmarch served as a natural barrier against anyone who might want to project power this far north.
Including, perhaps, a fairy realm searching for its missing queen.
"This could work," he murmured.
"It could," Nera agreed. Her voice was cautious, but underneath the caution, he heard something else.
Hope.
* * *
The caravan entered Thornhaven through the Lower Gate—a massive archway carved into the cliff face, guarded by figures in fur-lined armor who examined each wagon with practiced efficiency.
"Purpose of visit?" the guard asked when they reached the checkpoint.
"Adventurers," Orion said. "Seeking work in the northern territories."
"Registration?"
"We'll register with the local guild."
The guard made a note on his ledger. "Names?"
"Orion Stargrass. Nera Stargrass." The names were real—they'd stopped using aliases months ago. Too hard to keep track, too easy to slip up. At this point, anyone skilled enough to find them would know who they were regardless.
"Duration of stay?"
Orion looked at Nera. She looked back at him.
"Indefinite," he said.
The guard's eyebrows rose slightly. "Permanent residence?"
"If we can make it work."
"Hmm." The guard studied them for a moment—a long, assessing look that took in their travel-worn clothes, their minimal possessions, and the tiny pixie peeking out from Orion's collar. Then, unexpectedly, he smiled.
"Welcome to Thornhaven," he said. "Try not to freeze to death. The guild's on the third terrace, near the central vents. Helga's inn is a good place to start—she doesn't ask questions and her beds don't have bugs. Much."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Winter's just getting started." The guard waved them through. "Next!"
They passed under the archway and into the city proper.
Whatever Orion had expected, Thornhaven exceeded it.
* * *
The city was a labyrinth.
Streets wound between buildings without apparent logic, climbing and descending through the terraced structure in ways that seemed designed to confuse outsiders. Stairs appeared at random intervals—some carved into the rock, others constructed from wood and metal, all of them worn smooth by centuries of use.
Steam rose from grates in the ground, carrying warmth that made the cold almost bearable. The air smelled of mineral water and wood smoke and something else—a faint, clean scent that Orion eventually identified as ice.
"It's like a maze," Nera said, wonder in her voice. "A beautiful, confusing, probably-impossible-to-navigate maze."
"Gareth said the guild is on the third terrace."
"Which is where, exactly?"
"Up, I think?"
"Helpful."
They wandered for nearly an hour before finding their way. The locals were brusque but not unfriendly—pointing them in the right direction with minimal words and maximum efficiency. It seemed to be the Thornhaven way: help when asked, but don't waste time on pleasantries.
"I like them," Nera announced after their fifth interaction. "They're like you. Grumpy but useful."
"I'm not grumpy."
"You're frequently grumpy."
"That's different from being inherently grumpy."
"Is it, though?"
"Yes."
"I don't think it is."
"Your opinion is noted and rejected."
She laughed—the first real laugh he'd heard from her in weeks. The sound echoed off the stone walls, and a few passing locals glanced their way with expressions of mild curiosity.
"Maybe this place will be good for us," she said. "If the whole city is grumpy, you'll finally fit in."
"I'm choosing not to dignify that with a response."
"That is a response."
"A non-dignifying one."
"That's not a word."
"It is now."
They were still bickering when they found the guild.
* * *
The Thornhaven Adventurer's Guild occupied a squat stone building near the central steam vents. Heat radiated from the structure, making it the warmest spot Orion had felt since entering the city.
Inside, the atmosphere was... different from what he was used to.
Coastal City's guild had been bustling, chaotic, full of adventurers competing for attention and quests. Silverbrook's had been smaller but similar in energy. This guild was quiet. Focused. A dozen adventurers sat at various tables, speaking in low voices or simply eating in silence. The quest board held perhaps twenty notices—far fewer than the hundreds he'd seen elsewhere.
"Less population, fewer quests," Nera murmured. "Makes sense."
"Also more dangerous quests, I'd imagine. The north isn't known for its gentle challenges."
"Looking for registration?"
The voice came from behind the main counter. Its owner was a human man in his fifties, heavily scarred and missing his left arm from the elbow down. Despite this, he moved with the confidence of someone who had never let injury slow him down.
"That's right," Orion said. "We're new to the city. Adventurers, Silver rank, looking to transfer our registration."
"Paperwork?"
"Lost in the Frostmarch. There was... an incident."
"There usually is." The man didn't seem surprised. "I'm Crag. Guild master here. You'll need to re-certify if you want to maintain Silver rank. Can't take your word for it."
"Fair enough. What's involved?"
"Combat assessment. Practical skills. Maybe a supervised quest if I'm not satisfied with the tests." Crag's eyes moved to Nera, lingering on her with a practiced assessment. "The pixie fights too?"
"I'm primarily support," Nera said. "Light magic, healing, reconnaissance."
"Reconnaissance. In a pixie." Crag's expression didn't change, but something in his tone suggested skepticism.
"I'm very small. It makes me hard to notice."
"And the light magic?"
"Useful for distracting enemies. And lighting dark caves."
"Caves. Right." Crag made a note on a piece of paper. "Combat assessment is tomorrow morning, second bell. Don't be late. In the meantime, Helga's inn is on the first terrace, near the eastern stairs. She's expecting you."
"Expecting us?"
"Word travels fast in Thornhaven. New arrivals, indefinite stay, asking about the guild." The ghost of a smile crossed his weathered face. "We don't get many permanent settlers. People notice."
"Is that a problem?"
"Depends on why you're settling." Crag's eyes met Orion's directly. "You running from something?"
"Isn't everyone?"
"Not everyone. Some people are running toward something. There's a difference."
Orion considered the question. Running from the fairy realm, yes. Running from assassins and spies and a past that wouldn't let go. But also...
"Both," he said finally. "We're running from something. But we're also running toward something. A life. A home. The chance to stop running entirely."
Crag studied him for a long moment. Then he nodded—a single, decisive motion.
"Good answer. Most people can't admit the first part. Fewer can articulate the second." He slid the registration papers across the counter. "Fill these out. Bring them tomorrow with your assessment. And welcome to Thornhaven."
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me yet. Winter's just getting started."
It was the second time they'd heard that phrase. Orion was beginning to suspect it was a local tradition.
* * *
Helga's inn was called The Frozen Hearth, which struck Orion as either deeply ironic or surprisingly literal.
It turned out to be the latter.
The building was old—older than most in Thornhaven, according to the plaques by the door—and built directly over one of the major steam vents. Heat radiated from the floor, the walls, even the ceiling. After weeks of cold, the warmth felt almost overwhelming.
"You'll be the new ones," a voice boomed as they entered. "The adventurers from the south."
The speaker was a dwarf woman, broad and solid, with iron-gray hair pulled back in a practical braid and arms that looked capable of arm-wrestling a bear. She stood behind the bar, polishing a mug with the kind of efficiency that suggested she'd been doing it for decades.
"Word really does travel fast," Nera said.
"In Thornhaven? Faster than the cold." The dwarf set down her mug and approached, giving them the same assessing look Crag had. "I'm Helga. This is my inn. You'll be wanting rooms."
"If you have them."
"Got plenty. Not many visitors this time of year." She named a price—reasonable, Orion thought, given the heat and the location. "Meals included. No fighting, no magic practice indoors, no loud noises after third bell. Questions?"
"What counts as loud noises?" Nera asked.
"Anything I can hear from downstairs."
"That seems subjective."
"It's entirely subjective. I'm the subject." But Helga's stern expression cracked slightly at Nera's boldness. "You've got spirit, little one. That'll serve you well up here."
"I've been told that before."
"Then it's probably true." Helga grabbed a key from the rack behind her. "Room seven. Second floor, end of the hall. Best view in the house, if you like looking at snow."
"I like looking at anything that's not the inside of a wagon."
"Then you'll love it." She handed over the key. "Dinner's in two hours. Try not to freeze before then."
"We'll do our best," Orion said.
"See that you do. I hate cleaning up frozen corpses."
It was, Orion reflected, a very Thornhaven welcome.
* * *
Room seven was small but clean, with a bed that looked marginally more comfortable than a wagon floor and a window that faced east, overlooking the frozen valley below.
Nera stood at that window now, human-sized, watching the last light of day paint the ice in shades of gold and pink.
"It's beautiful," she said softly. "In a completely different way from anywhere else we've been."
"The absence of green is notable."
"There's green. Just... different green. The moss on the rocks. The lichen on the buildings. It's subtle."
"You're already thinking about gardens, aren't you?"
"I'm always thinking about gardens." She turned to face him, and he saw something in her expression he hadn't seen in months. Not just hope—certainty. "This is it, Orion. This is where we stop."
"We've only been here a few hours."
"I know. But I can feel it. The city, the people, the way the magic moves here..." She pressed a hand to her chest. "It feels right. Like coming home to a place I've never been."
"That's either very poetic or slightly concerning."
"It's fairy intuition. We're attuned to places of power, places of potential. And this city has both." She crossed to him, taking his hands. "I know it won't be easy. I know we'll have to build everything from nothing. But I believe we can do it. Here. Together."
He looked down at her—this ancient being who had given up a throne for him, who had run across a continent to be with him, who still looked at him like he was worth every sacrifice.
"If you believe it," he said, "then I believe it too."
"Just like that?"
"Just like that. Your instincts have gotten us this far. I'm not going to stop trusting them now."
She rose on her toes and kissed him—soft, sweet, full of promise.
"We need to find a house," she said when they parted. "A real house. With a garden. Or at least a window box."
"In a frozen city."
"I can grow things in the cold. It just takes more creativity."
"Of course you can." He pulled her close. "Tomorrow. After the assessment. We'll start looking."
"Promise?"
"Promise."
They stood together as the sun finished setting, watching the stars emerge over their new home.
Months of running.
Finally, a destination.
* * *
The next three days passed in a blur of activity.
The combat assessment was straightforward—Crag pitted them against a training construct, a mechanical opponent that mimicked the fighting styles of various creatures. Orion dispatched it efficiently, if not elegantly. Nera demonstrated her "support" abilities, which Crag watched with an expression that suggested he knew she was holding back but wasn't going to push.
"Silver rank confirmed," he said afterward. "Welcome to the Thornhaven guild."
With that settled, they turned their attention to finding a home.
It was not an easy process.
"Too expensive," Orion said of the first option—a comfortable apartment near the central vents that would have eaten their savings in months.
"Too small," Nera said of the second—a single room in a converted warehouse that barely fit a bed.
"Too... wet?" They agreed on the third—a basement space that had excellent rent but concerning moisture seeping through the walls.
By the end of the second day, they had seen eleven potential residences and rejected all of them. The third day brought more of the same—cramped spaces, outrageous prices, structural problems that even optimistic interpretation couldn't ignore.
"Maybe we're being too picky," Orion said as they trudged through the snow toward yet another address.
"We're not being picky. We're looking for home. There's a difference."
"What's the difference?"
"A home is..." She struggled for words. "It's a feeling. When you walk in and something inside you says 'yes, this.' We haven't found that yet."
"And if we don't find it?"
"We will. I'm sure of it."
Her certainty was infectious—or at least, it made arguing pointless. They continued their search.
The address they were seeking turned out to be on the fifth terrace, near the outer edge of the city. This area was older, quieter, populated by long-term residents who had claimed their spaces decades ago.
The house itself was unremarkable from the outside—weathered stone walls, a heavy wooden door, a roof that showed signs of recent patching. It was built into the slope of the cliff, which meant the back half was essentially a cave while the front opened onto a small courtyard.
"It's not much to look at," the landlord said. She was a human woman in her sixties, with silver-streaked hair and practical clothes that spoke of a life spent working. "Previous tenant moved south last year. Couldn't take the cold anymore."
"Can we see inside?" Nera asked.
"That's why I brought you here." The landlord produced a key and opened the door. "Mind the step."
They entered.
The interior was simple—a main room that served as kitchen and living area, a smaller room that could be a bedroom, and a back section that was indeed carved into the rock itself. The stone walls held the warmth from a heating vent that ran beneath the floor.
But what caught Orion's attention was the window.
It faced east, looking out over the frozen valley—the same view they'd admired from the inn, but closer, more intimate. And beneath the window, set into the wall...
"Is that a window box?" Nera's voice was hushed.
"Previous tenant grew herbs," the landlord said. "Don't know why. Nothing grows up here worth eating."
Nera crossed to the window, running her fingers over the empty box. It was small—maybe two feet long, six inches deep. But it was there. Waiting.
She turned to Orion, and he saw it in her eyes.
The feeling. The 'yes, this.'
"How much?" he asked the landlord.
"One silver fifty a month. First and last upfront."
It was reasonable. More than reasonable, given the location and the heating.
"We'll take it," Orion said.
The landlord blinked. "You don't want to negotiate?"
"Is the price fair?"
"I... yes. It's fair."
"Then we'll take it."
She studied them for a moment—the tired adventurer, the pixie who wasn't quite what she seemed, the desperation beneath their calm. Then she nodded.
"My grandmother was fae-touched," she said quietly. "Could always tell when magic was near. I've got a bit of the sense myself." Her eyes moved to Nera. "Whatever you're running from, you're safe here. Thornhaven keeps its own."
It wasn't a question, so Nera didn't treat it as one.
"Thank you," she said simply.
"Don't thank me. Just be good tenants." The landlord handed over the key. "Welcome home."
* * *
That night, they sat on the floor of their empty house—no furniture yet, no supplies, nothing but stone walls and the window that looked out at forever.
"We did it," Nera said. She was human-sized, leaning against Orion, watching the stars through their window. Their window. "We found a home."
"We found a house. The home part takes time."
"Always so practical."
"One of us has to be."
"And I appreciate it. Really." She tilted her head to look at him. "Sixteen months, Orion. Sixteen months of running, and we're finally... stopping."
"Does it feel strange?"
"It feels terrifying." She laughed softly. "I got so used to movement, to looking over my shoulder, to never letting myself believe we could stay. And now..."
"Now we stay."
"Now we stay." She was quiet for a moment. "What if they find us?"
"They might. Probably will, eventually."
"And then?"
"And then we deal with it. Together." He pulled her closer. "But until then, we live. Really live. Not just survive, but build something worth fighting for."
"A garden."
"A garden," he agreed. "And friends. And a life. All the things we've been running toward."
"It sounds wonderful."
"It will be. I promise."
She curled against him, small and warm and finally, finally home.
Outside, the snow fell softly on a city that had stood for four hundred years. A city of survivors, of people who had carved life from ice and stone and refused to let the cold defeat them.
They would fit in here, Orion thought. They would make this work.
And whatever came next—whatever shadows pursued them from the south—they would face it together.
Always together.
* * *
Spring came slowly to the Frostmarch.
Commander Seraphel had spent the winter months in the trading post at the mountain's base, waiting for the snows to clear. It was the longest she had stayed in one place since beginning her search—months of stillness after years of movement.
She had used the time to think. To question. To wrestle with doubts that had grown too large to ignore.
The old woman's story haunted her. Duty is what others tell you to do. Love is what you choose for yourself.
For three thousand years, Seraphel had known nothing but duty. It had been her identity, her purpose, her entire reason for existence. She had never questioned it. Never needed to.
But now, watching the snow slowly melt from the mountain passes, she found herself asking questions she had never thought to ask.
What did she want? Not what the realm wanted, not what duty demanded—what did she, Seraphel, actually want?
The answer, when it came, was terrifying in its simplicity.
She wanted to understand.
She wanted to see what her queen had found that was worth abandoning everything for. She wanted to witness this love that had driven Neradok across a continent, that had made her fight sea monsters and winter spirits and the combined pressure of an entire realm.
She wanted to know if it was real.
When the pass finally opened, Seraphel began her ascent. The Frostmarch was treacherous even now, with ice lingering on the paths and the wind still bitter with winter's memory. But she pressed on, driven by a curiosity that had replaced her certainty.
Thornhaven waited on the other side.
And in Thornhaven, finally, she would find her queen.
She didn't know what she would say. Didn't know what she would do. For the first time in her immortal existence, Commander Seraphel of the Queen's Guard was acting without a plan.
It was terrifying.
It was also, she was beginning to realize, freedom.
— End of Chapter Eighteen —