I slept for a day and a night, a death-like slumber where I dreamed of golden fields and was silent, watching shadows. Upon waking, the deep exhaustion vanished, giving way to a fragile, buzzing clarity. The holy power within me had settled into a quiet, steady hum, like a well-tuned engine. The pendant was cool against my skin, a constant, gentle pull that kept the energy flowing in a contained circuit rather than pooling and pressing for release.
Elara brought me fresh clothes—simple, sturdy Northern garments of wool and soft leather, dyed in deep blues and grays. They were warm and allowed for movement. No noble's silks here. When I emerged from the room, I found the main hall of the waystation had been transformed into a war room.
A large map of the empire and the Northern borderlands was spread across the central table, weighted down with daggers and tankards. Kaelen stood at its head, flanked by Sir Damien and three other Northern commanders whose faces were carved from the same stern, wind-weathered rock. Lyra, the scout knight, was also present, her keen eyes noting my entrance.
All conversation stopped as I entered. The commanders' gazes were a mix of sharp curiosity, ingrained skepticism, and a reluctant, wary awe. They had heard the reports. They had seen the state I arrived in. They were soldiers, not pilgrims. They evaluated me in the same manner they would assess a new weapon or an unpredictable piece of terrain.
Kaelen didn't introduce me. He simply gave a short, acknowledging nod and returned to the map. "The Church's official response will be cautious. Matthias is a strategist, not a zealot. He will convene a synod to determine if the manifestation was a true miracle or clever heretical artifice. That gives us a week, maybe ten days, before they feel compelled to act."
"The Crown Prince won't wait," rumbled a commander with a beard like iron filings. "Cassian's network is faster than the Church's bureaucracy. He'll have agents here within three days, sniffing for advantage."
"He already does," Lyra said, her voice quiet but cutting through the room. "My scouts have spotted Imperial Intelligence skirmishers in the hills to the south. They're observing, not engaging. They're waiting for orders or for us to make a mistake."
"Our mistake," Kaelen said, his finger tapping a point on the map just north of our location, "would be to stay here. This waystation is known. We move north today. To Frosthold." His finger moved to a formidable symbol carved into the mountains. "It's defensible. Remote. And it sits atop the largest known ley-line confluence in the territory."
His eyes lifted and met mine across the table. "You need to learn control. Not just to prevent another… incident. To wield what you are. Ley lines are streams of raw magical energy. They might provide a training ground, a way to practice channeling power without drawing it all from within yourself."
It was a logical, tactical plan. It also felt like being marched to a new, more secure cell.
"And what is the strategic objective, Your Grace?" I asked, my voice firmer than I felt. I was tired of being a pawn manipulated by others. "Am I to be hidden away indefinitely? Trained as a weapon for the North?"
A flicker of approval, or perhaps challenge, lit his eyes. "The objective is to keep you alive and out of the hands of men who would use you as a symbol to start wars or justify tyranny. You are not a weapon for the North. You are a person who happens to be a Saint. Frosthold is a fortress, but it is not a prison. You will have a choice."
"What choice?"
"To decide what kind of saint you will be." He held my gaze. "The kind that sits in a cathedral, blessing the swords of conquerors? Or the kind that stands on a wall and reminds people what they're actually supposed to be fighting for?"
The room was utterly silent. He had voiced the division that had plagued me since my first life. Selene had been the first kind, and it had gotten her and everyone she loved killed.
"I have already decided what kind I will not be," I said.
A faint, grim smile touched his lips. "Good. Then we have a starting point." He turned back to the map. "We ride in two hours. Travel light, travel fast. Damien, take the vanguard. Lyra, sweep our backtrail. I want no surprises."
The meeting broke up, the commanders moving with efficient purpose. I stood by the hearth, the warmth of the fire doing little to dispel the chill of the path ahead.
Kaelen approached, rolling up the map. "You disagreed with my plan," he stated.
"I questioned its end goal. There's a difference."
"Not in my experience. Questions are the first step to dissent." He tied the map with a leather cord. "Dissent is allowed. But it must be informed. You know the Southern Court. You do not know the North or the scale of what gathers beyond our border. Before you decide your path, you need to see the battlefield. All of it."
It was a fair point. My knowledge of the Northern threat was secondhand, from reports and Kaelen's warnings. "And when I see it? When I'm… trained?"
"Then you will make your choice. And I will honor it." He said it with the absolute certainty of a man who always kept his word. "Even if it means you leave."
The idea was a sudden, unexpected shock. Leaving. Walking away from his protection, from the steadfast, frustrating, anchoring presence that had become my only constant. The thought sent a strange pang through my chest.
"You would let me go?"
"I would not let you do anything," he corrected, his voice hardening. "But I would not chain you to my cause. A forced ally is a liability. A willing one is a force multiplier." He looked at me, and the intensity in his silver-gray eyes was almost physical. "But know this, Rosalind. If you choose to stay, it will not be as a guest or a ward. It will be a partner in this fight. And I am a demanding partner."
A blush heated my cheeks, unrelated to the fire. His words, utterly devoid of romantic connotation, nonetheless felt like a vow of a different kind. A partnership. Equality in a war. It was what I had craved in my past life and never found.
"Understood," I managed.
Two hours later, we rode out. Our party was fifteen strong: Kaelen, myself, Elara, Damien, Lyra, and ten of the hardest-looking knights I'd ever seen. We moved at a punishing pace, climbing into the true mountains. The air grew thin and biting. Forests of ancient pine gave way to rocky scree and cliffs that looked carved by giants.
I rode beside Kaelen, my body falling into the rhythm of the climb. The silence between us was comfortable, filled with the sounds of hoof on stone and the cry of distant eagles. After several hours, he spoke without looking at me.
"The dreams have changed."
My heart stuttered. "How?"
"They're clearer. I see the battlefield now. I can clearly see the ash plain. I see the blade coming. I see…" He paused, his jaw tightening. "I see your face. Not as it is now. Younger. Softer. Filled with a grief that had no bottom. You looked at me, and you said, 'I'm sorry.'" He finally glanced at me, his expression unreadable. "Why were you sorry, Rosalind?"
The truth was a boulder in my throat. Because I got you killed. That moment came about due to my naivety. I couldn't say it. Not yet. The thread between us pulsed with the unspoken confession.
"Perhaps," I said carefully, "I was sorry for the burden. For the weight of being the one someone dies for."
He considered this, his gaze returning to the treacherous path ahead. "It is a far heavier weight," he said quietly, "to be the one who lives, knowing they did."
The words hung in the frozen air, a perfect, painful understanding. He didn't remember, but his soul had learned the lesson of that death. We rode on, understanding a new, silent pact between us.
As dusk painted the peaks in fiery orange, Frosthold came into view.
It wasn't a castle. It was the mountain itself, defiant. Towers and walls were carved from and built onto the living rock of a colossal peak, straddling a high pass that looked down onto both the northern wastes and the southern foothills. It was stark, brutal, and utterly majestic. Banners bearing the frost-wolf snapped in the vicious wind. Lights glowed in narrow windows, not welcoming, but watchful.
Kaelen reined in his horse, looking at his home, then at me. "Welcome to the edge of the world, Saint. This is where we make our stand."
I looked at the fortress, then at the man beside me, his profile etched against the dying light. The fear was still there, and there was overwhelming uncertainty. But for the first time, I wasn't facing it from a gilded cage or a dark crypt.
I was facing it from the saddle, on a mountain, beside a Duke who saw me not as a symbol, but as a partner.
It was the most terrifying and solid ground I'd stood on since I opened my eyes in a new life.