Elara's POV
"Then we make sure you can," Caelan said, his back still to me.
"How?" My voice cracked. "How do I prepare to kill my own sister?"
He turned, and his expression was harder than the ice surrounding us. "By remembering what she did to you. By remembering every moment of the betrayal."
"She was manipulated—"
"So were you!" His voice echoed off the frozen walls. "And you still had the strength to survive. She made her choice, Elara. She chose power over you."
The words hit like a slap. Because they were true.
Morgana had stood in that council chamber and condemned me. She'd looked into my eyes and lied. Whatever Varius had promised her, she'd chosen it over our bond as sisters.
"Come on," Caelan said, his tone softening slightly. "You need food and rest before the temple mission. Real rest, not whatever nightmares the Entity keeps sending you."
He led me out of the training room and through corridors I hadn't explored yet. The fortress was massive—far bigger than it looked from outside. We passed rooms filled with books, chambers with weapons made of ice, even what looked like a greenhouse where frozen plants somehow still grew.
"You built all of this?" I asked, awed despite everything. "Alone?"
"I had twenty years and nothing but time." He glanced at me. "And rage. Rage is an excellent motivator."
We climbed a spiral staircase to a different wing of the fortress. Here, the ice was warmer somehow—still frozen, but not as harsh. Gentler.
"This is the living quarters," Caelan explained. "Your room is there." He pointed to a door carved with delicate snowflake patterns. "Mine is at the end of the hall. There's a dining room between us. Meet me there in an hour."
"You want to have dinner together?"
"We need to talk strategy. And you need to eat actual food, not whatever scraps you've been surviving on." He studied my thin frame. "You're no good to me if you collapse from hunger."
Before I could respond, he walked away to his own room and shut the door.
I entered my assigned room and stopped, shocked.
It was beautiful. Not cold and harsh like I'd expected, but almost... cozy. The bed had thick furs and actual pillows. There was a small fireplace—made of ice but somehow producing warmth—and a window overlooking the Frost Wastes.
On a table sat fresh clothes, a basin of water that wasn't frozen, and even a brush for my tangled hair.
He'd thought of everything.
I cleaned up as best I could, washing away six months of grime and changing into clothes that actually fit. When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself.
The girl who'd stood in the coronation gown was gone. In her place was someone harder. Thinner. Changed.
But still alive.
An hour later, I found the dining room. It was smaller than the palace dining halls, with just one table and two chairs. But a feast was laid out—roasted meat, bread that smelled fresh, vegetables I hadn't seen in months, and even wine.
Caelan sat at the table already, pouring two glasses.
"Where did you get all this?" I asked, sitting across from him.
"I have... arrangements with certain merchants. They leave supplies at designated drop points. I leave payment." He pushed a plate toward me. "Eat. You look like a strong wind would blow you over."
I didn't need to be told twice. I filled my plate and ate like I'd never tasted food before. Everything was delicious—so much better than frozen rabbit and desperation.
Caelan watched me with something that might have been amusement. "When's the last time you had a real meal?"
"The night before my coronation." I paused, a piece of bread halfway to my mouth. "Seven months ago."
His expression darkened. "They really did just throw you out there to die."
"Yes." I took a drink of wine. It was sweet and strong and went straight to my head. "No supplies. No weapons. Just thin clothes and a death sentence."
"How did you survive the first week?"
"I found a cave. Learned to hunt by watching the ice creatures." I smiled bitterly. "Funny how fast you learn when the alternative is death."
"Not funny. Necessary." Caelan refilled my glass. "Tell me about the trial. I want to know exactly what Varius said."
So I told him. Everything. The fake evidence, the false witnesses, Morgana's tearful testimony. The way the entire council had turned against me without question.
Caelan listened without interrupting, his jaw getting tighter with each detail.
"It's exactly what he did to me," he said when I finished. "Planted evidence. Bought witnesses. Even convinced people who knew me that I was capable of murder."
"How did he fool everyone?"
"Because he's patient. Varius spent years building trust, positioning himself as indispensable. By the time he moved against his targets, everyone believed him over us." Caelan's hands clenched into fists. "He's a master manipulator."
"Then how do we beat him?"
"By being smarter. More ruthless." He looked at me directly. "And by not making the mistake of trusting anyone he hasn't already destroyed."
"You don't trust easily, do you?"
"Would you? If you'd been betrayed the way I was?"
Fair point.
We ate in silence for a while. The food and wine made me feel more human than I had in months.
"Can I ask you something?" I said finally.
"You can ask. I may not answer."
"Why did you really agree to help me? It's not just about clearing your name, is it?"
Caelan was quiet for a long moment. Then he stood and walked to the window.
"Do you know what the worst part of exile is?" he asked. "It's not the cold or the hunger or even the monsters. It's the silence. The absolute certainty that no one in the world cares whether you live or die."
"I know that feeling," I whispered.
"I spent twenty years in that silence." He turned to face me. "And then you appeared at my gates, offering me something I thought was impossible—a chance to make them pay. To prove I was right all along."
"Revenge."
"Justice," he corrected. "There's a difference."
"Is there?"
His smile was sharp as broken ice. "We'll find out."
A comfortable quiet settled between us. For the first time since my exile, I didn't feel completely alone.
"We should get some real sleep," Caelan said eventually. "The temple mission tomorrow will be dangerous. You'll need your strength."
I stood to leave, but paused at the door. "Thank you. For the room. The food. All of it."
"Don't thank me yet. Tomorrow you might decide I'm trying to kill you."
"Are you?"
"Not today." His expression was unreadable. "Ask me again tomorrow."
I went back to my room, exhausted but also strangely hopeful. Maybe this alliance would work. Maybe together we could—
I opened my door and froze.
Someone was sitting on my bed.
A woman with pale skin and dark hair, wearing clothes from decades ago. She looked up at me and smiled.
"Hello, Elara," she said in a voice like wind through ice. "I've been waiting to meet you."
"Who are you?" I stepped back, ready to call for Caelan.
"I'm Isara Winterborne. Your great-great-grandmother." She stood, and I saw she was transparent—a ghost. "The one who died in the black ice room trying to fight the Entity."
My blood turned cold. "You're dead."
"Yes. But not gone. The Entity keeps us—all the Winterbornes it's touched. We exist in the space between life and death, warning those who come after." She moved closer, her ghostly form passing through the furniture. "You're stronger than I was. But you're making the same mistakes."
"What mistakes?"
"Trusting him." She pointed toward the door—toward Caelan's room. "The Ice Sorcerer has his own plans. His own secrets. You think you're allies, but he's using you just like Varius used your sister."
"That's not true—"
"Isn't it?" Isara's smile was sad. "Why do you think he really agreed to help you? Because he wants justice? No. Because he wants power. The same power the Entity promised me. The same power that killed me."
"You're lying. The Entity is trying to turn me against him—"
"I'm not the Entity. I'm your blood. Your family." She reached out as if to touch my face, but her hand passed through. "I'm trying to save you from my fate."
"Then tell me how to stop it! How do I fight the Entity?"
"You don't fight it." Her expression turned tragic. "You sacrifice yourself to seal it away again. Just like our ancestors did. That's the only way to save the kingdom."
"No. There has to be another way—"
"There isn't." Tears—ghostly, transparent tears—ran down her face. "And when the time comes, Caelan will let you die to save himself. Just like everyone else you've ever trusted."
She began to fade.
"Wait!" I lunged forward. "Don't go! I need to know more!"
But she was already gone.
I stood alone in my room, shaking.
Was she real? Or was it another trick from the Entity?
A knock on my door made me jump.
"Elara?" Caelan's voice. "I heard shouting. Are you alright?"
I looked at the empty space where Isara had stood, then at the door.
Trust him or believe the ghost?
I had to choose.
And whatever I chose would determine whether I lived or died.