The North's Shadow

A Lake of Ice

Eira's hooves thundered over the frost-hardened ground as I clung to the reins, heart pounding while the world blurred around me. I'm going to die, I thought, my fingers tightening in a white-knuckled grip.

The icy air stung my cheeks as the castle's stone walls vanished behind me and Eira bolted toward the open valley. I leaned low, hanging on for dear life as every jolt seemed to rattle my bones. At least it'll be a dramatic end. "She died bravely," they'll say, "flying down a mountain."

"Eira—slow down!" I gasped, but my voice was lost in the wind. Below, a frozen lake spread out like a silvery-blue mirror, shimmering under the pale winter sun.

A voice cut through the wind—Alaric's, calling my name. I glanced back to see him in close pursuit, riding steady and sure as he urged his horse forward. Within seconds, he was at my side, reaching over to grab Eira's reins. "Easy, Eira," he said, his tone sharp yet steady. Within moments, he brought them both to a stop at the edge of the lake.

I let out a shaky breath, hands trembling from the rush of adrenaline. "That... was not what I had in mind," I muttered, half in awe and half in lingering fear. I glanced over at Alaric, who had already dismounted and was watching me with faint amusement.

"Reckless, even for you," he said, his tone more curious than scolding as he offered me a hand. I took it, still a little unsteady on my feet.

As I looked around, taking in the vast, icy landscape, I felt my breath catch. The lake stretched out before us, smooth and untouched, an expanse of frost and ice glinting in the pale light. The surface was marbled with delicate cracks and patterns, forming a frozen web across the lake. "It's beautiful... like something out of a novel," I said quietly.

Alaric followed my gaze, nodding thoughtfully. "They call it the Dragon's Tear Lake. Legend has it, it's the last resting place of an ancient dragon."

I steadied myself, my eyes lingering on the lake. The dream from my first night in Glasverne flickered in my mind. I saw myself walking across ice as my steps transformed the thin surface below. Oh, snow can be tricky, Reese. Nana's words echoed through me, and a chill prickled my skin that had nothing to do with the cold. Could there be something more?

"You're quiet," Alaric noted, watching me closely.

I blinked, pulling myself from my thoughts. "Me? Quiet? Must be the cold getting to me," I replied with a small smirk, trying to shake it off. But the sight of the lake had stirred something I couldn't ignore.

"I saw a painting of dragons in the castle—one of fire and one of ice. Do people really wield magic like that here?"

Alaric's gaze shifted toward the lake with a pensive expression. "Magic runs deep here. Glasverne's people know it as elemental—mostly fire and ice, though other forms exist. Only the Valouron clan wields fire, and the Glacryn clan holds power over ice."

My eyes widened. "And each magic... is different?"

He nodded. "Fire is intense and volatile, the magic of heat, of passion. It can't be easily tamed." He glanced at me. "Ice is controlled, precise, built on endurance. Those of the Glacryn clan wield it with incredible power—some can even call snowstorms."

I took that in, feeling pieces slowly fall into place. "The Duke seems more like an ice wielder," I remarked. "He's the most stoic, cold man I've ever met."

Alaric's gaze flickered with a hint of amusement. "I can see why you'd think that. But if you believe he's cold, you're mistaken. He's... passionate, especially about his people."

"Doesn't come across that way," I said, raising an eyebrow. "If he's got all this fire magic, couldn't he at least warm up the castle? It's practically an icebox."