He found Isolde near the statue's base.

  Her eyes were fixed on a small group of people gathered a few yards away. At the center knelt Mara, the refugee woman from the payment line. Held in her arms was her small son who shook violently.

  "Isolde?" Eirik kept his voice low. "What's wrong? Where's the Order?"

  "They haven't arrived," Isolde turned to him. "Yet. But something else has. Something… possibly worse."

  Eirik looked at the group.

  "Worse? Looks like a sick kid and some tired folks. We've got healers setting up near the mushroom cave entrance. They can—"

  "No," Isolde cut him off. "It's not that simple. Look at her."

  Eirik looked closer. Mara's lips was moving quickly against her son's forehead. Tears tracked clean paths through the dirt on her cheeks. Then she looked up, and her eyes found Eirik's.

  She pushed herself to her feet, the child still held tight.

  "Lord Stormcrow!" she cried out. Heads turned. "Chosen Vessel! Please! My boy… he burns with fever! The cough… it steals his breath!"

  She pointed vaguely towards the tunnels.

  "I have earned my place here! But… but he needs more! He needs… He needs you. Your touch. Her touch. Just one touch! Please, Lord Stormcrow! Let your hand, blessed by the Frost Mother herself, lay upon him!"

  Isolde stepped closer to Eirik.

  "There. You see? This is a trap, Eirik."

  Trap? How? Eirik frowned. "Explain."

  "Think!" Isolde hissed. "She sets herself up as the faithful servant who has earned her place. But then she asks for the miracle. Your touch as the Vessel. If you refuse, what happens? Right here, in front of all these people who believe you can do it? You look cruel. The story spreads: 'He builds statues but won't heal the faithful!'"

  Eirik saw it right away. Damn. She's right.

  "But if you do touch him," Isolde pressed, "what happens if the boy doesn't get better? If he just… dies? Or even if the fever doesn't break? You promised nothing, Eirik. You never claimed healing power! But they believe it. When nothing happens, or worse, when the child dies despite your touch, what then?"

  Eirik's stomach tightened.

  "Create a distraction," Isolde urged. "Order Talons to clear the area around the statue for some 'sacred ritual' preparation. Get Olaf to gently move Mara and the others towards the healers. Tell them the Vessel needs time to commune, or the Mother demands silence, or anything. Get them out."

  It was a good plan.

  "You… you are touched! You are Her vessel!" Mara continued, pushing herself forward on her knees. "They speak of it! The miracle! The statue! Please! Just a touch! If the Frost Mother's power flows through you… let it flow to him! Please! I'll work forever! I'll give everything! Just… save my son!"

  The crowd moved closer.

  "She's right! The Chosen Vessel!"

  "He can heal, can't he? With the ice?"

  "Look at the little one! Frost Mother, have mercy!"

  Eirik's gaze was locked on the child, who reminded him of his little sister. The small, weak form shook in his mother's arms. The blue-tinged lips. The desperate, wheezing gasp for air.

  The fever wasn't fake.

  Sending them away meant sentencing the boy to death. But stepping into this trap directly would also be foolish. Either way, it was a disaster.

  "Commander," Isolde drew near and hissed into his ear. "No time to waste now, say something to get her out!"

  Damn it, Eirik thought. He'd rather face one thousand Skarls than be put in this spot.

  Isolde saw Eirik's hesitation and decided to move despite him.

  She stepped forward, placing herself gently but firmly between Eirik and the kneeling woman.

  "Mara. We see your pain. We see the boy's suffering. Your faith is strong, and it does you credit."

  Mara looked up, tears making tracks through the dirt on her face. She held her son tighter.

  "Then… then help him, Lady Fenrir! Please! Just let the Commander touch him!"

  "And we will help him," Isolde continued smoothly. "Our healers are ready. They have herbs and knowledge. They are waiting just below. They can tend fevers, ease breathing. Take him there now. They will give him the best care Abercrombie has."

  But Mara didn't scramble to her feet. Instead, she shook her head slowly. "Lady Fenrir… forgive me. But herbs? Healers?" She looked down at her son, who let out a weak, wheezing cough. "The fever… it only grew hotter. The cough… it sounds like stones rattling in his chest. Herbs won't save him!"

  Mara pointed a trembling finger towards the towering ice statue.

  "You said… you said the Frost Mother's power flows through him. Lord Stormcrow… he raised Her from the ground! He commands ice! If Her power is real… if it's truly here… why can't it drive away this little fever? Why can't it help my boy breathe? Isn't that… isn't that what this place is for? To help the helpless?"

  She pulled the child closer.

  "I'm asking… begging… for one touch. One chance. Please. Don't send him away to die in the dark with herbs. Let him feel the warmth… the power… that built this miracle. Let him feel the Frost Mother's hand."

  A collective sigh went through the crowd. Murmurs of agreement spread outwards.

  She's boxed us in, Isolde realized with a jolt of dread. Using the child as the perfect, innocent key to unlock the trap. Either Eirik performs a miracle we can't guarantee, or he publicly fails the most vulnerable.

  "Eirik," she whispered. "The healers. We must insist. The risk—"

  "Isolde," Eirik whispered back. "Look at him. The boy."

  "I am looking!" Isolde tried her hardest to maintain a perfectly polite face to Mara. "You threatened to ruin my House! You treated Varn and Flint like pieces on a game board! Everyone could just be leverage to you! And now… now you suddenly develop a conscience? For one sick boy?"

  Eirik kept his voice low.

  "Lords are lords, Isolde. They play the game. They have armies, lands, gold. They cope better with failure." He shifted his gaze towards Mara. "That woman? She has nothing."

  Isolde felt a wave of genuine shock wash over her.

  Eirik stepped around her, walking towards Mara with careful steps. The crowd, sensing the shift, fell into an awed, breathless silence. All eyes were fixed on the Chosen Vessel approaching the person begging.

  "Lord Stormcrow?" Mara looked up as he stopped before her.

  Eirik knelt slowly in the snow before her, bringing himself level with the child. He ignored the biting cold seeping through his pants, the hundreds of eyes boring into him, the huge pressure of the moment.

  "You test my faith, woman," Eirik said. "Now let me test yours."

  Mara's eyes widened slightly as Eirik continued.

  "You stand before the Frost Mother's statue. You demand a sign, a miracle, to prove Her power flows through me." Eirik continued. "But true faith isn't about demanding proofs. True faith is about acceptance. Acceptance of Her will, even when it's not what we desire."

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  He stood up to face the crowd.

  "If the Frost Mother wills your child's healing, then it will happen. Whether it comes through my hands," he pointed vaguely towards Fisk, who was hovering nervously nearby, "through Fisk's remedies, through simple rest and care, or… whether She calls him home to Her eternal winter."

  His voice dropped lower.

  "Do you have that faith, Mara? Do you trust the Frost Mother's wisdom enough to accept Her judgment, whatever form it takes?"

  Isolde felt a small wave of relief. This was clever play. Very clever. Instead of him being tested on his ability to perform miracles, Mara was now being tested on her faith. If she refused, if she demanded only a specific outcome, which was healing via Eirik's touch, she exposed herself as someone using faith for her own ends.

  Either way, the pressure shifted squarely onto her shoulders.

  "I… I…" Mara stammered. "My child needs healing! Only your touch can—"

  "Only my touch?" Eirik interrupted. "Or only the outcome you demand? You speak of the Frost Mother's will, Mara, but it sounds like you only care about your own. Where is your trust in Her wisdom? Where is your acceptance of Her path, even if it leads through darkness?"

  He took another step closer. "Answer me. Do you have faith enough to accept the Frost Mother's judgment, whatever it may be? Yes or no?"

  Mara looked down at her son's burning face, feeling his fragile body shake in her arms, and whispered a response.

  "Yes… Yes, Commander. I… I trust the Frost Mother's will. Whatever it may be."

  "Then your trust must be shown," Eirik declared. He turned slightly, scanning the crowd until his eyes landed on Fisk. "Fisk!"

  Fisk jumped. "Y-yes, Commander?"

  "This child needs care. Your best care. Whatever herbs, remedies, or comforts you possess. Give them now. Here." He pointed to a clear patch of ground near the keep entrance. "Do what you can. Freely. As an offering to the Frost Mother's will, whatever it may be."

  Mara's shoulders shook as she finally lowered her son onto the rough cloak Fisk had spread near the keep entrance. Tears cut tracks through the dirt on her cheeks.

  "Please," she whispered again. "Just… watch over him, Commander. Please."

  Eirik gave a curt nod as his mind raced. Penicillin? Antibiotics? Impossible to make given the time constraint. Even basic electrolyte solutions… salt, sugar, clean water… do we even have clean sources down in the caverns? These dead ends meant he could only do the basics – keep the boy warm, hydrated, clean.

  Fisk was crushing herbs into a paste, trying to get a few drops of water between the boy's cracked lips. But the fever raged.

  The cough sounded deep – probably pneumonia, Eirik recognized. A jolt of something suddenly brought him to a dark moment in his last life. The helplessness of watching his own sister waste away.

  Was he about to watch another child die?

  Fisk worked quickly, muttering about lungwort and willow bark. But the child's breathing grew shallower. His lips, already blue, darkened. A particularly violent coughing fit seized him, small body arching, face turning a terrifying shade of purple as he struggled for air. Mara screamed as she scrambled forward, grabbing her son's hand.

  "No! No, stay with me! Breathe! Please breathe!" She looked up, eyes wild, locking onto Eirik. The desperate plea was back. "Commander! Please! Just a touch! You see him fading! Whatever power you have… try! Just try! What harm can it do? If he dies anyway… at least… at least I know you tried! Please!"

  The memory of his sister's face flashed vividly in his mind now. The helplessness. He wouldn't, couldn't, go through that again.

  "ENOUGH!" The word tore from Eirik's throat. He pushed off the wall, walking the few steps to Mara and the dying child. He knelt beside her, his face inches from her.

  "Woman! Listen to me!" he hissed. "I build things! Ice walls! Sawmills! Caves underground! That's what the power I have does! I can't just lay a hand on a sick child and wave away death! It doesn't work like that! I'm not a priest! I'm not a god! This… this is madness! You're putting your hope onto me like I'm some kind of magic charm! I don't want your boy to die any more than you do – believe me – but I can't heal him! Do you understand? I can't!"

  His words, stripped of any pretense, hung in the air.

  Murmurs started, hesitant at first, then growing louder, spreading like wildfire through the packed courtyard.

  "…did he just say…?" "…he only builds ice? That's it?" "…but the statue… the chosen vessel…?"

  Isolde felt a surge of icy fury directed squarely at Eirik. Idiot! she screamed internally, Absolute, reckless, sentimental idiot! He spent weeks building this fragile web of faith and power, manipulating Varn and Flint, playing the ruthless game… and he throws it all away for one sickly child? For what?

  She stared at his hunched back by the child, utterly unable to reconcile the ruthless strategist she knew with the man crumbling before a mother's grief.

  Tears streamed freely down Mara's face. "Commander…" she choked out. "I… I heard you. I understand… maybe. I do. But…" She looked down at her son, then back up. "The fever burns him… please… just… put your hand on him. Once. Feel the heat. See what happens. If nothing… then nothing. But if… if there's a chance…" Her voice broke entirely. "Please, Commander. Whatever you have… try. For him."

  Eirik stared into her tear-filled eyes, seeing only the reflection of his own helplessness from another lifetime. Foolish woman, he thought. So foolishly delusional.

  He ignored the murmuring crowd and Isolde's horrified stare. He reached out. Slowly, he placed his palm flat against the child's burning forehead. He expected nothing.

  He braced himself for the final, weak gasp, the stillness.

  He didn't expect the surge.

  It wasn't his own power. The familiar chill of Frost Mana didn't rise within him. Instead, it felt like… a current.

  A faint, tingling energy, warm and strangely alive, flowed into his hand from the child's fevered skin. It was weak, flickering, like a candle guttering in a draft, but it was undeniably there. And it felt… familiar?

  Startled, Eirik's eyes snapped open wide.

  He jerked his head up, staring not at the child, but at Mara. She was on her knees beside the boy, one hand rested lightly on the child's chest. Her lips were moving in a silent prayer.

  Tears still streamed down her face, but there was an intensity in her posture, a fierce, focused concentration that hadn't been there before.

  The energy… it's coming through her, Eirik realized with jolt that went through him like lightning. She's… channeling something? Through the child? To me? It defied everything he had assumed. But the tingling warmth flowing into his hand was undeniable.

  He looked back down at the boy.

  Beneath his hand, the skin still felt hot, but… different? The terrible, searing heat seemed… less intense? The child took a deeper breath. The terrible blue tinge around his lips receded, replaced by a healthier, pale pink.

  Another breath. Deeper still. A small, weak whimper escaped him, not a cry of pain, but a sound of… relief? The fever still burned, but the desperate, life-threatening heat was visibly going down.

  Mara's eyes flew open. A choked sob escaped her.

  "He… he's breathing! Look! He's breathing!" Her voice rose. "The fever… it's less! It's working! Oh, Frost Mother! It's working!"

  She looked at Eirik with ecstatic certainty.

  "Healed! My boy… he's healed!"

  The effect on the crowd was instant and explosive.

  "A MIRACLE! ANOTHER MIRACLE!"

  "HE TOUCHED HIM! THE FEVER BROKE!"

  "THE CHOSEN VESSEL! HE HEALS!"

  "THE FROST MOTHER THROUGH HIM! PRAISE HIM! PRAISE HER!"

  People surged forward, hands outstretched. The earlier reverence was now a tidal wave of desperate belief. The Talon line around the statue area, already stretched thin by the pilgrimage crowds, was instantly overwhelmed.

  "BACK! GET BACK!" Olaf roared. He and his men fought a losing battle, shoving people back, forming a human shield around Eirik, Mara, and the recovering child.

  "Touch me, Lord Stormcrow!" "Heal my mother!" "Bless my child!"

  Eirik felt a surge of panic. This was worse than the statue. He needed out. Now.

  "Olaf! Get them out! The tunnels! NOW!" he barked over the din, grabbing Fisk's arm and shoving him towards Mara and the child. "Get her underground! Move!"

  Fisk, shaken but reacting, helped the weeping Mara to her feet, gathering the weakly crying child into her arms.

  Talons formed a desperate wedge, carving a path through the screaming, grasping crowd towards the keep entrance and the relative safety of the tunnels below. Eirik followed, shielded by Olaf and his toughest Talons.

  It was like fighting a flood. Hands clawed at his cloak, fingers brushed his armor. Faces contorted with ecstatic need pressed close. He kept his head down, pushing forward, focused only on the dark archway of the keep as the roar of the crowd followed him.

  What the hell was that? Eirik's mind raced as he stumbled into the keep's dim interior. It wasn't me. It was HER. Mara. But how? What did she DO? Who is she?!

  He pushed deeper into the keep. Olaf and the Talons sealed the main doors behind them, the thudding of the crowd becoming a distant, muffled roar.

  Isolde found him moments later.

  "You," she said. "What were you thinking?! You stood there and admitted you couldn't heal! After everything!" Her voice rose slightly before she forced it back down. "Why? After all the calculations, the threats, the ruthlessness… why throw it away for that child?"

  Eirik met her furious gaze.

  "Because it was the truth, Isolde. And because I couldn't watch him die without trying everything I could. " He pushed off the wall. "And it didn't fail. Not entirely. Something happened. Something she did."

  Isolde's anger faltered, replaced by confusion. "She? What are you talking about?"

  "I don't know yet," Eirik admitted. "But I intend to find out. This changes things. Deeply. We need to talk to Mara. Privately. And we need to figure out what just happened before…"

  A Talon scout, breathless, came running down the corridor from the direction of the outer stairs. He skidded to a halt before them, saluting quickly.

  "Commander Stormcrow! Lady Fenrir! Urgent message from the south watch tower!"

  Eirik's blood ran cold.

  "Speak."

  "Rider spotted, Commander! Large group! Banners… blue and silver! Heavy escort! Looks like… looks like priests! And warriors in fancy armor! They've got… they've got a covered chair covered in frost runes! They're maybe three miles out! Closing fast!"

  The Order of the Everwinter.

  The breath caught in Eirik's throat. They had just survived a near riot triggered by a miracle, the faith of hundreds was now wildly unstable, and their most powerful, dangerous enemy was literally at the gates.

  "Isolde, get to Mara." Eirik said. "Find out exactly what happened in that moment. Every detail. I'll handle the gates. Olaf!" He raised his voice. "Double the guard on the walls! All Talons to battle stations! No one approaches without my say! Now! Move!"