CHAPTER 82

JARRETT'S POV

The morning after the trial, the ice wasn't a court anymore, it was just a lake.

No red circle, no torches, no chains—the blood had melted away overnight, and the banners were long gone. All that remained was snow packed down by ten thousand feet and a rink carved over years of tension, and kids.

By the time Helena and I came down from the shrine, maybe thirty of them were already there. Frostfang kids in oversized jerseys, Blackriver kids with taped-together sticks, and rogue kids who had clearly never owned a pair of skates.

There were no guards or Council members in sight. Just Kael standing at the edge, clutching a crate of old pucks with a completely lost expression.

Helena stopped at the top of the ridge. She was wearing plain leathers today instead of her old patched armor. "What are they doing?"

"Waiting," Kael called up, shrugging. "They heard you said they could play."

Helena turned to me, blinking. "I said that?"

"Last night," I reminded her. "After the First Council."

She stared down at the lake. The wind had died down, and the sun was out for the first time in a week, turning the ice a bright, perfect blue-white.

"Then we should let them," she said, and we walked down together.

The kids fell quiet as we stepped onto the ice. Nobody kneeled this time; they just stared. One little girl from Frostfang—maybe eight, missing her front teeth—held her stick like a broadsword.

Helena crouched to match her height. "You know how to skate?"

The girl shook her head hard.

Helena smiled. "Me neither. Not without falling."

The girl giggled, and Helena immediately exaggerated a wobble, landing hard on her ass. The ice cracked loudly beneath her, but it held. Sitting there in the snow, she just started laughing. That broke the tension instantly. The kids burst into a sharp, relieved wave of laughter that echoed right off the ridge.

Kael dumped the crate, tossing pucks across the ice. "One period!" Helena yelled from the ground. "No teams! Just play!"

It was pure chaos.

Kids slipped, sticks clacked, and pucks flew everywhere. Two boys collided over a stray puck and went down in a heap. A fast rogue kid scored on an empty net and celebrated like he’d just signed a historic treaty.

I stood at the edge, watching her. She wasn't the Crown-Bearer down there, nor a queen. She was just a nineteen-year-old who’d been robbed of a childhood, finally playing on a frozen battlefield.

When she tried a crossover and failed, her arms windmilled wildly. I skated out before my brain could stop me and caught her elbow. "Weight on your left."

"I'm not going to fall," she huffed.

"You already did."

"That was tactical."

I showed her the basic youth league drill. "Push, glide, push, glide. Don't fight it."

She tried it, starting slow before picking up speed. Her cheeks burned bright red from the cold, completely free of that golden light.

"You make it look easy," she said.

"Everything's easy when you aren't carrying a prophecy."

She cut left too hard, forcing me to catch her again, and we both crashed down together. My ribs screamed in protest, but her laugh was right in my ear.

"You okay?" she asked, hovering over me just like she had on the ridge.

"Yeah," I breathed. "Better than okay."

Behind us, a real game had broken out without any nets—just two piles of snow for goals amid a wall of shouting and cheering. A few older wolves from the packs drifted down to watch before stepping out onto the ice themselves. Not to judge, but to join in. Dren from Blackriver, who’d lost his brother, was patiently teaching a Frostfang kid how to grip a stick, while Mara raced a rogue girl named Tova end to end.

The lake groaned under the sudden weight, but it held firm.

Helena sat up beside me, her hair full of snow. "When I was little," she said softly, "the Council swore this lake was sacred. They said you couldn't laugh here, that blood made it holy."

"And now?"

"Now I think they were full of it." She picked up an old, scuffed puck with chipped paint—the one we’d left at center ice yesterday. "It's just ice. We get to decide what it means."

She tossed it to me, and I caught it cold.

Kael skated over, breathing heavy with a child hitched onto his back. "Crown-Bearer, you have a trial to plan. Food inventory, political meetings—"

"Five more minutes," Helena interrupted.

Kael glanced at the kids, the parents drifting onto the ice, and the clear sun overhead. "Five more minutes," he grunted, skating off.

Helena leaned back on her hands, staring up at the sky. "You know what I kept thinking about last night? After you said you'd ruin the plan again?"

"What's that?"

"For twenty-six years, every game on this ice meant blood, territory, or protection. Someone always had to lose." She turned to me, her eyes deep brown in the daylight, entirely stripped of gold. "Today, nobody loses. Today we just play."

She stood up and offered a hand. I took it, letting her haul me to my feet despite my aching ribs.

"One period?" I asked.

"Just us," she smiled.

It wasn't just us for long. The kids dragged us right back into the fray. I got stuck on a team with three eight-year-olds who used my legs as a human shield, while Helena got checked into the boards by a girl half her size, dramatically faking an injury until the kid gave her an apologetic hug.

By the time the sun dipped low, the ice was thoroughly scratched, snow-covered, and perfect.

"Game!" Helena finally called.

A collective groan went up.

"Same time tomorrow?" the little Frostfang girl asked, tugging hard on Helena's sleeve.

Helena looked at me, and I nodded.

"Same time tomorrow," Helena promised. "Every day. This is your rink now."

We were the last to walk off as the others headed back up. The unlit torches from last night remained half-buried in the drifts. At the border where snow met stone, Helena set the old puck down carefully on the line.

"For tomorrow," she said.

I set my stick down right beside it. Behind us, the lake sat empty again, but it wasn't silent, you could still hear the kids' laughter echoing up the ridge.

For the first time in my life, the ice didn't feel like a treaty. It felt like home.