Page 116

Sacha is standing on the opposite side of the circular room, but this isn’t the man I know. Shadows coil beneath his skin like living runes, pulsing in intricate patterns. Darkness gathers around him like a living cloak.

The raven is behind him now, wings spread wide until they fill the entire space.

“You opened the door,” he says, his voice layered with echoes. “The binding responds to you.”

The raven screams.

Thunder answers.

A flash of lightning cracks through the tower, and for a heartbeat I see his silhouette—larger than human, darker than shadow, wings unfurling from a form caught between man and something far older.

Shadowverin, the raven cries. The word vibrates inside my bones.

Vashna et kevir.

I wake with a gasp, heart pounding against my ribs. The room is dark save for the faint amber glow of a single lightstone. I haveno idea how long I’ve slept, though my body feels like I’ve been unconscious for hours rather than minutes.

The dream clings to me, its imagery refusing to fade. The raven. The shadow silhouette. The words seemed to carry meaning beyond their sound.

A soft knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts.

“Yes?” My voice sounds strange, hoarse, higher than it should be.

The door opens slowly. A young woman stands there, maybe a few years younger than me, carrying a tray with food and drink. She smiles—small, uncertain, but genuine.

“Vashna.” The greeting is familiar from Mira’s lessons. “Neresh kavir.”

Food, I translate in my head. The second word means food or eat.

“Vashna,” I echo, sitting up and swinging my legs off the edge of the bed. “Meravak?” I gesture toward the cup, asking if it’s water.

Her smile brightens.

“Mavrin!” Yes, she confirms. “Meravak et neresh.”

Water and food.

She sets the tray on a small table near the bed, then gestures at my travel-stained clothes with a questioning look.

“Navirak kavir selurin?” She mimes washing.

I hope my understanding is correct. “Yes, please. That would be wonderful.”

She leaves and returns a few minutes later with a bundle of clean clothes and a basin of steaming water. She places them carefully on a chest at the foot of the bed, then withdraws, offering one last shy smile before she closes the door.

The simple kindness nearly undoes me.

After days of cold, of hunger, of violence and fear, the sight of clean water and fresh clothing feels like a luxury I barely remember knowing how to want.

I eat first. The stew is thick and rich, the bread warm enough to steam in the chill air. The water is crisp and pure. I guess it’s drawn from mountain springs hidden somewhere beneath all this stone.

Only when my stomach is full do I turn to the basin.

The water remains wonderfully hot as I scrub away days of travel dirt, paying special attention to the scrapes and bruises accumulated during our journey.

The clothing left for me fits well—soft close-fitting pants, a loose tunic, and a vest similar to what I’ve seen other women in the stronghold wearing.

When I’m finished, I feel almost human again, so I gather my courage and step back into the main chamber.