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Does she understand anything of what she’s just witnessed?

Not that it matters. The war has begun. The pieces have returned to the board, with new players and altered stakes.

I’m here to take back what was mine, and burn what they built in its place.

Chapter Fifteen

ELLIE

“Love walks behind trust, not ahead of it.”

Love Songs of the Mountain Provinces

The concealed doorat the back of the chamber opens onto a narrow staircase spiraling down into darkness. It reminds me of the spiral staircase in the tower.

The man who greeted Sacha with that intense embrace—something between a soldier’s loyalty and a brother’s relief—takes a lamp from the wall. Its flame casts long shadows across the stone, but they seem to gather closest to Sacha. The air cools as we descend, the temperature dropping with each step.

At the bottom, another door opens into a space that catches me off guard. I expected a bunker, a cell. Something rough and temporary. Anything but what greets me.

The room stretches out under arched stone beams, carved directly into the rock. Despite being underground, it feels more like a room in a house. Faded tapestries hang on the walls, their colors muted by years of dust, but still beautiful. Intricate designs of mountains and forests woven in deep blues and greens. Several doorways lead off to what I assume are other rooms or passages.

The man moves through the space lighting wall sconces. As the flickering light grows, so do the details. Shelves crammed with scrolls and worn books. Rugs layered across the floor. A fireplace built into one wall.

I watch Sacha’s face. His expression doesn’t change much, but something shifts in the set of his shoulders. His hand trails across the edge of the table like he’s brushing against memory.

“Meshalin kavir solavin.” The man speaks again, his voice quiet. There’s reverence in it.

“These were my quarters.” Sacha’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard. “I spent many hours here.”

That’s all he offers before the other man gestures toward one of the side rooms. Sacha follows him without hesitation. I stay where I am, hovering just inside the door.

Whatever this place is, it belongs to him. So do the people. The ones who looked at him like he wasn’t just a man returning from exile, but something more. Something they’d lost and never thought to see again. They share history, purpose,language.

In the tower, he needed me. I was the only one who could free him. But here? Here he’s surrounded by people who speak his language, move when he moves, and know things I don’t.

Not for the first time since stepping into this world, I feel completely out of place.

Footsteps behind me draw my attention. The woman, the one who stood with the others upstairs, descends the stairs carrying a tray of food and drink. She nods to Sacha as she places it on the table,sending up a small puff of dust, then says something low to the man beside her.

“Teloshin kavir meresh.”He points toward the tray.

“Varam is telling you to help yourself to food and drink,” Sacha explains.

The man, Varam, hesitates, then steps forward reaching out to clasp Sacha’s forearm. The gesture seems formal, yet strangely personal at the same time. He speaks again, his voice rough. Sacha nods. He turns, and ascends the stairs. The woman stands there for a moment longer, her eyes on Sacha, before giving a small nod and following Varam. When the door closes behind them, silence settles over the room, interrupted only by the soft crackling of flame from the wall sconces.

Sacha is still, eyes fixed on some distant point only he can see. There’s something different in the way he’s standing. It takes me a minute to figure out what it is, and then it comes to me.

The man who kept distance between us, and the people we met in the desert is gone. So is the man who ducked his head and hid beneath his hood while we walked through Ravencross.

Now, his shoulders are thrown back, spine straight as steel, and his head is held high. And seeing him like this, I’m no longer sure he needs me at all.

“What were they saying to you?” I break the silence. “Upstairs, I mean.”

He blinks, and his head turns, eyes refocusing on me. “Much has changed in the years I’ve been gone. The Authority’s control hasspread. Even the old sanctuaries, places that once offered safety, have been turned into their outposts.”

I pull out a chair and lower myself into it, reaching for a fruit that looks vaguely like an apple. “I could see how shocked they were to see you.”

“The Authority staged an execution.” There’s a bite to his voice. “They used a body made to resemble mine—hair, markings, even the ring I wore.” The fingers on his left hand curl into a fist. “They paraded it through Ashenvale. Burned it publicly. It was meant to break what remained of the Veinwardens.”