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Chapter Twenty-Five

ELLIE

“The Vein does not break. It recedes. Wait long enough, and it returns.”

Sayings of the Earthvein Sages

I pace the stone floor of the room Sacha assigned as mine, each footfall echoing my racing heartbeat.

The memory of the lightstone exploding replays in my mind.

The crack, the burst of silver, the stunned silence.

They cleared away the fragments and continued their meeting, but their eyes kept returning to me, wary and questioning.

I’m changing. I can’t pretend it’s just fear or adrenaline anymore.

It’s real. It’s pulling at the magic here, warping it when my emotions slip.

The silver-light that sparked through my skin wasn’t imagination.

The way the lightstone burst wasn’t coincidence.

Everyone saw it. The mixture of fear, curiosity, and suspicion on their faces confirmed what I didn’t want to admit.

I’m becoming something unpredictable, something that doesn’t belong in my understanding of how the world is supposed to work.

A firm knock interrupts my spiral. Before I can answer, the door swings open and Sacha steps inside, his movements crisp, controlled, already reshaping the energy in the room just by existing in it.

“A gathering has been organized for this evening.” His voice carries that unmistakable tone that isn’t quite a command, but expects compliance anyway. “To mark my return and boost morale.”

“A party ?” The idea seems absurd, given our circumstances. “In the middle of all this?”

“What better time to do it?” His fingers move absently, shadows gathering at his fingertips.

Something that’s been happening more and more.

“Hope is a resource that’s just as valuable as weapons or information.

Perhaps, more so. The Authority has taken everything from these people except their belief that someday things might change. ”

Something flickers across his face—responsibility, maybe guilt. Although that’s probably just me imagining it.

“My return reminds them that not everything they fought for was lost.”

His face is as unreadable as ever, but there’s a tightness around his mouth that makes me wonder how much of this celebration is for them, and how much is for him.

“What does any of that have to do with me?” I already suspect I know the answer.

“Your presence will be expected. Lisandra has arranged for the appropriate attire.”

I blink at him. “Appropriate attire? You mean like what … a party dress? ”

“The Veinwardens here keep supplies for various situations, including formal gatherings.”

I snort. “You’re telling me there’s a secret stash of formalwear for fugitives?”

He doesn’t smile. “Appearances matter. Particularly in times of upheaval.”

Before I can say anything else, there’s another knock on the door. It swings open to reveal a young woman with intricate braids woven through her dark hair, and her arms full of fabric.

“ Vashira .” She gives a small courtesy. “ Kavir meresh selurin. ”

Sacha nods to her, and they exchange a few words before he turns back to me.

“She wants to get your measurements for your dress.”

“You’re seriously concerned about what I’m going to wear to this thing?”

“It’s not simply about clothing, Ellie.” His eternal patience in the face of my questions makes me grind my teeth. “It’s about how you are seen and perceived. First impressions carry a lot of weight, particularly among those who have only heard rumors of your arrival with me.”

The young woman waits patiently while we argue … Well, while I argue. He just stands there. When Sacha nods to her, she comes closer, and holds out her arms, then points at me.

“She wants to measure you. She’s showing you how she wants you to stand.”

I eye him for a second, then sigh dramatically, throwing my head back for maximum effect.

The performance earns me something I’ve seen perhaps three times since meeting him—a twitch at the corner of his mouth, not quite a smile but dangerously close.

The tiny crack in his control feels like a small victory, and I have to fight the answering smile tugging at my own lips.

I allow the woman to take her measurements, lifting my arms when guided, turning when prompted. She mutters to herself as she works.

“So, this party.” I change position so she can measure across my shoulders, still oddly pleased with myself for provoking that almost-smile. “What will happen?”

“It’s a celebration of my return. It will formally introduce key Veinwarden leaders, who will acknowledge my position.

Following that there will be a reaffirmation of purpose.

” While his expression doesn’t change, there’s a hint of something in his tone that suggests he finds these ceremonial aspects tedious.

“Afterward, there will be a more traditional relaxed celebration. Food, music, dancing.”

“Your position?” I’m fishing, and not subtly.

“The only remaining Veinblood in Meridian.”

But I know it’s more than that. He’s more than just a return of someone with magical powers.

The young woman finishes her measurements, exchanges a few more words with Sacha, and then departs with a final courtesy to him and a nod in my direction.

“She says she’ll return with your dress in a couple of hours. The gathering begins at twilight.”

“What if I don’t want to go?”

His eyebrow arches, a subtle shift that manages to convey volumes.

One hand lifts between us, shadows coiling between his fingers like smoke waiting for command.

The darkness thickens, pulls into itself, becomes something almost tangible.

When he points at me, the tendrils unfurl, and wrap around my wrist.

“I could make you attend, Mel’shira.” His voice is low, almost idle, and soft. The gentleness in his tone is a stark contrast to the demonstration of power.

Mel’shira? He said that once before. Before I can ask its meaning, he flicks two fingers, and the shadows pull. I stumble forward, my breath catching as the distance between us narrows. My free hand rises to brace against his chest but stops short, hovering in the space between us.

The grip on my wrist isn’t painful, but for one heartbeat, I can’t tell if he’s warning me, teasing me … or seeing how close he can bring me before I try and resist.

“I won’t, of course. It’s entirely your choice.”

He releases me, the shadows unraveling, leaving nothing but the ghost of pressure against my wrist, and the memory of how easily he closed the space between us.

“But your absence will generate questions I’m not certain either of us wants to answer quite yet.”

I stay where I am, frozen in place, while my heart races. His head tilts, a faint acknowledgement, then he turns. My heart hasn’t slowed by the time he leaves, his coat brushing the door frame as he passes through.

I rub my wrist where the shadows touched me, skin tingling in their wake. I consider going after him, demanding an explanation, some clearer line about what just happened, but I don’t. The truth is, I’m not sure I want clarification.

I don’t even know why I’m arguing about the gathering at all. It’s not like I have anywhere else to go.

Dropping onto the bed, I sprawl out on the mattress and try to practice the words from Mira’s lessons.

Anything to distract me from the evening ahead.

But my mind keeps returning to the lightstone, and the way everyone looked at me afterward.

The suspicion, fear, and curiosity on their faces bothers me more than I want to admit.

Worse still is how my thoughts drift to the way the shadows felt coiling around my wrist, the pull of them drawing me closer before he let me go. The way his fingers flicked through the air.

And the moment, brief as it was, when I saw a crack in Sacha’s mask. That almost-smile.

It shouldn’t matter. It shouldn’t mean anything … but somehow, it does.

A sharp knock at the door jerks me awake, disorienting me. I sit up too fast, blinking, as the door swings open. Several women arrive as afternoon turns into evening. They bring not just clothing, but basins of steaming water, combs, and what I think might be cosmetics.

One of them lays a dress across my bed. A breathtaking sweep of deep blue fabric that shimmers like a midnight sky before full dark. Silver embroidery traces constellations along the neckline and sleeves, patterns that catch and hold the light.

It’s beautiful in a way I didn’t expect, and the sight of it makes the breath catch in my throat. If I put it on, if I wear it, I’ll look like I belong here. And I’m not sure how I feel about that.

“ Vashna tem, Ellie . Kavir meresh Shadowverin naresh .” She dips into a courtesy that takes me aback.

While I stand there, stunned and frozen to the spot at her behavior, two men bring in a large copper tub then leave, and the women begin filling it with water. Once it’s full, they step back, and the one who I think might be the leader points toward it.

I hesitate, arms crossing over my chest. The idea of other people being in the room while I bathe clashes with everything I know. But before I can gather a coherent protest, they're already reaching for me—fingers deft on the laces of my clothing, laughing gently at my stammered objections.

Their hands move with the casual confidence of people who’ve done this a thousand times before, stripping away layers of resistance with each loosened tie.

By the time I’m half undressed, the heat crawling up my neck has nothing to do with the steaming bath.

I’ve survived desert crossings, mountain slides, witnessed violence.

Yet these women, with their easy laughter and brisk hands, make me feel more exposed than any of it.

I exhale hard through my nose, surrendering to the ritual the way I’ve surrendered to so many Meridian customs that don’t fit neatly into my Earth-shaped understanding of the world.