Page 83

Chapter Thirty-Four

SACHA

“Some prayers were never meant to be answered.”

Veinwarden Prayers

Ellie is asleep, her breath warm against my skin, her arm draped across my chest. One hand rests against my shoulder. A point of contact. A tether I never expected to want. And one I should sever before it sinks deeper.

I should move. Distance myself. Return to the vigilance that has kept me alive.

Instead, I lie there, caught inside a maelstrom of thoughts I can't silence. The vulnerability of this moment unsettles me more than any battlefield ever has. Her touch is more dangerous than any blade.

I don't remember the last time I lay beside someone like this. If I ever did.

I spent the first fifteen years of my life learning to wield a power I was never supposed to have, and balancing it with the magic that was my birthright.

Then another span moving through battlefields like a weapon myself—calculating, commanding, making choices that carved away anything that wasn't necessary to survival.

I belonged to the war.

I fought. I led. I sacrificed. Wars don't permit softness.

Hunted Veinbloods don't wake slowly in someone's arms, savoring the quiet rhythm of shared breath.

I never stayed. I took what relief I could.

Stolen moments before bloodshed, before another march, before another betrayal.

Then I left, because staying meant vulnerability, and vulnerability meant death.

Trust was a luxury I couldn't afford when the line between ally and traitor blurred with each new Authority infiltration.

And then the tower took even those moments from me.

Twenty-seven years. I was isolated, locked away where even the sound of my own breathing felt too loud. Cold walls, blue light, time bleeding into nothing.

I forgot what it was like to be touched. To share warmth. To not wonder if your lover would be the one to slide a knife between your ribs.

And now, all of it has been undone.

Ellie shifts slightly, her leg sliding over mine in her sleep, and my pulse jumps. Not out of alarm as it should, but because of how my body betrays me with longing.

Images from last night flood my mind unbidden.

The heat of her skin beneath my hands. Her silver light threading through my shadows, creating patterns I've never seen in all my years wielding darkness.

The way the silver pooled at her fingertips where they traced across my chest, leaving luminous trails that sank slowly into my skin. Her body arching?—

A soft knock cuts through my thoughts. It's jarring in the silence. Too loud, too sudden, too real —yanking me from dangerous territory. From the edge of something I can't afford to want.

Ellie stirs, the hand on my shoulder tightening for half a second before relaxing again.

I have to move.

I untangle from her slowly, taking care not to wake her. The second I leave the bed, cold rushes in against skin still overheated from her touch. And for one reckless heartbeat, I hate the cold for taking her from me.

My body still remembers her. Still aches for her.

I reach for my pants first, then my tunic. Each movement is precise, controlled. A soldier’s ritual. Order imposed against chaos. Against feeling.

But my body is slower to obey.

My chest is tight. My breathing is a little too quick. Because this isn’t just about last night.

This is the first time I have woken up next to someone, and not wanted to slip away before they opened their eyes. Last night, there was no war. No fight for control. Only this. Her, me, the silver and shadows entwined. A moment I never allowed myself to believe could exist.

And that is dangerous.

I glance back at the bed. Ellie is still there. Her body half-buried in the sheets, dark hair fanned across the pillow, her breathing even. But I see it. That faint trace of silver beneath her skin, darkened at the edges where my shadows touched her.

She shifts slightly, and her hand creeps across the mattress toward the space I just left. A muscle in my jaw clenches. I turn away, just as the door opens.

Varam steps inside. His gaze flicks between me and the bed.

“The final Day of Order preparations have begun.” He sets a plate with bread and cheese on the table. “Authority soldiers are gathering.”

Ellie shifts at the sound of Varam’s voice, her breathing faltering for just a second.

Her fingers tense against the sheets, and she takes in a breath.

Not a gasp, but the controlled inhale of someone gathering themselves.

She remains perfectly still at first, not looking at me, though I can see the pulse at her throat quickening.

The moment of realization ripples across her features.

Where she is, who she's with, what passed between us in the night, and the fact that we are no longer alone.

Her shoulders pull back in a small, defensive movement. Her fingers tighten around the sheet until her knuckles pale. Then, with a deliberate composure that tells me more about her strength than any words could, she gathers the sheets against her chest and sits up.

But she still doesn’t look at me.

Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and she releases a carefully measured breath. When her gaze finally lifts to mine, I feel it as much as see it. Embarrassment definitely, uncertainty perhaps, but beneath both, that flash of defiance I've come to recognize.

Then her features smooth over, control reasserting itself as she moves, taking the sheet with her as she stands. Her movements are stiff as she gathers her scattered clothes, the silver beneath her skin still glowing faintly where my shadows touched her .

Just the memory sends a ripple of darkness beneath my own skin. I give brief thought to sending Varam away, but control reasserts itself. Instead, I call a strand of shadow. It weaves itself between her and the room in a shifting opaque screen, rising without a sound, and veiling her from sight.

Varam watches for a second, then turns back to me.

"I returned last night," he says, his tone carefully neutral. "When I saw you were ... occupied, I decided not to interrupt. I stayed in Mira's room instead."

His gaze flicks to the rumpled sheets on the bed, then back to me. Years of friendship allows him to read what others cannot. The slight tension in my stance, the way my shadows move restlessly beneath the surface.

“It doesn’t change the mission,” I tell him, needing to believe it myself.

"No," he says, with the quiet certainty of someone who has watched me command armies and survive impossible odds. "But it's changing you.”

He's right. I can't deny it. Something inside me has shifted, a realignment I never planned for. But acknowledging it now, hours before we infiltrate Ashenvale, would be suicide. I lock it away. A problem for another time, if we survive today.

"Have they added any extra patrols?" I ask, returning my focus to Varam and the mission.

“As expected. The inner and outer walls are still well-guarded, but their full attention will be centered on the main plaza when Sereven comes out. ”

Ellie emerges from behind the screen, a faint flush still coating her cheeks, and I release the shadows, and they slip back into the floor like mist.

Mira arrives at almost the same moment, bringing Ellie’s pack with her. While she and Varam talk about final details, I step closer to Ellie.

My intention to stay focused, warn her to be vigilant, goes out of the window the second her eyes meet mine.

“Stay close to Mira.”

She tips her face up to look at me. “What if something goes wrong?”

“It won’t.”

“It’s time.” Mira nods toward the window. “The first gate rotation is beginning. We need to move. They’re less likely to focus on our papers when all they’re thinking about is ending their shift and going to their beds.”

“We’ll meet at River Crossing, two hours after midday.”

“We’ll give you a moment,” Varam says to me, and leads Mira outside.

The door closes softly.

“I still don’t like it,” she says the second they’re gone. “The dream felt so real. Shadows everywhere, silver light burning through darkness.” The worry in her voice is unmistakable.

I know my plan demands distance. Detachment. I know I should give her orders, not comfort. I know that to touch her now is to accept fully the fractures she’s already created in me.

And still … I reach for her .

I take her hands in mine before I can talk myself out of it. Before duty can reclaim me. The connection snaps into place immediately. Shadows flowing from my skin to hers where we touch.

It shouldn't be possible, this bridge between us. It shouldn’t exist. But it does. And I can’t ignore it.

"Stay with Mira," I say, forcing myself to focus on her safety rather than the warmth of her hands in mine. "If something happens, anything at all, your only focus is getting to River Crossing. There's a map in your pack."

"What about you?" Her eyes search mine, silver flecks brightening with emotion, with magic that reaches every broken place inside me. No one has ever looked at me that way, like my survival matters beyond what I can give. "Promise me you'll be careful."

The part of me that belongs to duty, to my role, screams to let go. To turn away. To leave her behind before she can tear me apart any further. But I don’t.

Instead, I pull her closer. I cross the distance that was never supposed to close. I break my own rules. I break myself.

My lips meet hers in a kiss that deepens as soon as we touch, silver flaring, shadows rising to meet it. For ten heartbeats, there’s no mission. No ring. No Veinwardens. No Authority.

Only this. Only her.

When we part, she blinks up at me, biting her lip.

“I’ll see you at River Crossing.” The words are somewhere between a statement and a question.

“You will, Mel’shira.” My thumb brushes her cheek, over her lips. A last indulgence I can’t deny myself. Shadows trail in its wake. “Now go. Mira is waiting.”