Page 102 of Stormvein

“We’ve found our traitor.” Four words. That’s all Sacha says.

“You?” The word drips with disbelief. Fury colors his voice. “Youbetrayed us?”

She doesn’t speak, doesn’t even acknowledge Varam’s presence, her eyes fixed on Sacha with the kind of terror usually reserved for forces of nature—earthquakes, storms, avalanches. Whatever passed between them in my absence has stripped away her resistance, her defiance, leaving only naked fear behind. She looks like someone who has glimpsed something beyond mortal understanding.

I look closer at Sacha. Something has changed in the short time I was gone. There’s a new quality to his stillness. It isn’t tension, but coiled power. He reminds me of a predator who has already tasted blood but has chosen to delay the final kill. His eyes are dark, not fully black like when he’s channeling shadows, darker than their usual shade, as though the power inside him is close to the surface, but hasn’t quite broken free.

The raven shifts on his shoulder, spreading its wings for a moment before folding them back in. Its shape is crisp, defined. This manifestation of his power is different than any version I’ve seen before, more than the desperate, dying shadow that flew to me at River Crossing.

The air around him feels different, too. Heavier. The shadows in the corners of the room have deepened, becoming more substantial, responding to his presence, his mood.

“She confirmed it,” he says when Lisandra stays silent.

His voice sends a sliver of fear up my spine. It’s cold, emotionless, and eerily calm. The voice of a man who has moved beyond anger to something far more deadly.

“She passed information to Sereven before you rode for Glassfall Gap.” His head swings around, eyes meeting Varam’s. “Before Ashenvale.”

The meaning hangs in the air. Every horror that followed Ashenvale’s ambush can be traced back to this single point of betrayal. All of it stemmed from this woman’s choice.

Varam’s expression hardens. His hand moves to his sword, fingers wrapping around the hilt, then falls away as discipline reasserts itself. Years as a Veinwarden have taught him control, but even that lifetime of training barely contains the fury flowing from him in almost visible waves.

“Why?”He faces Lisandra. “After everything we’ve fought for, after all our sacrifices, after all the lives we’ve lost … after what they did to him …why?”

“To protect Stonehaven.” She lifts her chin slightly, a ghost of her former confidence returning. “Sereven threatened to destroy everyone here unless I cooperated.”

“And you believed him?” Varam’s voice is rich with contempt.

“He knows where we are. He’s always known.” Her eyes jump from Varam to Sacha and back again. “Our defenses. Our numbers. He has enough soldiers at his disposal to make good on his threat. Haven’t you ever wondered why he never made a move against us? I made the only choice I could.”

I watch Sacha while their exchange unfolds. He doesn’t move, not even a blink, his gaze never leaving Lisandra. I’ve seen him focused before, but this is different. His attention isn’t just intense, it’s as though nothing else in the universe exists outsideof this moment in time. As though he could stand there for days, unmoving, the perfect embodiment of patience.

“What are you going to do with her?” Varam turns to Sacha.

I can guess what Varam is thinking. I might not have been in Meridian long, but I have no doubt they follow the same rules as any other I’ve learned through Earth’s blood-soaked history. The typical punishment for traitors during wartime is execution—swift, public, and without mercy. A lesson written in blood for others to remember.

I can’t see mercy being shown to those who betray their own. The Veinwardens can’t afford to, not when survival depends on absolute loyalty. Not when the Authority hunts them with such relentless purpose. Not when a single betrayal can unravel years of sacrifice.

I hold my breath, waiting for Sacha’s reply.

“She has a meeting to attend with Sereven,” he says finally. “At Blackstone Ridge. Three days from now.”

Varam looks from Sacha to Lisandra and back again. “A trap?”

“For someone, yes.”

“I won’t help you ambush Sereven,” Lisandra says. She pushes away from the wall, then freezes when Sacha’s attention sharpens. “You’ll be walking into a massacre. I can’t let that happen. He’ll have guards, scouts, and backups. They’ll kill you.”

“That wasn’t your concern when you sent them to ambush me at Ashenvale.” The temperature in the room seems to drop by several degrees with each word. “Or when you arranged for my rescuers to be slaughtered, rather than free me from torture.”

My mind flashes to his body in that cage—bloody, broken, barely alive. The fever-heat of his skin beneath my palm. The ragged sound of his breathing. The wounds that wouldn’t heal, oozing with infection. The brands burned into his flesh.

“That was different! I’m not helping you walk to your own death.”

“Your cooperation isn’t required.” Sacha’s voice is low, hard. “Only your presence.”

His meaning is clear. She’ll be there one way or another, willing or not. I shiver, remembering what I’ve seen his shadows do to a human body. How they can bend it, break it, and tear through it like paper. I have no doubt they could control it too, if necessary, turning Lisandra into nothing more than a puppet dancing on strings of darkness.

“We need to secure her somewhere private,” Varam says. “If word of her betrayal spreads before we can contain it?—”