Page 111 of Stormvein

Veinwarden Prayers

I waketo the sound of voices beyond the door. My eyes snap open, immediately finding the empty space beside me where Sacha should be. The sheets beneath my palm still hold his warmth, the impression of his body not yet faded. He can’t have been gone long.

Voices continue their low exchange outside. I think it’s still early, before dawn, which means we’ve only been asleep for a couple of hours. Someone must have needed him urgently enough to disturb him. There are only two people who would do that. Andthatmeans I’ll have to walk out of his bedchamber and face them. There’s no disguising where I spent the night.

Images of last night surface. Of his fingers tracing paths of shadow across my skin, whispers against my neck, the look in his eyes when the barriers finally fell away between us. Surprisingly, it’s not embarrassment that comes with them. No, it’s a toe-curling warmth that flows through me. Whatever had been growing between Sacha and me before his capture has changedinto something I’m trying very hard not to give a name to. Something that feels dangerously close to belonging.

Belonging in Meridian. But also belonging with him. The thought should bother me. Instead, it settles into me with unexpected rightness.

Closing my eyes, I stretch across the bed, then roll over, letting my face sink into the lingering scent of him on the pillow, while I focus on the voices beyond the door. I recognize Sacha’s distinctive tone, along with Mira’s and Varam’s. I can’t make out their words, but their tones carry an urgency I can’t miss.

I need to move. If I stay hidden away, Sacha will make decisions without me, regardless of whatever promises he whispered in the dark. His mind never truly rests, and if he decides it’s time to leave, he’ll do so without waiting.

I push upright and swing my legs off the bed. My clothes lie scattered where they fell. Pants draped over a chair, undergarments hanging over the handle of a drawer, boots somehow in opposite corners, but I can’t find my tunic. Memory rises of him stripping me out of it in the main chamber, and the embarrassment I didn’t feel earlier catches up with me.

I need something to wear before I go out there.

Looking around, I spy one of his tunics draped across the trunk at the end of the bed, and pull it on. I have to roll up the sleeves, but it will do until I can get to my room and my own clothes.

Turning toward the door, my reflection catches my eye, and I freeze. The woman looking back at me seems both familiar and foreign. My face is mostly the same, maybe a little thinner, my cheekbones more defined. But it’s my eyes that capture my attention. The silver flecks have grown, ringing my irises, and threading through them in slivers that catch the light like embedded stars. My hair has fine silver streaks through it. Even the way I’m carrying myself has changed. My spine is straighter,shoulders squared, as though I’ve shed some weight I didn’t know I was carrying.

This evolution began the moment I arrived in Meridian. Everything since—the storms I summoned when I watched Sereven ambush Sacha, the mist stalker familiar of my own, the healing that should have been impossible—has only accelerated the change. With each use of this power, I become something else, something I’m beginning to suspect was always inside me … waiting to be released.

I rake my fingers through tangled hair and attempt to make myself look less like I spent the night having incredible sex and more like I slept well and I’m ready to plan, then I take a deep breath and push open the door.

Sacha is standing in the middle of the room, dressed in his customary black. The simple tunic and pants somehow still manage to look formal on him. He’s talking to Varam and Mira, his hands moving across the maps spread on the table between them. All three stop and look up when I step through the doorway.

“Ellie.” Mira gives me a small smile, then turns her attention back to the map.

Varam nods, but says nothing.

But Sacha … he waits until I meet his gaze. The public mask he wears for others remains firmly in place, yet something happens when his eyes meet mine. His gaze travels over me from head to toe with deliberate slowness, lingering where his hands had been hours before. When our eyes finally reconnect, his lips curve into the barest hint of a smile—private,possessive,and it sends heat rushing to my face.

In that moment, I feel completely exposed, as though anyone watching could read every intimate moment written across my skin.

“You slept well, Mel’shira. I particularly like your choice in clothing this morning.” His voice is cool, despite his heated look. Before I can respond, he turns back to the table. “We’re finalizing plans for Blackstone Ridge, and Lisandra’s meeting with Sereven.”

The swift pivot to strategy feels like a door closing between night and day, between the man who held me and the Vareth’el who commands. That duality, I’m beginning to suspect, isn’t pretense, it’s survival. He needs to exist in both spaces, and moves between them as needed.

I ignore the first half of his comment and move closer, so I can see what they’re looking at. Several positions on the map have been marked with small stones. Sacha sees me frowning at them, and explains.

“Black for Veinwardens, red for Authority forces, and white for danger points.”

“What is the plan?”

“We leave tomorrow at first light.” Varam’s finger moves along a winding path across valleys and ridge lines. “A group of twenty, plus us. We’ll position ourselves here.” He points to what I assume is a hill. “It gives us natural cover, and a clear view of the meeting location.”

I study the spot where Varam’s finger rests, imagining Lisandra walking alone to meet the man who tortured Sacha nearly to death. My stomach knots, and a distant rumble of thunder seems to answer my unease, although I can’t tell if it’s real or just in my head.

“You’re really going to send her to meet with Sereven? Even though it might get her killed?”

“She will deliver a very specific message. That I not only survived his torture, but have recovered.”

“Do you think she’ll actually do it?” I glance toward the hidden door that leads down to her cell.

“She has no choice.” It’s Mira who answers, her voice sharper than I’ve ever heard. “After her betrayal, this is the smallest blood-price she can pay.” The venom in her voice reveals layers of not just anger at Lisandra’s treachery, but friendship betrayed and trust shattered beyond repair.

“More importantly,” Sacha’s voice reveals nothing, “I’ll be there to ensure she’ll do exactly what I need her to do. She will have no opportunity to negotiate with Sereven or twist this to her advantage.”