Page 112 of Stormvein

“And once she’s delivered the message? When he realizes she hasn’t brought you with her?”

“We see how Sereven reacts to the news.”

He’s not telling me something, I’m sure of it. Before I can question him further, he speaks again.

“First, though, we need to reveal my recovery to Stonehaven’s leaders. Individually, to gauge reactions and ensure there are no other traitors inside the walls.”

“They’re going to need some time to process your change in health. They’ve resigned themselves to the fact that you returned and now may well be dying.” Varam rolls up the maps and returns them to a shelf. “Some will see it as fulfillment of the Veinblood Prophecy.”

I happen to be looking at Sacha when he says that. The fleeting look of distaste is hard to miss, but it’s quickly masked by his usual unreadable expression.

“What matters right now is ensuring Stonehaven and the people who live here are safe. We need to ensure that Lisandra isn’t lying when she claimed she was working alone.”

“I will talk to her,” Mira says. “If she’s lying, I will know.” With a nod toward Sacha, and another smile for me, she opens the hidden door and disappears down to the room where Lisandra is being kept.

“Varam, go and bring the first Veinwarden elder.” His second-in-command nods, and leaves the room quietly.

The atmosphere shifts immediately with their absence, or maybe that’s all in my head. Sacha turns to face me.

“I’m sorry you were disturbed. Did you sleep well at least?”

“I did.” I will myself not to blush again. “I was surprised to find you gone when I woke.”

“Varam arrived with reports that needed attention.” He steps closer, hand lifting to brush his fingertips against my cheek.

“You look different this morning. I like this.” He twirls a lock of silver-streaked hair around one finger.

“I feel different.” The confession leaves my lips before I’ve even really thought about it. But now it’s out there, I realize it’s true. Idofeel different. “Like I’ve found some balance I didn’t have before.” I’m not talking about the power. I’m talking about everything. The power, being here in Meridian, accepting that I will likely never return to Chicago …him.

“The events since River Crossing changed us both.”

“Is that all it is? Adapting to extreme circumstances?” I hate asking. I hate the vulnerability in my voice. I hate questioning something that I’m sure meant something to both of us … but I need to put my mind at rest.

His expression softens. “No, Ellie. You know it’s more than that.” He lowers his head to brush his lips over mine. “I would like nothing more than to spend time proving that to you, but Varam will return soon with the Veinwardens.”

“And duty calls.” I summon up a smile, and lift a hand to palm his cheek.

He laughs softly, and turns his head to press his lips to my skin. “Exactly, Mel’shira. Do you wish to stay while I meet with the Veinwardens?”

“You mean watch while they lose their minds over your miraculous recovery?”

The fact that he laughs again feels like another boundary broken between us.

“Make sure you eat.” He waves a hand toward a table set against the wall, where bread, cheese, meat, and fruit are on wooden plates. There are also two pitchers, one with steam rising from it, and cups placed around them.

A knock at the door signals Varam’s return with the first Veinwarden leader. Sacha steps back, his demeanor visibly shifting to that of the Shadowvein Lord that others expect to see. His fingers caress the back of my hand as he turns away. It’s strange how that single touch reassures me more than his words.

The door opens. Varam steps through, with Rolan behind him. He’s one of the more seasoned leaders—sharp, skeptical, never prone to exaggeration. His features are stern, grim even, and I have no doubt he’s come here expecting to see Sacha at the edge of death. He was one who agreed with Lisandra about the futility of searching for Sacha, believing he was dead.

He takes two steps into the room … then stops.

His breath stills, eyes locking on Sacha. For a second, I think he might speak. His mouth moves, but no words come out.

His gaze rakes over Sacha’s frame, looking for weaknesses, signs of pain, anything to anchor what he’s seeing in reality. But there’s nothing to see. No scars, no infection. Not even signs of fatigue around his eyes.

“You were dying,” he says at last. “I saw them bring you in. You could barely breathe.”

Sacha doesn’t speak. The silence stretches between them, and I find myself holding my breath, waiting to see what Rolan does.