Page 4 of Stormvein

I want to ask her how she got hurt. Whether it was my fault. But I stay silent.

The trees thin ahead of us, revealing the clearing where we left Rasha earlier. The river looks dark and angry with storm runoff. But even swollen with rain, I think it’s manageable at the crossing point, large stones breaking the flow into navigable channels. On the far bank, two figures rise from concealment, weapons drawn, then lowered when they recognize us.

A jolt, not magical but purely emotional, passes through me. One is Rasha. The other is Varam.

He’s alive. Sacha’s second-in-command survived. One person who made it through this catastrophe, a single thread connecting me to everything we’ve lost. The power inside me rises at the sight of him, while above us the storm responds in kind, gentling slightly, the thunder rolling more distantly.

Varam’s voice cuts across the water. “Cross. Now!”

We don’t wait. Mira is first into the current. I follow her, and Mishak is right behind me. Cold water hits my overheated skin, shocking me. My balance teeters with every step.

Rasha and Varam hold their position on the far side. Varam’s eyes never leave me as I wade through the water. The current pulls at my legs, threatening to drag me under. Each stone feels like it might shear away underfoot at any second. Behind us, the forest is loud with the sounds of pursuit—shouts, snapping branches, boots.

My legs are shaking. Cold water numbs my skin while heat pulses beneath it. I reach halfway before the energy lashes through me again, a raw spike of power that rips through my spine. My vision splinters. The river tilts sideways, and water rushes toward my face.

And then Varam is there. He catches me short of the bank, his fingers wrapping around my arm before the water drags me under. His other hand braces my back, steadying me as the current pushes harder.

“Sacha?” He has to shout above the rushing water to be heard.

Mira tries to speak, but fails. Instead, she shakes her head, her entire body shuddering with the effort of containing her grief.

Varam’s face tightens. He gets us both out of the water, half-dragging me up the bank, mud sucking at my knees. I collapse just beyond the edge while he stares past me, across the river, still hoping the next figure will be Sacha.

But no one else comes. I touch his arm, wait until he looks at me, then shake my head.

“He’s gone.”

The sound he makes isn’t human. A keening wail that cuts through the storm’s fury, rising above thunder and rain before breaking into ragged, gasping sobs. He falls to his knees,fists pounding the ground, years of composure and discipline shattering in an instant.

Mira drops beside him, her grief finally breaking through. They cling to each other, two people who have lost the center of their existence, the purpose that has defined them for longer than I’ve been alive. Their shared anguish is beyond anything I’ve ever witnessed. Raw. Primal. Devastating in its intensity.

As if summoned by their cries, shouts carry through the trees. Authority soldiers are closing the distance between us. The mist stalker turns to face the forest, its huge head lowering into a position that seems defensive.

Protecting us. Protectingme.

The power surges again, stronger, wilder, and entirely outside of my control. The pain is blinding. The storm responds, screaming above the pursuing soldiers. Lightning strikes the clearing across the river.

Varam looks up, his grief-ravaged face changing to shock as he takes in the silver light surrounding me, the shadows weaving through it, the storm that moves with me.

“It’s true,” he whispers, voice frayed. “The prophecy is true. The storm that follows shadow …”

Another wave of power drives me to my knees, and I cry out. Light bursts from my skin, hot and erratic. The storm above our heads mirrors the chaos that surrounds us. Lightning strikes wild, the wind whipping in different directions with every breath.

Varam’s shoulders stiffen at the shouts coming closer. His grief doesn’t vanish, but something else takes its place. Years of discipline reassert themselves in the straightening of his spine, the squaring of his jaw. His eyes still shine with unshed tears, but his gaze sharpens, focusing on the immediate threat. The commander emerges from the grieving man.

“We need to move.Now.”

He pulls me to my feet, flinching as contact with my skin snaps an electrical spark between us. “We have to get to Stonehaven and inform them of what happened.” His voice breaks again.

His grip tightens on my arm, grounding me, and he half-carries, half-drags me forward. The mist stalker moves with us.

A shout rings out from the bank we’ve just left. Authority soldiers burst out from the tree line, weapons raised. The blue crystal in Sereven’s hand gleams in the rain.

“The crystal.” Mira freezes as soon as she sees it, horror and fresh grief rendering her immobile. “That’s what he used on—” She can’t finish the sentence.

“Move!” Varam yanks her forward as arrows arch over the river toward us.

We abandon caution, and run, adrenaline and fear giving me a boost of energy and making my heart hammer. An arrow whizzes past my ear, so close I feel the displacement of air. Another strikes the ground beside Mishak. He doesn’t even seem to notice.