Page 25 of Stormvein (The Veinbound Trilogy #2)

Chapter Twelve

ELLIE

What you protect reveals more than what you proclaim.

Writings of the Veinblood Masters

The cave reeks of blood and death, the stench seeping into my clothing, my skin, my hair, until I can taste it with every breath.

I press another cool cloth against Sacha’s burning forehead, my hands shaking so much I almost drop it twice.

We’ve been in this cave for three days. Three days of watching infection claim him inch by inch, his body failing despite everything we do.

Three days of praying to gods I don’t believe in, begging for a miracle I don’t deserve, but he does.

“His fever is climbing again,” I tell Mira as she enters, bringing fresh water from the underground pool. She arrived in the middle of the night two days ago with the rest of the fighters who’d been out spreading false trails across the mountains. “I can’t get it down.”

She kneels beside me, looking as exhausted as I feel. The strain of the past few days has taken its toll on all of us, but Mira and Varam show it more than the others. These are his people. They got him back, and now they have to watch him die anyway.

“Let me see.”

She peels back the layers of blood-soaked bandages covering his torso.

The smell hits me. The unmistakable sweet-rot scent of dying flesh that no amount of herbal poultices can mask.

The sword wound in his side is still weeping pus, the edges pulling apart instead of knitting together.

The brand on his cheek, that hateful Authority symbol they burned into him, has blackened at the edges where the flesh is dying.

His skin is mottled purple and red where the corruption has spread beneath the surface, mapping the path of his approaching death.

My stomach heaves, but there’s nothing left to bring up. I haven’t eaten anything since yesterday, maybe longer. Time is blurring together in this dim cave, marked only by different people taking shifts at the entrance, and venturing out trying to scavenge food we can eat.

“The infection has spread to his blood.” Lysa crouches beside us, her tone barely masking the despair. “We need to send someone to Stonehaven for supplies.”

“We can’t. What if there really is someone betraying him there? We can’t risk it.” I dig my nails into my palms until I feel skin break.

“We don’t know that for certain. Maybe they always planned to have soldiers following the convoy,” Lysa says, though her expression betrays the same fear. She glances back toward the cave entrance where Varam stands guard.

“Ellie’s right. We can’t take the risk.” Mira’s voice is tight. “Not after what it took to rescue him.”

I know what she isn’t saying. We lost two fighters during the rescue. Two more lives given to the Authority, sacrificed for a man so he can die free.

“Then what?” Lysa’s composure finally cracks. “We stay here and watch him die while we all slowly starve? Is that the plan?”

Mira doesn’t answer that. She doesn’t need to. Her silence says everything. There is no plan, just a slow crawl toward loss.

I watch Sacha’s chest rise and fall in shallow, uneven movements. Each breath sounds wet, ragged. Death rattles, although no one will say it out loud.

The mist stalker shifts in the corner, standing and turning in a circle before sitting down again. Since its first appearance at River Crossing, it’s stayed close to me. I’m sure its presence makes the others nervous, but I find a strange comfort in it.

Mira wrings out a fresh cloth, and then uses it to gently clean the gaping wound in his side. “I think all we can do now is try to keep his temperature down, and make sure he’s as comfortable as can be.”

I press my lips together, swallowing the words of denial that want to burst out, and focus instead on cleaning his wrists where the restraints have destroyed his skin.

After a few minutes, Mira and Lysa stand, leaving me alone.

I can hear them talking to Varam outside, their voices carrying softly on the night air—quiet, urgent, concerned with our survival more than Sacha’s.

They’re preparing for what comes next. After he dies.

I shake my head. “You don’t get to die,” I whisper. “Not here. Not like this.”

My fingers stroke over the back of one hand, careful not to hurt him.

The strange metal restraints give off an odd glow every time my hand moves close to them.

We’ve tried everything to remove them. Knives, rocks, brute strength, but nothing works, and eventually we had to stop for fear of damaging his hands further.

Whatever they are, whatever they’re doing to him, we can’t get them off.

His skin burns against mine, the fever raging higher than ever before. Sweat soaks the makeshift bedding beneath him, yet his body shakes with chills. The conflicting symptoms make no sense.

I lay my palm against his chest, between the burns and cuts, checking his heartbeat.

It flutters erratically beneath broken ribs.

Too fast, then too slow. Struggling, and failing.

The magic inside me brightens in response, flowing down my arm toward him, then stopping abruptly, as though it’s hitting an invisible barrier.

“Fight,” I tell him. “Please, fight. They don’t get to win. Not like this.”

His only response is another rattling breath, shallower than the last.

When Lysa returns, her expression tells me everything before she speaks. She’s seen someone close to death before. She knows the signs.

“The fever is burning him from the inside. His body temperature is dropping at the same time. This is like nothing I’ve ever seen before.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means his body is failing.” Her voice is gentle. “Organ by organ, everything is shutting down.”

My vision blurs, the cave walls swimming around me. This can’t be happening. Not after everything we went through to rescue him. Not when we were so close.

“There must be something?—”

“I’ve tried everything there is, Ellie.” The defeat in her voice can’t be ignored. “We all have. But sometimes, there is too much damage. You should say your goodbyes.”

She leaves me with instructions to keep him comfortable, words that mean they’ve given up, and now we’re just helping him die.

Make his passing easier. Accept the inevitable.

But I can’t. I won’t .

I continue wiping down his skin with cold water—his face, his chest, his arms. I try to get fluids between his cracked lips, but most of it runs down his chin.

I whisper to him constantly. About the tower, about his escape, about how it felt the first time he spoke my name. About the future he has to live to see.

Nothing reaches him.

His breathing becomes more ragged. His skin shifts from burning hot to deathly cold within seconds, as if his body can no longer regulate itself. The wounds that cover every inch of him begin to weep fresh blood as his condition deteriorates.

The mist stalker moves closer, its eyes on Sacha. When it nudges my arm with surprising gentleness, I push it away, annoyed by the intrusion. It does it again, thrusting its muzzle against my chest and making a sound between a growl and a purr.

That’s when I realize what it’s touching.

The ring. Sacha’s ring. I’ve kept it hidden since I found it, afraid to mention it to the others, afraid they might take it from me—this last, tangible part of him.

My fingers are shaking when I pull it free, the black stone appearing to absorb all the light around it.

I’d almost forgotten about it in my fear at seeing the state he was in.

This piece of him that somehow came to me when he fell, when everyone thought he was dead.

“Is this it?” I ask the creature, not really expecting a reply. “Is this what he needs? Will it help him?”

It makes that odd vibrating sound again, and nudges my hand, its enormous head dipping in what almost seems like a nod.

I examine the ring in the faint light, turning it around between my fingers.

The black stone isn’t just dark, it’s like looking into a void where light doesn’t reach.

Questioning my sanity, I carefully slip it over the tip of his finger.

It adjusts in my grip, and I almost drop it as it changes size to slide over his knuckles despite the swelling.

I stare at it, holding my breath, waiting for … something . A miracle? A sign?

Nothing happens.

Disappointment crashes through me, so intense it hurts.

“What did you expect? It’s just a stupid ring!” Tears escape, despite my fight not to shed them. I swipe them away angrily, and glare at the mist stalker. “What do you want me to do? What do I need to do?”

The animal looks at me, its expression mocking me . I look back down at the ring. If it’s important, if it could have helped him sooner, what kind of idiot does that make me? I’ve been hoarding this piece of him like a talisman while he suffers.

Sacha’s breathing hitches, then continues its labored rhythm. His skin remains cold beneath my touch. The infection continues to spread visibly beneath the surface of his skin, angry red lines tracking up from the sword wound.

I place my palm over his hand, covering the ring. “You wanted to get this ring back. It must do something !” Silver sparks through my fingertips. Despair builds up in my chest until I can’t breathe.

“I don’t know what to do.” The confession is a ragged whisper, torn from someplace deep inside. “I don’t understand any of this. This world. The silver light, the storm. You . Nothing makes sense. I’m a nobody from Chicago. I shouldn’t be here.”

Outside the cave, the wind picks up, sending howling moans through the passageway to the cavern we’re in. It sounds mournful, like the wind itself is grieving the coming death of the man lying before me.