Page 40 of Stormvein (The Veinbound Trilogy #2)

Chapter Eighteen

ELLIE

Where history fails, memory becomes prophecy.

Fragments of the Lost Veinwardens

When I open my eyes, it takes a second or two for me to remember where I am, then reality crashes over me like a bucket of ice water.

Sacha’s miraculous healing. The slaughter of all those soldiers, reaching Southernrock, and then him sharing with me the shadow images of what the Authority has done to his people.

And somehow, after all of that, I fell asleep against him last night, his body solid and warm against mine. I’m still lying on the shadow-bed he created, my hand reaching across the empty space searching for where he should be. As soon as I realize I’m doing it, I pull my hand back.

I don’t know how long ago he left, but I’m relieved he isn’t here to see me reaching for him, even if it wasn’t a conscious choice. I’m not sure I’m ready to face him yet.

As sleep loosens its hold completely, voices filter in, quiet discussions that I can’t quite make out.

I sit up, pushing tangled hair away from my face. I’d give anything for a bath, to wash my hair, to change my clothes. For a moment, images of hairdressers, spas, and the bathroom in my apartment fill my mind, and I’m overcome with a wave of homesickness so strong it constricts my throat.

How long has it been since I last thought about Chicago as home?

Home . When I think about the word, it’s no longer my apartment that comes to mind …

My eyes find Sacha on the opposite side of the chamber, talking with Varam, while the fighters around him pack up what little we have left, and check their weapons. The mood after a peaceful night’s sleep has changed again. There are more smiles, and soft conversations. Everyone seems … lighter .

My attention returns to him. He’s still wearing the borrowed clothing given to him yesterday.

They don’t fit him well. Varam’s tunic hangs loosely on his leaner frame, the pants a fighter gave to him are slightly too short, and his feet are bare.

Despite all of this, he radiates control and authority.

“We can’t stay here.” Varam is saying when I finally get to my feet and cross the chamber. “Our supplies are non-existent, and winter is coming. We will die of starvation or cold if we remain.”

“What is the situation at Stonehaven?” Sacha asks.

“Uncertain.” Varam glances toward the fighters closest to them. “After the Glassfall ambush, we couldn’t risk sending messages ahead. Someone there is sending information to the Authority.”

“A traitor.” It’s not a question.

“You’re thinking about going back to Stonehaven.” I step closer, gaze moving between the two men.

It’s Sacha who answers. “We’re not equipped to stay in the wilds. Everyone is exhausted, cold, and hungry. When you planned to rescue me, you didn’t expect to have to spend more than one day away from Stonehaven. Instead, it’s been almost seven days.”

“But Stonehaven ?” I can’t keep the disbelief from my voice.

“Yes.” His response is clipped, final .

“Even knowing someone there sold you out to the Authority?” My stomach twists at the memory of finding him in the cage, almost dead. “Someone who put you through … that?”

“ Especially then. Better to face enemies directly than to wonder where they hide.”

Varam’s gaze moves between us before he mutters some excuse and backs away, recognizing the start of an argument and clearly wanting no part of it.

Everyone else finds sudden interest in their packs or weapons, or reasons to leave the chamber completely.

Apparently, I’m the only one stupid enough to argue with their leader.

“You’re using yourself as bait!” I step closer, lowering my voice but not its intensity. “You barely survived being rescued. You can’t honestly think walking straight back into that nest of … of …” I don’t know what animals in Meridian I can compare it with. “A nest of snakes is the best plan.”

“I’m creating an opportunity.” His voice remains unnervingly calm. “The traitor most likely believes everyone is dead, especially me. My return will force their hand.”

“And then what? You catch them, torture them for information? Is that who you are now?” Did nothing I said last night reach him?

“If that is what’s required.”

“And if they try to kill you? What is supposed to happen? Was I supposed to heal you so you could throw yourself right back into danger? Am I supposed to watch you die again?” The words are out before I can stop them, revealing more of my fear than I wanted.

“I am the Vareth’el, Mel’shira,” he says, like that explains everything. His expression changes for half a second, softening slightly, before returning to its customary mask. “We’re leaving in ten minutes. Make sure you’re ready.”

I want to argue with him more, but what would be the point? The rest of the group is already preparing to leave, their expressions showing complete faith in Sacha.

I glare at him. He ignores me. I take a deep breath, release it, and then change the subject.

“You need shoes. You can’t walk all the way to Stonehaven. The rocky paths will tear your feet to shreds, if they haven’t already.”

“I’ll manage.”

“I didn’t heal you for you to leave more blood all over the mountain.” I look around for my pack, and take out the cloth wraps I’ve carried since the nomads in the desert gave them to me. “These will help.” I practically shove them at him.

His eyebrow quirks up, and his lips twitch. He’s definitely fighting a smile when he looks at me. Apparently, my irritation is amusing, which annoys me even more. But he takes them without argument, surprising me.

“Thank you, Ellie.” There’s an unexpected formality in his tone that somehow makes me want to scream … or throw something … at his head.

When we finally emerge from the underground chambers, the sun has risen. The abandoned stronghold looks even more desolate in daylight—crumbling walls, collapsed roofs, nature reclaiming what men once built. Our small group gathers in what was once the main courtyard.

“It will take two days to reach Stonehaven, if we push,” Sacha tells them. “We should be able to forage for food, and there may be some game we can hunt.”

The path ahead winds through rocky slopes, gradually descending toward forested valleys. Sacha sets a brisk pace, and I find a place in the middle of the group, near Mira, my thoughts circling around what might await at Stonehaven.

Mira touches my arm. “The gods gave us warriors to protect and frustrate us in equal measure,” she says, handing me a waterskin. “Their stubbornness is both their greatest strength and our greatest trial.”

I give her a sideways glance. “Speaking from experience?”

“Many years of it.” She gives me a faint smile. “It’s why my hair has gone gray before its time.”

The day passes in relative silence. We forage as we go—Mira pointing out wild berries, edible roots, whatever the forest has to offer. At high sun, we stop in a small clearing for a short rest. Everyone is hungry and tired, but no one complains.

I’m confident that they would follow him barefoot through fire if he asked.

“Do you have a plan for when we reach Stonehaven?” I move to walk beside Sacha when he calls for us to carry on.

The two scouts walking ahead exchange glances. Even without words, the interaction is clear— here she goes again .

Sacha glances at me. “Watch first. The traitor won’t expose themselves straight away.”

“How are you planning to figure out who it is?”

Mira sighs at my continued interrogation, and gives a small shake of her head.

“By what they do when they discover I’m not only alive, but healed, and in full control of my powers.” His voice is cold. “Fear reveals truth faster than torture.”

I study his profile, the hard angles of his face catching sunlight through the trees. “You’re not the same man I knew before.”

This time I hear a sharp intake of breath from someone behind me.

“No.”

“I don’t mean your powers. It’s everything about you. The way you move, the way you speak, the decisions you’re making.”

Everyone has fallen back now, giving us space. I don’t know if it’s out of respect or from fear of being too close to a potential argument.

Sacha stops, turning to face me. “The man you met in the tower was imprisoned for twenty-seven years. He lived with the belief that he would never escape. The man you traveled with was one born of desperation.” He looks away, and sets off at a brisk pace again.

I have to jog to keep up with him. “Then that man was captured and tortured … again. The man who emerged from that had to become something else.”

“And what is that?”

“Someone who will end this war rather than merely survive it.” His voice turns harder. “Someone who will make Sereven pay for every drop of blood he’s spilled.”

When I fall back, Mira gives me an exasperated look. “Only you could question him like that and not be savaged by his tongue.”

We continue walking, the forest thickening around us as we move deeper into the valley.

By late afternoon, clouds have gathered overhead, darkening as quickly as my mood.

Each time I catch sight of Sacha’s back, irritation spikes.

The first distant rumble of thunder matches the churning frustration in my stomach.

Sacha pushes us hard, his pace unrelenting despite the weather.

A cool breeze picks up, carrying the scent of rain and stirring the leaves.

We reach a river as the first drops fall.

Unlike the raging waters where we lost Sacha, this one is narrower, with stones breaking the surface in several places.

“We cross here.” Sacha points to where the stones form an uneven path. “The stones will be slippery, so watch your footing.”

We go one by one, Varam first, while Sacha remains behind. Some jump from stone to stone, while others wade through the shallower sections. I hesitate at the edge, unsure whether I should even try jumping across the stones or opt for getting wet.

“Do you need help?” Sacha’s voice comes from directly behind me.