Page 74 of Stormvein (The Veinbound Trilogy #2)

Chapter Thirty-Two

ELLIE

The sharpest betrayal comes from those who’ve learned your silences.

Love Songs of the Mountain Provinces

Sleep doesn’t come, no matter how long I lie there.

The sheets twist around legs still aching from so many days in the saddle.

I toss and turn in Sacha’s bed, too restless to settle, my mind unable to switch off.

His revelation about the summoning spell loops through my head on endless repeat, each iteration stripping away another layer of what I thought I knew about this world, and my place in it.

It wasn’t chance that brought me here. It was him .

His spell, cast years before we met, somehow reached across worlds and found me.

Not random. Not by accident. Deliberately .

And then Sereven, who I’d only glimpsed from a distance at River Crossing before Blackstone Ridge, had looked straight at me and said my name.

Elowen .

Not just Ellie, but my full name. The one written on the note left with me when I was abandoned.

I stopped using it the moment I understood I could.

Ellie was easier. Less strange. Normal .

Something I could wear in the group home without getting questions, funny looks, or being the subject of whispered conversations.

The staff didn’t argue. They were too busy, too tired, or maybe just relieved I was finally speaking.

I haven’t thought about that name in years. I’d buried it so deep, I almost convinced myself it belonged to someone else entirely. Until Sacha woke up with it on his lips after a dream, the foreign name sounding right in his voice.

How could Sereven know it?

I give up trying to sleep once the quiet outside the room starts to shift. Low voices. Distant footsteps. The sound of the outer door closing.

My body protests as I sit up, every muscle worn and tired from days of riding and not enough rest. The stone floor sends cold shooting through my bare feet, up my calves, into my spine. A sharp contrast to the feverish racing of my thoughts.

Someone has left clean clothes folded on the chair, proving that I must have fallen asleep at some point.

I pull them on, splash water on my face from the bowl on the dresser, and open the little pack of firebloom beads for my teeth.

Once I rinse my mouth, I drag my fingers through my hair, then go through to the outer chamber.

Sacha is already there, leaning over the table cluttered with papers, his dark hair falling across his forehead.

A single lamp casts shadows across his face, and for a moment, he looks exactly like what he is—a commander planning war.

The sight should intimidate me. Instead, all I can think about is how his hands moved over my skin just days ago, how different he looked when his guard was down.

“Did you sleep at all?” I already know the answer. He didn’t come to bed, and the dark smudges under his eyes and the tension in his jaw tell me more than his words will.

“Enough.” His eyes are fixed on the map in front of him.

“What are you looking at?”

“Authority strongholds. Trying to determine what Sereven’s next move might be.” He taps the map. “He might go back to Ashenvale, but I don’t think he will.”

“Do you think he’ll come here?”

“Maybe. Something about you shocked him. And not only because of the way our powers worked together. He’ll want to regroup first.”

I sink into a chair across from him. “Do you think anyone here might know something about my name?”

“It’s worth asking. I’ll summon the Veinwarden leaders.

I need to tell them what happened at Blackstone Ridge, and discuss what should be done with Lisandra.

But if anyone has knowledge of why that name would be significant to Sereven, it would be among those who have been fighting against Authority rule since its earliest days. ”

“When?” The urgency in my voice surprises even me.

“Now.” He straightens. “Now you’re rested …” His eyebrow arches at my snort. “You didn’t rest?”

“Not really. I couldn’t switch my mind off.”

“Understandable, given the circumstances.” He inclines his head toward the small table beside the hearth. “I had breakfast brought earlier.”

I turn my head, and try to mentally will the pitcher of tea over to me. Sacha watches me, a slight frown creasing his brow.

“What are you doing?”

“Trying to make it float toward me.”

He gives a soft laugh. “I see.” He crosses to the table, pours a drink, and fills a plate with fruit, cheese, and bread, then brings it over to me.

“Thank you.”

He sets the plate on my lap and hands me the cup, then touches my cheek, his thumb brushes against the skin beneath my eyes. “I wish we had time for you to rest more, but this is something that shouldn’t be left until later.”

“I know. I want answers, too.”

He strides across the chamber and speaks briefly to one of the guards standing outside, then closes the door and turns to face me.

“I’ve requested Varam be present as well.”

I pace while we wait, too restless to sit still.

My reflection catches in one of the polished metal mirrors on the wall.

Hair tangled despite my attempts to tame it, the silver in my eyes more pronounced than ever, face thinner after days of travel rations and constant tension. I hardly recognize myself anymore.

Within the hour, the Veinwarden leaders begin to arrive at his quarters, faces solemn with the knowledge that these gatherings never bring good news.

They enter the room one by one, men and women whose names I’ve learned during my time at Stonehaven, fighters and strategists and healers who form the backbone of the Veinwardens.

Each one bows their head to Sacha. Some offer me cautious smiles or more formal greetings.

I retreat to a corner, where I can watch as Sacha conducts this impromptu meeting.

Every aspect of his bearing radiates leadership and authority.

He stands straighter, speaks clearly, each word delivered in a way that commands attention without raising his voice.

Power clings to him, and not for the first time, I wonder just how much authority he had before his imprisonment, before the rest of the Veinbloods were gone.

Listening to him recount the confrontation with Sereven, I’m struck by how clinically he describes the events that almost killed him again.

It’s all offered in clear, crisp tones that strip away the terror, the desperation, and the emotion that coursed through me during those moments.

To hear him tell it, we executed a planned attack, rather than desperately fighting for our lives.

But when he reaches Lisandra’s final betrayal, how she attempted to strike him down from behind, the room erupts. Voices rise in anger and disbelief.

“She’s been betraying us since Ashenvale fell,” Varam says, his voice deadly quiet. “Feeding information to the Authority for decades. How many rescues failed? How many Veinbloods were purged because of her?”

“The question,” says Miradel quietly, “is what we do with her now. The people of Stonehaven have the right to know what she’s done.

They’ve bled for this cause, lost family and friends.

They deserve justice. We have taken in people who were hunted by Authority soldiers.

They came here believing they were safe. ”

Telren nods grimly. “A public accounting, then. Let the evidence be heard publicly.”

“And the sentence?” Another voice speaks up from across the table. “For attempted murder? For betraying our people to their deaths?”

There is silence for the space of a heartbeat, then Miradel speaks again.

“Death. It has to be death. She’s forfeited any claim to mercy.”

Murmurs of agreement ripple through the room. But all eyes turn to Sacha, waiting.

“The final judgment belongs to the Vareth’el,” Telren says. “As rightful sovereign of Meridian, the decision must end with him.”

Sovereign? What?

I can’t stop the sharp intake of breath that cuts through the room’s tension.

Several heads turn toward me, but I can’t look away from Sacha.

Everything clicks into place. Why the fighters and Varam reacted the way they did when he knelt before me.

Why they bow to him with such reverence.

Why his word carries so much weight. He’s not just a Veinblood who survived. He’s the ruler of Meridian itself.

And he never told me.

A muscle ticks in Sacha’s jaw as he glances at me, the only sign that he heard my reaction.

"Death. I agree that the sentence must be death.” His gaze sweeps over everyone.

“Two days from now we will gather in the central chamber and bring Lisandra to justice. But first, we have something else to discuss. When Sereven saw Ellie, he knew her. He called her by a name. One that she hasn’t ever used here. ”

Several of the people gathered around the table exchange glances. Some lean forward, interest piqued.

“What name?” It’s Telren who breaks the silence, turning to peer at me.

“Elowen.” I’m sure it’s my imagination, but Sacha’s voice caresses the syllables in a way that sends heat spreading across my skin. I squash it down. Now isn’t the time for unruly emotions. Not when someone in this room might know something.

His gaze moves from face to face, missing nothing, cataloging every twitch, every caught breath, every shadow of recognition. But most of the faces show only confusion, brows furrowing as they search their memories for the name.

“Elowen.” Miradel whispers the name.

Sacha turns. “Miradel. Does that name mean something to you?”

All eyes turn to her. The room falls so silent I can hear the flutter of the lamp flame. She clasps her hands to still their trembling, the silver bangles on her wrists clinking softly.

“It’s a name from a long time ago. During the worst of the purges, a couple of years after you were taken from us.”

“Where did you hear it?” Sacha moves around the table until he’s directly in front of her.