Page 83 of Stormvein (The Veinbound Trilogy #2)

The simple request carries more meaning than any elaborate speech. Sacha gives him a single nod.

“Open the entrance.”

Varam presses his hand against the stone, and the wall shimmers, then parts to reveal the narrow passage leading outside. Cool night air rushes in, carrying the scent of pine and earth.

I pull my cloak tighter around me as we step outside. The night is clear, the stars bright overhead, and the moon provides just enough light to navigate by. The entrance seals behind us, disappearing into solid rock once more.

In a small clearing nearby, there are horses waiting—ten of them, saddled and ready. One carries supplies rather than a rider. I hang back until everyone else has moved to a horse, before approaching the remaining one.

I glance back toward Stonehaven one more time. So many lives are dependent on what we do next.

Sacha swings into his saddle, then looks at each of us in turn. His gaze lingers on me for a second longer than the others.

“Let’s go.” He calls out his raven and sends it into the sky. It circles overhead, a deeper shadow against the night sky before flying away.

We move in single file along the trail Mira leads. I ride directly behind Sacha, my fingers tight around the reins, while my thoughts drift to what we might discover at Thornspire Keep. We’re heading into unknown danger, and I doubt Sacha’s plan will be as easy as it sounds.

“There’s a patrol ahead.” Sacha’s voice is soft. “We’ll divert north slightly.”

Mira alters our course without question, guiding us toward a narrow gap between rock formations. The path becomes steeper, forcing us to dismount and lead the horses single-file.

“Hold,” Sacha whispers. We all freeze in place, and I twist to look at him. His eyes are full black, seeing through his raven’s vision. After several tense seconds, he nods. “Clear now. They’ve moved west.”

The tension eases slightly, but no one completely relaxes. In this world, danger is never truly absent. We’ve been traveling for at least two hours, which means dawn is still a long way off. But time isn’t on our side. If we reach Thornspire Keep after sunrise, our plan becomes far more dangerous.

“We’ll get there before dawn,” Sacha murmurs from behind me. “Darkness will still cover our approach.”

I nod, grateful for his reassurance, though anxiety still twists in my stomach. The path narrows as we approach a fork in the trail, forcing us back into single file.

Mira raises her hand, bringing our group to a halt. She turns in her saddle, and exchanges a look with Sacha, who dismounts and moves to join her at the front of our procession. I slide from my saddle and follow, wanting to know what has them concerned.

“Authority scouts,” Mira says, pointing to fresh tracks in the soft earth. “They passed through here less than an hour ago.”

Sacha crouches, examining the hoof prints. Tilting his head, his eyes change while he communes with his raven. “They’re moving in a standard search pattern, spreading out from the main force.”

Mira points to where the path divides. “We have two options. Circle north around the mountain, or take Silverthread Pass directly through it.”

The rest of our group shift uncomfortably at the mention of the pass.

“Which is faster?” I ask.

“Silverthread,” Sacha replies. “It will put us at Thornspire long before dawn. The eastern route adds hours we don’t have.”

“Then I guess Silverthread it is.”

Mira shakes her head. “It’s not that simple. Silverthread has its own dangers.”

“What kind of dangers?” I look between them.

“Glassbacks.” It’s Sacha who answers me. “They’re predators native to these mountains. They consider anything that moves through their domain to be prey.”

“Three years ago, a Veinwarden scout tried to use that pass. We found what was left of him a week later,” Tarn says.

A chill races down my spine. I think of Chicago’s urban wildlife—raccoons, coyotes, maybe the occasional deer. Nothing that inspires the kind of dread I’m seeing in the men around me.

“And that’s our best option?”

“If we want to reach Thornspire before dawn, yes.” Sacha’s voice is matter-of-fact. “If we circle around to avoid both the Authority and the glassbacks, we’ll arrive after sunrise. Our chance of infiltrating the keep undetected drops significantly.”

“Then how do we get through the pass safely?”

“We don’t,” Mira says bluntly. “We just try not to attract their attention.”

Sacha nods, and turns to address the entire group.

“We’ll take Silverthread Pass. Most of you will have heard about or faced glassbacks before, but for those who haven’t …

” His gaze rests on me for a second. “The pass is named for the threads spun by glassbacks. They use them to hunt by sensing vibrations. Anyone who’s not familiar with them needs to understand the risk ahead of us. ”

I shift nervously in my saddle. “What exactly are glassbacks?”

“Predators. Their bodies refract light, making them difficult to see until they’re almost too close to kill. They secrete a toxin that burns on contact. Their thread network alerts the entire colony to potential prey.”

“How do we avoid them?”

“Move slowly. Stay as quiet as possible. Don’t touch the threads. They can sense the slightest disturbance.” His eyes scan our group. “If they attack, aim for the joints between segments. Their exoskeletons are strongest at the center.”

“ Segments ?” I’m rapidly building up an image of giant spiders in my head.

“Their blood is caustic. If it touches your skin, wipe it off immediately or it will continue to burn until it eats through your flesh and paralyzes you,” Mira says.

My mouth goes dry as I look up at the narrow pass cutting between towering rock faces.

“And you’re certain this is the only route?”

“I’m afraid so.” Sacha returns to his horse. “We need to wrap the horses’ hooves in cloth to muffle the noise.”

Once we’re done, Sacha swings back into his saddle.

“Mount up. Let’s go. Stay in single file. Keep alert.”

The temperature drops as we enter the pass, cold seeping through my clothes and settling against my skin like a second, unwelcome layer.

The mountains loom on either side like sentinels, creating shadows so deep they seem to swallow the moonlight.

Everything about this place feels wrong.

The air hangs unnaturally still, too dense, pressing against my ears until they pop.

Above us, flashes of silver catch stray beams of moonlight—an intricate network of delicate strands stretched between rock faces at all heights and angles. They remind me of spiderwebs at first glance, but somehow more ... deliberate.

“Remember,” Sacha whispers. “Move slowly. Avoid the threads.”

My eyes immediately dart upward. The silvery threads are everywhere, forming an intricate canopy high above the pass. Some strands hang down, swaying gently even though there’s no breeze. Others stretch between the walls like garrotes waiting to snap tight.

A strand drifts down directly in front of my face. I jerk backward, nearly slipping from my saddle. The filament is thin, almost invisible except where moonlight strikes it. Something glistens along its length—a clear, viscous fluid that catches the light like dew on grass.

We move forward in slow, painful silence, each hoof placement of our mounts sounding thunderous to my ears, despite the cloth wrappings. My heart is hammering so loudly I’m certain it will give us away. Sweat trickles down my spine despite the cold.

The first sound is so subtle I almost miss it. A gentle clicking, like tiny pieces of glass tapping together. Like fingernails on bone. Then silence again. I strain to hear, unsure if I imagined it.

There it is again.

A rhythmic click-click-click. Then, answering clicks from further down the pass. My mouth turns desert-dry.

Sacha lifts one hand, bringing our procession to a halt. He exchanges a look with Mira.

Nobody moves. Nobody speaks. We barely breathe.

A single strand descends between Sacha and the fighter ahead of him, lowering with deliberate slowness. At its end dangles a drop of something that reminds me of mercury—silver, reflective, and to my highly-terrified mind, somehow aware.

My horse shifts nervously beneath me. I tighten my grip on the reins, willing the animal to remain still. The clicking gets louder, coming from multiple directions now, and I fight the urge to look around, Sacha’s warning about movement echoing around my mind.

The silvery drop touches the ground, then flattens, spreading like spilled water. It pauses, then begins to pull itself back up the strand, leaving a glistening trail behind.

“It’s tasting the air,” Mira breathes, the words barely audible.

The strand goes taut. The clicking stops.

And for three of my racing heartbeats, absolute silence reigns.

Then the walls erupt.

Creatures pour from hidden crevices. Their bodies— dear god, their bodies —catch the moonlight like fractured glass.

Segmented and partially translucent, I can see organs pulsing beneath exoskeletons that shift between transparency and mirror-like reflection.

Dark fluid pumps through visible veins. Six spindly limbs propel each one with uncanny, skittering speed that defies their size, while feathery antennae whip the air.

Most horrifying are the multiple mouths arranged in spiraling patterns along their undersides—wet, glistening openings that open and close with obscene hunger. Each one is lined with rings of needle-sharp teeth.

One descends on a thread directly above us, its body rotating as it lowers itself.

I can see my own terrified reflection across its surface.

A dozen versions of my wide eyes and pale skin distorted across facets of living crystal.

It’s studying me. Assessing. This isn’t mindless hunger, it’s focused predation.

A fighter near the back loses control of his mount. The horse rears, whinnying in panic. The sound shatters the terrible tension.