Page 89 of Stormvein (The Veinbound Trilogy #2)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

SACHA

Every ending carries the seed of what comes after. Not all seeds grow in familiar soil.

The Nature of Veinblood Rebirth

“Well. This is a little more unexpected than I thought it would be.” Sereven’s gaze sweeps over the room. “Leave us. All of you.”

The order sends a ripple of confusion through his men. One of the officers steps forward. “High Commander, is that wise? These are dangerous?—”

“I said leave.” Sereven cuts him off, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Now!”

The officers hesitate, exchanging uncertain glances.

Fear and training war in their expressions.

Fear of leaving their commander alone with me, versus the bone-deep conditioning to follow orders without question.

Years of obedience win. One by one, they file out.

The guards leave last, closing the heavy doors behind them.

When we are alone—just Sereven, Ellie, and me—he smiles with that same confident tilt of his lips I remember. The same one he gave me seconds before betraying me at Thornreave Pass. A smile that says he knows something I don’t.

“Shadow and storm. Together at last, despite all my efforts to keep you apart.” His eyes linger on where Ellie stands near me, lips pursing.

Then he walks to a side table bearing a crystal decanter and several goblets, moving with the unhurried grace of a man who believes the world will wait for him.

“Would you care for refreshment? Mountain Spring wine—quite rare these days.” He pours three glasses without waiting for an answer, the ruby liquid catching the light. “You always did prefer it, Sacha. That’s why I ensured the vineyards that produced it were destroyed years ago.”

The casual offer in the midst of such tension is deliberate, a reminder of a past he knows I’ve never forgotten.

Of shared meals, of close friendships, of what we were before everything burned.

The pretense of civility masking deadly intent.

Sereven always believed that showing how calm you were while your opponent sweated was the first victory in any negotiation.

I don’t touch the wine. Neither does Ellie.

“You think we came here for wine?” Ellie asks, disbelief coloring her voice. Her fingers flex at her sides, a subtle movement I’m beginning to recognize as her fighting against letting her power manifest.

“No,” Sereven acknowledges, taking a sip from his goblet, eyes never leaving us. “You came for answers. You want to know how I knew your name at Blackstone Ridge. I have to admit I wondered if it was you at River Crossing. But I couldn’t get close enough to know for sure.”

I shift position slightly, keeping my body angled to shield Ellie while keeping clear sight of Sereven.

My shadows coil, ready to react to any provocation.

This calm, this mockery of civilized conversation is a tactic I understand well.

He’s buying time, assessing options, and planning responses.

The wine, the casual posture. It’s all calculated to make us feel like we’ve stumbled into his trap rather than ambushing him.

“You’ve been waiting for us.” I don’t take my eyes off him.

“I was waiting for you ,” he corrects, setting down his wine.

“It made sense since you discovered Lisandra’s duplicity that you would seek her opinion on where I would be.

Thornspire’s location makes it the logical command post for coordinating the assault on Stonehaven.

That you would strike here rather than waiting for a siege was an easily predicted move.

I expected you to act alone. You never did like to share your battles with others.

You’ve always been the martyr willing to die for the cause. It makes you easy to read.”

He looks at Ellie.

“What I didn’t predict was that you’d bring her with you. Your connection to her complicates things.”

Something in his tone catches my attention. I extend my awareness through the shadows in the room, seeking signs of hidden guards or weapons. There’s an undercurrent of tension in his body language. Not fear, exactly, but caution verging on wariness.

Before I can address it, Ellie speaks up.

“Why did you call me Elowen?” She steps around me despite my attempt to keep her protected. The stubborn tilt of her chin reminds me of our early interactions, of the woman who refused to be intimidated even when trapped in a strange world. “What do you know about me?”

Sereven studies her for a long moment, head tilted slightly as if examining a fascinating creature. I can almost see the calculations behind his eyes, weighing what to reveal, what to withhold, how to use the truth as a weapon.

“I know everything about you,” he says simply. “I supervised your creation.”

Ellie’s breath catches, silver light flaring briefly to life. Shock ripples through her. I can feel the sudden tension in her body without even looking at her. The way she’s gone completely still, like prey that hopes not moving will make the predator pass by.

“My ... creation ?” she whispers.

“Yes.” Sereven moves to the large table at the chamber’s center.

The crystal never leaves his right hand, held with the attention one might give to a venomous serpent.

“Though creation may not be precisely the correct term. Formation might be more accurate.” His voice carries the dispassionate tone of a scholar discussing an experiment. Not a person. A project.

The urge to strike and cut him down is strong.

To silence him before he can hurt Ellie further with whatever twisted truth he’s about to reveal.

My shadows rise, eager for release, for vengeance twenty-seven years overdue.

But I force back the instinct. I remain still …

watching, waiting. Every muscle coiled tight enough to ache.

The years in the tower taught me one lesson well—patience.

Whatever game Sereven is playing, whatever information he possesses, rushing to violence won’t give us what we came for.

And Ellie deserves answers more than I deserve revenge.

I risk a quick glance toward her. Her face is pale, but determination radiates outward from her.

Always stronger than anyone gives her credit for.

“You’re lying,” Ellie says, but uncertainty threads through her voice. Her arms wrap around her middle.

“Am I?” Sereven arches an eyebrow, satisfaction flickering across his face.

He’s enjoying this. “Then how would I know about the silver bracelet you had as an infant?” He taps the crystal thoughtfully against the table’s edge.

“How do I know what your true purpose is? How would I know your true nature?”

I watch Ellie’s face as each question lands.

I see the doubt and fear and desperate need for truth warring within her.

The childhood she doesn’t remember, the parents she lost. All of it tilts sideways with each word Sereven speaks.

Her silver light grows more agitated, pulsing in erratic patterns that belie her outward composure.

Lines of brightness spread up her neck, across her cheeks.

Her fingers dig into her sides, knuckles turning white.

I want to reach for her, to offer some anchor in this storm of revelations, but I can’t risk it. I need to be free to act, to attack.

"What do you mean?" she asks finally, her voice smaller than I’ve ever heard it. The woman who refused to break, who held me together when infection nearly claimed me, reduced to uncertainty by a handful of carefully-targeted words.

“You’re a vessel, Elowen,” Sereven answers, his tone almost reverent. His fingers trace the air in front of her face. “The most perfect vessel ever created.”

“For what?” Ice crystals form briefly in Ellie’s exhaled breath.

Sereven’s eyes move from Ellie to me. “For Veinblood power, of course. Surely you’ve wondered, Sacha, where the power goes when the purges happen? Did you think it simply … disappeared?” He seems to savor my reaction, the same way he savored watching me tortured.

The implication sends ice through my veins, a cold horror settling in my chest. I think about the tower, the way it blocked my powers, the constant blue light.

The memory of River Crossing flashes through my mind.

The crystal tearing my shadows apart. It wasn’t destroying them, it was absorbing them.

My gaze fixes on the crystal in Sereven’s hand.

What if that thing isn’t just a weapon, but a reservoir? What did the woman in my dream say about it?

“The crystal responds to intent, to blood, to the power it was designed to channel. It can tear apart … or it can bind together.” Her words whisper through my mind.

“The Authority has never been against power in and of itself, merely those who wielded it without proper guidance and control.” Sereven lifts the crystal, blue light dancing across his features in a grotesque parody of shadow play.

“This doesn’t destroy Veinblood abilities, it harvests them.

It contains them. It makes them available for more … appropriate application.”

“By you?” My voice is flat, though rage burns like acid beneath the surface. Everything we suffered, all the lives we’ve lost, hasn’t been to destroy magic, but to steal it.

“By those properly trained to serve order rather than chaos.” The words carry the familiar echo of old arguments. “You never did understand the necessity of structure. Your shadows always sought the darkness, even when we were?—”

He stops himself, shaking his head, and takes another sip from his goblet. “But even the crystal has limitations. The power it contains must eventually be transferred, or it becomes volatile … unstable.”

His gaze returns to Ellie, who stands frozen, eyes wide in a pale face, as she takes in every word he says.