Page 29 of Stormvein
Rage rises in me, hot and clarifying. The Authority,Sereven, will pay for this. My power responds, deepening to a coldergleam. Something is realigning within me, something that’s been changing since River Crossing. Since his familiar merged with me.
But there’s no time for that. I have less than half an hour to prepare for a rescue that might not succeed. One that might cost more than his life if we get it wrong. I know that Varam will leave without me if I’m not there waiting for him before the hour is up.
The mist stalker glides to my side. It makes a sound—not quite a growl, not quite a purr—that vibrates through the air.
I pull out Sacha’s ring from beneath my tunic. The black stone seems to absorb the light around it, creating a pocket of deeper darkness even against the glow emanating from my skin. When I slip it onto my finger, it adjusts to fit despite being sized for Sacha’s larger hand. Another small magic, another connection to him.
For a brief moment, I feel something odd. A connection, a resonance that can’t be explained by logic. Like a distant heartbeat synchronizing with my own. The shadows in the corners of the room seem to deepen, to reach toward me. I close my eyes, focusing on that tenuous connection.
“Are you still there?” I whisper to the shadows. “Is part of you still with me? Hold on. If you can hear me, please hold on. We’re coming for you.”
The mist stalker makes that strange sound again, and when I open my eyes, its form has changed subtly. More defined edges, deeper coloration, a presence that feels increasingly substantial. As if my certainty, my determination, strengthens its manifestation.
Maybe I’m imagining all of this. Maybe I’m not. All I know is that ever since we got back to Stonehaven, something kept telling me that he survived. Now I know I was right.
“Soon. We’ll find him and bring him home.”
I have to believe that. I have to think he’s strong enough to endure until we reach him. The alternative is unthinkable. I’ve seen his strength, his stubborn will to survive twenty-seven years trapped in that tower. If anyone can hold on against impossible odds, it’s Sacha Torran.
The mist stalker presses against my side, and I rest my hand on its head. Together, we’ll find him. Together, we’ll tear apart anyone who stands in our way.
One night. One desperate ride through the darkness. One chance to save him before he disappears behind walls designed to contain his power. To destroy it. To destroy him.
I look down at my hands, at the light, at his ring now claiming me as surely as I’m claiming him.
We can’t fail. Wewon’t.
Chapter Seven
SACHA
Some loyalties are born in silence, and sealed in fire.
Fragments of the Lost Veinwardens
Pain has become my universe.
Blood drips into my one functioning eye as consciousness returns. The stone floor beneath me is slick with my blood, pooling from too many wounds to track. Some are still weeping. Others are torn open again before they can heal.
I try to move, but my body doesn’t obey.
Every muscle has become a separate instrument of torture. Every breath sends shards of agony through broken ribs that click and grind with each inhale.
The shadows don’t answer when I reach for them. They’re there. I can sense them. But I cannot touch them. Cannot command them.
My lips try to form the words for Voidcraft. It’s a simple command that would ease the pain, but my throat is too damaged, my voice too broken. What emerges are wet rasps that bear no resemblance to the precise incantations Voidcraft commands. Even if I could speak them clearly, the effort ofgathering enough life force for even the smallest working would finish what Sereven’s torture started. I can feel it, the thin thread of vitality keeping me alive, too fragile to risk.
They’ve left me with enough strength to suffer, but not enough to escape.
Where the void should be, there’s only distance, and the echo of the crystal’s destruction.
How long have I been here?
The place they have me in has no windows, no way to monitor time. Only the shifting intensity of pain marks the passage of hours, or days, as I drift between consciousness and merciful darkness.
They found me semi-conscious some time after the crystal shattered my shadows. Half-dead already, the sword wound in my side bleeding out. I only remember fragments. Flashes of rough hands, Sereven’s face. His expression caught between triumph and smug satisfaction.
The cell they threw me in first was dark, windowless, but not the embracing darkness I’ve known all my life. This was dead darkness—sterile, empty of the living shadows that had always answered my call. The air was thick with the residue of previous occupants. Sweat, fear, blood gone sour with age, the rotting stench soaked into stone.
