Page 3 of Stormvein
“Where did that come from?” Mishak reaches for his weapon.
“It’s with me,” I tell him through gritted teeth as another wave of energy floods through my veins, hard enough to drive the breath from my lungs.
“It arrived with the storm,” Mira says. “When Lord Torran fell, and his raven—” She presses her lips together.
The creature shifts its weight beside me, and its head turns to fix its gaze on the soldiers coming closer to the base of the hill. Tension ripples down its spine, muscles bunching beneath itsskin. I’m almost positive it’s waiting for something. Waiting formeto do something.
Shouts carry on the air, louder now that the storm has quietened. Orders are barked in sharp bursts, and followed by the sound of boots as they march toward the hill. At their current pace, they’ll reach our position in less than five minutes.
“They’re going to be here soon.” The words feel disconnected from me, like someone else is speaking through my lips.
My thoughts keep circling back to the moment Sacha disappeared. The moment I lost him.
No. I can’t think about that. He might have survived. His shadows might have saved him.
I suck in a deep breath, and look at Mira.
“They were heading to River Crossing. Is that where Varam will go? We need to be there to meet him.”
Mira nods, a tiny spark of purpose rekindling in her eyes, pushing away the despair. “Can you stand?”
I don’t know if I can. My body feels both weightless and impossibly heavy, suspended between collapse and motion. But it’s not just that. The valley below us still holds the last imprint of him. The last place he stood. I don’t want to leave, but we can’t stay here. We can’t let them take what’s left of him … What’s left of me.
I brace my hands against the mud, and force myself to my feet. The storm rises with me, answering the movement with a gust of wind, then weakens again.
“We have to go.” Mira wipes blood from her temple with a muddied sleeve. “Lord Torran may be gone, but it seems the prophecy is real.” She glances at me. “Storm has followed shadow.”
Mishak inclines his head, his expression caught between devastation at what we’ve lost and desperate hope at what might still be salvaged.
I recognize the look. They need something to believe in when everything else has crumbled. They need me to be more than a broken woman grieving a man they called their Vareth’el.
But I don’t think I can. I’m not the Vareth’el. I’m not a Veinblood. I’m not even from this world.
“This way.” Mishak leads us away from the hilltop.
I stumble after him, boots sliding in churned mud. Behind us, shouting breaks through the storm again. The soldiers are getting closer to the top of the hill. I drop lower as I move, trying to stay balanced, my legs shaking. I feel weak, drained of energy, but I force myself to keep moving forward.
The mist stalker pads along beside me, low and silent. After I stumble for the third time, it shoves its head beneath my hand, steadying me.
Rain soaks everything, running into my eyes and down my back. The wind slams into my shoulders with enough force to throw my steps off-center, even with the support of the creature beside me.
The slope steepens, making it harder to descend without slipping through the mud. My fingers curl into the mist stalker’s fur, while I fight to stay upright. Each footfall jars through my knees. Every step feels disconnected from my body. I’m moving more on instinct than with any real conscious thought.
The storm follows our retreat, clouds spinning overhead, while my breath hisses through my teeth. I’m not sure how much farther I’ll be able to go before my strength gives out completely.
My clothes cling to my skin, soaked through and caked with mud. I tear at the high collar, desperate to be free of it, but my fingers fumble against the unfamiliar clasps. They’re a constant reminder of the people who took everything from me, and I hate that I can’t tear them off.
The power continues to twist through me, sometimes flaring bright enough to glow through my clothes, sometimes dimmingto near invisibility. I don’t know what it’s doing. I just know it won’t stop.
The hill finally begins to level as we reach the tree line. Branches whip across my arms and shoulders as we duck into cover, the wind following us through the gaps. The trunks should break the sightlines of anyone behind us for now, but won’t hide us for long.
The forest stretches in all directions, each tree the same as the last. My lungs burn with each breath. My legs shake beneath me. Every step feels pulled from something deeper than strength, somewhere bone-deep and breaking.
The power inside me moves to its own beat, feeding off my energy, while my body struggles to keep moving forward.
“Almost there,” Mira says softly.
I glance back. Dried blood streaks her temple. Her jaw is locked, but she’s moving, pressing forward with determination set in every line of her body.
