Page 74 of Stormvein
“Is that what you believe?” I arch one eyebrow, fighting the unexpected urge to defend my actions to her. “I killed them because it was the right decision. I won’t apologize to you for doing what was necessary to keep you alive.”
“You slaughtered them.” She doesn’t raise her voice, which somehow makes it worse.
“This is a war, Ellie. One I’ve been fighting for most of my life.”
“Wars have rules.” There’s a certainty in her voice that speaks of a world very different from mine.
“Maybe your world does,” I say, softer now. “But wars here have winners and losers. Rules are a luxury afforded only by those who already have the power.” Rules didn’t save the Veinwardens at Thornreave. Rules didn’t stop the annihilation of Veinbloods. Rules didn’t stop my years of imprisonment.
Rules are mirages the powerful create to justify their dominance.
“That’s just an excuse to behave like them,” she counters, a spark of defiance in her eyes. “If you abandon everything you claim to stand for, what exactly are you winning?”
“Survival.” I don’t even need to think about the answer. “Freedom for the people who have been hunted. Justice for those who didn’t survive. Is that not worth fighting for?”
“Of course it is, but how you fight matters. The means shape the end. I’ve seen what the Authority does, how they justify their cruelty.” Her voice falters for a second before steadying again. “But if you mirror their methods, where does it end?”
She holds my gaze, her expression challenging. “How doyouractions make you different from the very people you’re fighting against?”
The question is like an arrow, finding a place inside me that I didn’t know existed. Have I become what I’ve fought against for so long?No. I bury the thought before it can take root.
“Intention. Purpose. The Authority kills to keep power through fear and control. I kill to end their reign of terror.” But even as I say it, I can hear the hollowness in my justification.
“And to someone caught in the middle? Someone who sees all the death on both sides? What about those people, Sacha? What about the young men who know no better? Who are forced to become soldiers because they have nothing else?”
“You speak of choices I haven’t had the luxury to consider. When every day is survival, morality becomes simplified.”
“And now?” she asks. “Now that you’re free, now that you have your power back? Now you do have choices. What will your choices be?”
I look at her, this woman from another world who somehow sees through the layers of darkness I’ve wrapped around myself for protection. Who dares to demand better of me when everyone else simply accepts what I am.
“I don’t know,” I admit. “But I know what I can’t choose. I can’t choose to let the Authority continue. I can’t choose to let Sereven escape justice for what he’s done.”
She studies me for a long moment. “There’s justice, and then there’s vengeance. I’m not sure you know the difference anymore.”
It’s clear nothing I say will make her understand. I don’t know anything about the world she comes from, but she has never lived through war the way I have. Reaching for my shadows, I issue a silent instruction.
They flow out of me, but not in the chaotic, violent mass of earlier. This is subtler, spreading out in the air between us.
The first image forms—a village square, bodies arranged in neat rows, all kneeling. Authority officers move down the line, executing one person after another. Children included. They’re not quick deaths. Each victim is forced to watch those before them fall. The shadows capture the terror in their eyes, thetrembling of small shoulders as children clutch their parents’ hands, the whispered prayers cut shut by sharp-edged swords.
I shape every detail. The sun hanging overhead, and the flies beginning to gather as the executions stretch into hours. The Authority officers pausing to drink water between killings, laughing among themselves.
“Whitelark Settlement.” My voice carries none of the anger the image wakes up, none of the helpless rage I felt when I arrived too late to save them. “They killed over two hundred people for providing food to an Earthvein family. I found the bodies myself.”
The shadows recreate my younger self moving through the aftermath, closing the staring eyes of children, covering small bodies with scraps of cloth while vultures circled overhead. How I found an infant still alive, clutched in its dead mother’s arms, only to watch it die minutes later from exposure.
Details I’ve never shared with anyone before her.
The shadows shift at a flick of my finger, building a new scene. This one is a small cottage. A family on their knees. Father, mother, and three children. An Authority officer tortures the parents, not with pain, but with choices.
“Make a choice,” the Authority commander tells the father. “Your wife’s fingers or your son’s eye.”
The father’s agonized choice. The mother’s screams. The children’s terror.
“The Rennet family.” My voice stays level despite the memories threatening to drown me. “Their eldest son joined the Veinwardens. The Authority couldn’t find him, so they took his family instead. The youngest was five years old.”
The shadows show the hours I spent hidden, watching, waiting for an opportunity to help that never came. How I was forced to witness each brutal choice, each mutilation, knowing I was too outnumbered to save them. How the officers tookturns, some leaving to eat and rest before returning refreshed to continue their work.
