Page 78 of Stormvein
I turn to find Ellie watching me, surprise coating her face.
“There is no reason for them to be uncomfortable when I can make their rest easier.”
Her gaze moves from the sleeping figures back to me. “You always surprise me.”
I direct the shadows to the far corner, where they form a larger cushion.
“Thank you for showing me … About my familiar … and all the things that happened with the Authority.”
“You needed to understand.”
She looks at me, studying my face. Whatever she finds, or doesn’t find, seems to satisfy her. She gives a small nod, then stretches out on the shadow cushion.
“Would you mind …” she licks her lips. “Can you stay nearby? After spending so long …” She doesn’t finish the sentence, and I don’t ask her to explain.
She’s spent days lying beside me, holding me back from death, and adjusting to the change is not easy. I sink down on the shadow, leaving her space, and lean my back against the wall. She stretches out beside me, facing away, but as sleep begins to claim her, she gradually shifts closer, unconsciously seeking warmth or security. By the time her breathing is slow and steady, she’s curled up against my side, her hand resting on my thigh.
The simple weight of her touch anchors me to the present in a way I’ve never experienced. I remain still, allowing her this comfort while my mind works through what needs to be our next steps. The Authority could be searching for us, marshaling forces to recapture the Shadowvein Lord they thought they’d broken. When they come, and theywillcome, I need to be ready.
My fingers lightly brush against Ellie’s arm when she makes a small sound. She settles as soon as I touch her, her face turning toward me. I owe this woman more than she knows. More than I know how to express. She came for me when I was broken beyond repair. She defied death itself to bring me back.
In the quiet darkness, with her breathing steady beside me, I allow myself to acknowledge what I’ve been avoiding since Ashenvale. She matters to me. Not as a tool. Not as a weapon. But as herself.
Complicated, stubborn, compassionate Ellie.
When dawn comes, we’ll begin the next phase of this war. Sereven will answer for what he’s done.
I have never been more certain of anything in my life. Except, perhaps, that I will not let her pay the price for my vengeance.
Chapter Eighteen
ELLIE
Where history fails, memory becomes prophecy.
Fragments of the Lost Veinwardens
When I open my eyes,it takes a second or two for me to remember where I am, then reality crashes over me like a bucket of ice water. Sacha’s miraculous healing. The slaughter of all those soldiers, reaching Southernrock, and then him sharing with me the shadow images of what the Authority has done to his people.
And somehow, after all of that, I fell asleep against him last night, his body solid and warm against mine. I’m still lying on the shadow-bed he created, my hand reaching across the empty space searching for where he should be. As soon as I realize I’m doing it, I pull my hand back.
I don’t know how long ago he left, but I’m relieved he isn’t here to see me reaching for him, even if it wasn’t a conscious choice. I’m not sure I’m ready to face him yet.
As sleep loosens its hold completely, voices filter in, quiet discussions that I can’t quite make out.
I sit up, pushing tangled hair away from my face. I’d give anything for a bath, to wash my hair, to change my clothes. For a moment, images of hairdressers, spas, and the bathroom in my apartment fill my mind, and I’m overcome with a wave of homesickness so strong it constricts my throat.
How long has it been since I last thought about Chicago as home?
Home. When I think about the word, it’s no longer my apartment that comes to mind …
My eyes find Sacha on the opposite side of the chamber, talking with Varam, while the fighters around him pack up what little we have left, and check their weapons. The mood after a peaceful night’s sleep has changed again. There are more smiles, and soft conversations. Everyone seems …lighter.
My attention returns to him. He’s still wearing the borrowed clothing given to him yesterday. They don’t fit him well. Varam’s tunic hangs loosely on his leaner frame, the pants a fighter gave to him are slightly too short, and his feet are bare. Despite all of this, he radiates control and authority.
“We can’t stay here.” Varam is saying when I finally get to my feet and cross the chamber. “Our supplies are non-existent, and winter is coming. We will die of starvation or cold if we remain.”
“What is the situation at Stonehaven?” Sacha asks.
