Page 84 of Stormvein
I nod, acutely aware of the strange intimacy of the moment. When did it become natural to allow her touch? Her hands against my skin feel like an extension of myself. A power of its own that I’ve come to accept rather than resist.
I run through the things I might have to do in my mind—the occasional wince when moved, labored breathing, the unfocused gaze of a man fighting to remain conscious through pain and fever. Everything must be convincing, not only to casual observers but to trained healers and Veinwarden leaders who will be watching closely.
The deception needs to extend beyond mere appearance, though. Stonehaven’s healers will want to check for fever, for infection, for the dozens of wounds they expect to find beneath the bandages. If even one person touches me, our entire ruse collapses.
“The fever will be crucial to the plan. No one must get close enough to touch me. We will tell them that my shadows are fighting the infection, and any contact outside of them will disrupt the process.”
“Lysa’s word should keep the others at bay. She has been with us the entire time.”
“This is insane,” Ellie whispers. “What if the traitor panics? What if they try to kill you when they discover you’re alive? You’re healed, but you’re not invincible, no matter how much you like to behave as though you are.” Her eyes meet mine, and there’s something new there now. A fierce protectiveness that makes the silver flecks shine.
“That’s the point, Mel’shira. Fear will reveal what interrogation cannot. When the traitor sees me returned from what should have been certain death, then they will need to act.”
“What if they act by putting a knife in your heart? You’re riskingeverything.”
“Not everything.” I look down at where her hand is still resting against my arm. “The Authority wanted me kept alive until I was delivered to Blackvault. They can’t steal my power if I’m dead. Whatever information the traitor passed to Sereven, that directive would have been clear.”
“And what if the Authority has changed their mind, and now thinks your death will send more of a message?”
“If I die fighting, then I’ll become a martyr. Alive, I’m a warning to anyone who might consider defiance.”
She doesn’t look convinced, but she takes a deep breath and steps back.
“Just don’t make me save your life again. It was exhausting the first time.” The half-smile that accompanies it is shaky.
“Remember,” I tell them as they gather around once I’m secured to the stretcher. “Not a word about the reality of my condition. As far as anyone in Stonehaven knows, I’ve been tortured nearly to death, and am barely clinging to life. I could die at any moment.”
Everyone nods, the atmosphere solemn, commitment clear in their expressions. These thirteen have become my most trusted circle by necessity, by witnessing my transformation, and participating in this deception.
If we’re wrong and the traitor isn’t at Stonehaven but among them, then we’re already doomed.
“Ellie, walk beside me.” I indicate to those gathered around me that I’m ready to be lifted. “Your presence will make the deception more convincing. Varam said you were very insistent that I wasn’t dead, and that you were determined to be part of the rescue team when news reached Stonehaven that I was alive. They know you wouldn’t leave my side if I were truly dying.”
Her cheeks turn a deeper shade of pink, and she gives Varam a slightly accusatory look before stepping closer to me.
“You still sound like you’re giving orders, rather than asking for help.” She doesn’t look at me, adjusting a bandage on my wrist. “You should try to sound less … demanding when we reach Stonehaven.”
Her observation is accurate. Even pretending to be almost dead, I’m defaulting to command rather than vulnerability.
“Noted. How’s this?” I add more fragility to my voice.
Her glare tells me I’m hitting the mark.
The stretcher is an uncomfortable reminder of being carried through mountains to Southern Rock. I allow my head to loll slightly, my breathing to sound more labored, and send Voidcraft through my skin, giving it the translucent quality of someone who has lost too much blood, fought too many infections, and endured beyond human limits.
“Let’s move,” Varam orders. “Keep a slow pace. We want word of our approach to reach Stonehaven before we get there.”
The journey to the fortress’s hidden entrance takes almost an hour across rocky ground that would have been agony for the wounded man I’m pretending to be. The stretcher sways with each step of those carrying me, and I allow groans to escape at intervals, in case of scouts watching. While I’m maintaining my disguise, I can’t spare the focus to search for anyone watching us through shadows or my raven, and so we move at a slow pace, maximizing the time for news of our approach to spread through the mountain fortress.
Ellie walks beside the stretcher, her hand occasionally brushing against mine in what appears to be concerned comfort.
I use the time to prepare mentally, mapping Stonehaven’s layout in my mind. The main cavern, the chamber where Veinwarden leaders meet, and the network of tunnels connecting living quarters and storage areas.
The biggest challenge is going to be identifying who it ortheyare. Our betrayer could be anyone—a fighter, a healer, a scout. Their motives are equally unclear. Coercion? Ideology? Personal gain? Understanding why someone is betraying us might be more important than discovering who.
When we finally reach the entrance, a dozen fighters are already waiting, stances tense, faces grim.
They’ve heard, then. Word of our approach, of my condition, has reached them as intended.
