Page 96 of Stormvein
The smooth, controlled way he rises from the bed contradicts every expectation she must have had. There’s no weakness, no illness, no trace of the damaged man she thought she was confessing to. Just Sacha, the Vareth’el, in his full power and terrible focus.
She recoils from him, pressing herself against the wall as if she’s trying to melt into the stone. Her eyes are wide, darting between Sacha and the door. I brace, waiting for her to tryand leave. But there’s nowhere to run. No way to evade the consequences of what she’s done.
“How is this possible?” Her gaze jumps from Sacha to me, and back again. I can see the moment realization hits her … that I’ve been part of this deception, that I knew he was healed all along.
Sacha ignores her question. His voice, when he speaks, is terrifyingly calm. “Why, Lisandra? Why betray everything we stand for?”
He stalks toward her, shadows following him, darkening the floor where he walks. It’s not a display of power, not really. It’s the natural manifestation of his anger, his control tested by the magnitude of this betrayal. They move across his skin, pulling outward in beaks and claws and teeth, reaching toward Lisandra, before settling back against him.
Her back straightens, a flash of defiance breaking through her fear. “I had no choice. Sereven would have killed everyone. I had to protect Stonehaven.”
The justification sounds weak to me. My teeth bite into my lip to stop myself from speaking out.
“By sacrificing me?” The lack of anger in his voice makes it more frightening than if he were shouting. “By sending fighters knowingly into an ambush?”
I think about Ashenvale. The way he was ambushed. The torture he suffered. Then Glassfall Gap, and the fighters who died there. Lives lost and blood spilled, all because of her.
“I never wanted anyone to die!” Her hands lift, stretched out in front of her. “I thought they would simply recapture you.”
“What youthoughtdoesn’t matter.” Sacha steps forward, the movement graceful and menacing. “What youdiddoes.”
The stark simplicity of his response silences her protests. All her justifications, all her excuses, mean nothing against the reality of what she chose to do. The consequences of her actionshave unfolded regardless of her intentions, leaving a trail of death and suffering in their wake.
The distance between them shrinks with each word, the tension in the room ratcheting higher. I hold my breath, uncertain what Sacha will do. I’ve seen his control, his strategic mind, but I’ve also witnessed flashes of the darkness that burns beneath. The capacity for vengeance that drives him. The ruthlessness he’s capable of when pushed too far. The violence his shadows can commit with one whispered word.
“Tell me what Sereven wants you to do next.” His tone warns that he won’t allow argument or evasion.
Lisandra hesitates, clearly weighing how much to reveal. Her eyes dart around the room, looking for escape, but there is none. Not from this confrontation, and not from the consequences of her actions. She’s trapped by her own choices, cornered by a truth she can no longer hide.
“The truth, Lisandra.” Each syllable of her name drips with contempt.
Her shoulders slump, the fight leaving her body. “He wants proof,” she whispers. “Proof you’re dead.”
“Whatkindof proof?”
“Something undeniable.” Her voice drops even lower. “Your head. Delivered to Blackstone Ridge three days from now.” She swallows, licking her lips. “Or you … if you returned to Stonehaven alive.”
The casual way she’s talking about delivering his head, or his living body, to his enemies, as if he were a package to be delivered rather than a person, chills my blood. My stomach turns at the thought of her handing him over to Sereven. To more torture, to a fate worse than death.
“Is that why you came with a blade? Not to confess, but to collect?”
I can’t breathe, my lungs aching with the need for air, while I wait for her answer. I already suspect what the truth is. The sword she brought, the urgency of her visit, her insistence on seeing Sacha alone. All of it points to a darker purpose than simply confession.
She shakes her head. “No! No, I swear. I wasn’t—” She falters, the denial dying on her lips. “I don’t know what I was going to do.”
The half-admission is damning in its uncertainty. It isn’t a firm denial, but a confession that she herself doesn’t know what she might have been capable of. What she might have done if confronted with a dying Sacha and the opportunity to complete her mission for Sereven.
“You came to assess.” Sacha stops less than two steps away from her. “To see if I was as close to death as I looked, or if your orders needed … a firmer hand.”
She doesn’t deny it. She doesn’t eventry. Tears slide silently down her face, each one an acknowledgement of the truth in his words. Her silence condemns her more effectively than an admission could.
“Would you have at least done me the courtesy of being the one to spill my blood, to take my life?”
Her silence stretches for one heartbeat, then another. Finally, she gives one shallow nod, an admission that makes nausea rise up my throat. The confirmation is somehow worse than I expected. The commander of Stonehaven came to end Sacha’s life. Executioner for the Authority. The thought is sickening.
“You don’t understand. If I fail to appear, or the proof isn’t convincing ...” Her voice shakes with each word. “Sereven will move against Stonehaven.”
If what she says is true, then Stonehaven and everyone in it are in danger. The last stronghold of the Veinwardens, thesanctuary that has stood against the Authority for decades, is threatened not by external enemies but by betrayal from within.
