Page 124 of Stormvein
Her eyes meet mine again. “I’ve watched people die for years. Not clean deaths. Slow ones. Painful ones. Fighters. Children. Entire families. I’ve buried more bodies than you can evenimagine. Dug the graves myself when no one else could bear it. When Sereven threatened Stonehaven, I made a choice. One life against hundreds.” She straightens, chin lifting, meeting my eyes full-on. “Evenhislife. Even knowing what he is, what he means to our people.”
She says it like it’s that simple … that inevitable.
“But you knew what they would do to him!”
“I knew what theymightdo,” she corrects. “Risk assessment is part of war.” She pauses. “I didn’t think it would go that far.”
It’s not an excuse. It’s not even an apology. The way she says it—with complete detachment, as though she was talking about a stranger—sets something off in me. Power builds in me, and overhead clouds begin to gather.
“Risk assessment?” My voice comes out sharp. “Theybrandedthe Authority symbol into his skin. They whipped him. They?—”
“I know what they did.” For the first time, her composure cracks. “I’ve seen it before. I’velivedit.” She pulls back her collar, revealing the edge of a scar—the distinct three-ring pattern of the Authority, burned into her flesh. “This isn’t a new war, Ellie. And he’s not the only one who’s suffered for it.”
I don’t respond. Ican’t. Anger, doubt, and something too close to understanding is choking me, stifling my voice. The silver light is visible beneath my skin, a reminder of how close I’m coming to losing control.
Lisandra’s eyes drop to my arms, following the way the silver flashes along my veins, mimicking lightning.
“You care for him.” Her gaze moves from my arms to my face. “That will complicate things for him.”
I don’t answer, holding her eyes with mine. She looks away first.
The words settle under my skin, despite my attempts to shrug them off. Not because she’s wrong, but because sheisn’t.And I don’t know what that is going to mean with everything coming. I still don’t understand how much of himself he’s holding back from me. And I’m still discovering who I am. Those things alone make everything more complicated. For him,andfor me.
Before I can say anything, not that I know what Icansay, Sacha appears beside me. His gaze drops to the silver light still flickering under my skin, then lifts to study the storm clouds gathering above.
He doesn’t say a word or stop moving. He just steps past me, close enough that his fingers brush the back of my hand as he passes. A feather-light contact meant only for me. A touch that says ‘I see you.’ The second his skin meets mine, the glow fades, and the clouds begin to break apart, moonlight spilling between the gaps.
Then he’s gone, and just like that, exhaustion crashes over me. I walk away from Lisandra without saying anything more.
My bedroll is where I left it, my pack beside it. Crouching, I pull out a slice of journey bread and dried meat. It takes longer than it should to chew. Even my jaw is tired. But I force myself to do it, wash it down with water, and then stretch out on the thin bedroll.
Sleep doesn’t come easily. My thoughts are too loud. The echo of Lisandra’s voice. The brush of Sacha’s fingers against my hand. The look she gave me before I walked off.
You care for him.
That will complicate things for him.
When sleep does finally take hold, it drags me into dreams that splinter and reform. The tower, River Crossing, Sacha, broken and dying in the cage.
I wake several times, heart racing, silver light trying to break free in response to phantom fears. I curl my fingers into my palms, nails digging into my skin until I get control of it.
Each time I open my eyes, Lisandra is awake, sitting with her back against a tree. Our gazes lock, and I roll over, pretending I didn’t notice.
Pulling the thin blanket up to my chin, I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to force my mind to stillness. It doesn’t work. The ground is too cold, and my body aches too much. My pack is the worst kind of pillow.
I roll over again, remember Lisandra, and twist onto my opposite side, so my back is facing her.
And then something changes …
It takes a second for me to realize what I’m feeling. The cold ground isn’t quite so hard against my side. The bedroll turns softer, a gentle warmth emanating from beneath me.
I move my hand without opening my eyes, feeling around until I find the edge of the bedroll. I reach further and find the ground isn’t quite as close as it should be. Opening my eyes, I discover I’m lying on a thick layer of shadow, similar to the beds he’s woven before. The darkness ripples beneath my fingers when I touch it.
He must have noticed my restlessness from across the camp, and made sure I’d be more comfortable.
Such a simple gesture.
Such a complicated man.
