Page 141 of Stormvein
Elowen. My full name—myrealname—the one I haven’t used since I was a small child. The one on the note they found with me when I was abandoned. How could this man from another world, this enemy of Sacha’s who I’ve never spoken to before, look at me with such recognition? Suchfear?
His face has transformed completely. The cold confidence replaced by something I never expected to see—genuine fear. Not just surprise or shock, but bone-deep terror, as if I represent something far more dangerous than he ever anticipated.
Before I can process what this means, arrows fly from the ridge above, forcing Sereven and his remaining guards to retreatfurther or die. The other part of our group has reached Lisandra, and are pulling her to her feet.
"We need to go," Varam shouts from behind us. "More Authority forces are approaching."
I help Sacha to his feet, keeping one hand pressed against his back where silver light continues to flow into the wound. His shadows have steadied around us, no longer fractured but moving with renewed purpose. Some of them reach out, flowing toward where Lisandra stands frozen with her bloody dagger.
She tries to step back, but tendrils of shadow wrap around her wrists and ankles. Her weapon clatters to the ground as she’s pulled forward.
“No,” she says, struggling against the shadow-bonds. “Let me?—”
“You’re coming with us.” Sacha’s voice is quiet but implacable. His shadows lift her bodily, carrying her along as we begin our retreat. “We’ll discuss your actions later.”
His eyes meet mine, but we don’t have time to talk about what happened. We have to keep moving, and get out of here. Sacha’s raven soars overhead, and a quick glance at him shows me his eyes are fully black as he connects with the bird, seeing what it sees.
"He knew my name," I say quietly, still trying to process what happened. "My real name."
Sacha’s eyes meet mine, shadows shifting beneath his skin, his control over his appearance non-existent. What runs beside me now is the Vareth’el,notthe man. "Yes."
"What does it mean?"
"I don’t know yet," he admits. "But together, we affected the crystal in a way Sereven clearly didn’t anticipate. That’s significant."
I glance at Sacha again, thinking about the way my power flowed into him where his shadows were damaged, healing himwhere he stood. Is that what it does, this power that’s taken root inside me?
Not only that, where our powers combined, it was enough to temporarily interfere with the crystal’s effect. Not enough to give us a complete victory. Not this time, anyway.
And then there was Sereven’s reaction to my presence, to the name he spoke with such horrified recognition.
Elowen.
I focus on the path ahead, aware that we’re still in danger, that Authority forces could be pursuing us, hiding somehow from Sacha’s shadows. But beneath the immediate concern for safety, a deeper question forms.
Who am I really? And why does Sereven seem to know more about it than I do?
Chapter Thirty-One
SACHA
Buried truth is still truth. Time does not erase it. It ripens it.
Writings of the Veinblood Masters
I set a hard pace,putting distance between ourselves and Blackstone Ridge. My shadows carry Lisandra, wrapped around her wrists and ankles like shackles. They keep her off the ground, and keep pace with our retreat.
Behind us, Authority horns sound in the distance. Reinforcements, just as Varam warned.
“We need to get to the horses,” Varam whispers.
My shadows adjust their grip on Lisandra as we scramble over loose stones and around jutting outcroppings. Her eyes dart constantly between the path and me, but she doesn’t speak. Shecan’t. Voidcraft ensures her silence, sealing her lips against any sound that might give away our position.
The sound of hoofbeats echoes from the direction we came, growing steadily louder. Authority soldiers, getting closer with each passing second. We push harder, half-running, half-climbing over ground that would be difficult even withoutpursuit. But it’s better than taking the easier routes where mounted soldiers could run us down in minutes.
Ellie stays close to me, her breathing steady despite the pace. Where once she would have scrambled and stumbled, now she moves with the sure-footed grace of someone who’s learned to navigate my world. The change in her strikes me hard. She’s far from the frightened woman who touched my tower wall in the desert. Now she anticipates obstacles, adjusts her footing without thought, and keeps pace with fighters who have spent their lives in these mountains.
“How close are they?” she asks in a low voice.
