Page 152 of Stormvein
“The child … its name was Elowen?” Sacha’s voice is soft.
Miradel nods. “Yes. The Authority killed entire villages searching for those Veinbloods afterward. I was in the southern territories then, but we heard ... terrible things. They weren’t hunting like soldiers. They were hunting like frightened men. I don’t think they were ever found. Neither the Veinbloods nor the child.”
My heart picks up speed as I make the connection. I press my hands against the wall behind me as the floor shifts beneath my feet.
Twenty-four years ago. I’m twenty-seven now. I was found abandoned when I was three. And I was named Elowen—a name that made Sereven look like he’d seen a ghost at Blackstone Ridge.
It can’t be a coincidence. I want to speak up, to ask Sacha, but I don’t want to discuss my personal history in front of all these people. So I stay where I am, and keep silent, watching his profile. I trust that he’ll ask what we need to know.
“Is there anything else you remember? Any detail that might explain why Sereven would react with such fear upon hearing the name again?”
Miradel shakes her head. “Only that the Authority’s response seemed … excessive, even for them. They committed unusual resources to finding those responsible, far beyond what they’d typically allocate for such a small ambush.”
“Why would this particular child matter so much?” Telren asks, looking between Miradel and Sacha. “What makes a child worth such risk, such pursuit?”
“That’s something we need to discover. For now, I don’t need to remind you all that everything we’ve discussed here must go no further.” He turns to Varam. “Ensure guard rotation is quietly increased, and send out scouts more often. I don’t think Stonehaven will be safe from the Authority for much longer.”
The words are clearly a dismissal, and the Veinwardens file out quietly. The door swings shut, and their footsteps and voices fade down the passageway.
Once we’re alone, I stand up, crossing on unsteady legs to where Sacha stands. His eyes are distant, shadows playing across the sharp planes of his face.
“Sovereign?”
His head snaps around.
“You’re the rightful ruler of Meridian. Not the last remaining Veinblood, but aking?”
“High Prince.”
I wait for more, but of course, there isn’t any.
“You’reroyalty, Sacha. You have a crown, a throne, a kingdom?—”
"Had.” The word cuts through my rising anger. “Ihadthose things.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“It holds no relevance.”
“No relevance?” I stare at him. “You’re the High Prince of Meridian. How is that not relevant?”
“Because it changesnothing, Ellie.” His voice is quiet. “The Authority still rules. They still control Ashenvale. My people are still being hunted. The Veinbloods are dead. Whether you knew of my title or not doesn’t alter those facts.”
“It changes how I understand everything! Why they bow to you. Why your word is law. Why?—”
“Why what?” There’s a bite to his tone. “Why you should treat me differently?”
“I … no. That’s not what I meant.”
“Isn’t it?” Shadows swirl in his eyes when he looks at me. “In my experience, most people change how they behave when they learn about crowns. Even ones that no longer exist.”
“I’m not most people.”
“You’re right.” His voice softens a little. “You’re not.” He walks to the door and locks it. “Perhaps that’s exactly why Sereven reacted the way he did when he saw you.”
The transition catches me off guard. “What do you mean?”
He turns to face me, and I can almost see the way pieces of a puzzle are connecting in his mind. “You said you were found when you were three. What is your age now?”
