Page 88 of Stormvein
Kindness is a weapon, if timed correctly.
Wisdom of the Wandering Sages
The door closesbehind Varam with a soft click that somehow echoes through the room, and I’m alone with Sacha once more in the quarters I never thought I’d ever see him inside again.
After days of flight, and fear, and Sacha’s life balanced on the edge, the silence feels like stepping into another world. The quiet peels back the layers of adrenaline that have been keeping me moving, and suddenly every nerve ending screams for attention, leaving me hollow and shaky. My legs give out, and I sink into one of the chairs near the table.
Now we’re alone, and there’s nothing to do but wait, guilt rushes in. The faces of the people who gathered in the main cavern when we arrived. The genuine worry in their eyes when they saw what they thought was their dying leader. The reverence, the grief, the desperate hope. All of it directed at a lie we’re telling them.
Most of these people would die for Sacha. Some probably have family members who already have. The ones who wentwith us to rescue him know the truth, but everyone else believes the deception. We’re lying to them because we have to, because there’s a traitor among them, because it’s the only way to protect them.
But that doesn’t make the guilt any easier to bear.
I run a hand through my hair, grimacing when my fingers catch in matted knots, pulling against my scalp. My skin feels gritty, my clothes are stiff with dried sweat and mountain dirt.
“I think I’d kill for a bath.” The words tumble out, desperate and shaky. I need something normal, something ordinary. Something that has nothing to do with magic, or power, or lies. “I can’t stand another minute of this.”
Sacha glances up from the maps he’s been studying, his eyes scanning me from head to toe in a way that makes me acutely aware of my disheveled state. There’s something almost possessive in the look, or I’ve finally lost my mind.
“I think wholesale murder might be an overreaction, but there are always people awake. Ask one of the guards outside the door to bring you hot water and a bathtub. No one will question it.”
“It won’t look odd? Me bathing while you’re supposedly dying?”
“They’ll expect you to need water to wash my wounds. They won’t question your desire to get clean as well.”
I look at him for a second longer, but his attention has already returned to the maps spread out across the table.
“You will need to be out of sight when they come. You can’t be walking around studying maps if you’re meant to be dying.”
He nods once—the same economical gesture that reminds me of the man I first met in the tower, where every movement served a purpose. But there’s something slightly different now. The restraint has turned into something harder, colder. It’s as though the torture stripped away any remaining pretense,leaving only the essential core of him … and that core is diamond hard and razor-sharp. Yet when his eyes meet mine again, there’s something else there, something that makes my skin warm under his gaze.
I force myself to stand, to push through the trembling in my legs. Sacha gives me another long, unreadable look, then retreats into his bedchamber and closes the door.
I wait for a few seconds more, then open the door wide enough to poke my head through. One of the guards straightens at my appearance. He isn’t one of those who traveled with us, and must have relieved the men I knew to allow them to rest. I try to appear appropriately exhausted and worried, which isn’t all that difficult, while I make my request. The fighter nods, fear and sympathy warring for dominance in his eyes. His reaction proves that everyone in Stonehaven believes I’ve been spending days desperately trying to keep their leader alive … which isn’t really a lie.
“Right away, Varel et’Arvath. Is there anything I can do to help?”
I ignore the title, and shake my head. “Just the water for now, thank you.”
When I close the door and turn, Sacha is back in the room and looking at me.
“What?”
One corner of his mouth tips up. “You wear the title well.”
My cheeks heat up. “They won’t stop. I’ve asked them. They’ve done it ever since we returned after …” I shake my head. “What are you doing?”
He’s rolling up the maps and placing them back on one of the shelves. “They’ll bring more than water. Food, supplies, and fresh bandages for the treatment they think you’re providing. The last thing they need to see is what appears to be you poring over maps.”
I lean against the wall beside the door and watch him. “What’s the plan here? Just wait until someone suspicious tries to visit you?”
“The traitor will reveal themselves. We have to show patience. It might not be to me. It could be to Varam or Mira, or any of the people who were with us.”
“And then what?”
His eyes meet mine. “Justice.”
The single word sends a chill slithering down my spine. The silver light responds immediately, brightening the area around me. There’s something about the way he says it. There’s no anger or heat to the word, but a cold certainty that makes me think of winter storms and lightning that strikes without warning.
