Page 90 of Stormvein
And what scares me most isn’t the magic or the danger, it’s how natural it all feels. As if I’m not changing, but revealing something that was always there, hidden beneath the surface of my ordinary life. As if Chicago was the dream, and Meridian is the awakening.
The thought brings a sharp pang of loss, but not for the reasons I expect. I don’t miss Chicago itself, I miss the simplicity of that ignorance. Of not knowing that I was capable of holding someone’s life in my hands and willing it back into existence.
I duck my head under the water again, and my thoughts go to Sacha, while I float there. How he’s changed since I first met him in the tower. The calculating, manipulative prisoner who used me to escape his prison evolved into something else. He’s still dangerous, still strategic in his thinking. But the man who emerged from the impossible healing is both familiar and foreign.
The hard edge that has always been a part of him has sharpened into something colder, more absolute. The ruthlessness now seems to drive him with a single-minded purpose. Yet that connection between us remains, possibly stronger than before.
The water cools too quickly, forcing me back to the present. I rise and dry myself with the rough cloth left beside the tub. The texture is harsh against skin that remembers the soft towels folded neatly in my bathroom in another world. From the trunk against the wall, I pull out clean clothes—soft leggings, and a loose tunic in shades of gray. I don’t bother with boots, and make my way barefoot back into the main chamber.
Sacha is standing in front of the recently lit fire. He’s washed as well, black hair slightly damp. He’s dressed entirely in black—his clothes similar to the ones he wore to the celebration that was organized the first night we were here, a lifetime ago. They fit his frame perfectly, emphasizing the lean strength his borrowed clothes had hidden.
The air stills in my lungs as I stare at him.
There’s something about him as he stares into the flames of the fire, an almost regal air that surrounds him. It’s as though the torture and healing that followed have wiped away any pretense he was holding onto.
This is not a broken man, ruined by torture. This is not a man hiding who he is. This is a man fully restored to power, and thesight of him like this—clean, strong, utterly in control—makes my pulse quicken in ways that have nothing to do with fear.
“Better?” His question shatters my frozen stance, and I blink, moving forward until I can feel the heat from the flames.
“Much. Though I think I could happily go to bed and stay there for a month.”
His soft laugh surprises me. “I’m afraid that’s a luxury you’ll have to wait for. There’s too much to do.” He turns and moves across to the table, where he’s spread out the food that was delivered with the water earlier. “Come and eat. You look half-starved.”
I perch on the edge of a chair, and pick up one of the bread rolls, tearing a piece off it. “Do you really think the traitor will reveal themselves?” I pop the bread into my mouth, andthat’swhen I realize how hungry I am.
“Yes.” His fingers tap against the table’s surface. “Whoever betrayed us to Sereven will need to report on my condition. The High Commander …” His lips twist as he spits out the title, and I’m surprised by the outward display from someone who is usually so in control. Did he even notice his own reaction? “He won’t accept silence or secondhand information, not when it comes to me. He’ll want confirmation of whether I’m alive or dead. And whoever he has here will be his best option for that.”
“Is there anything we can do while we wait?” I ask between alternating bites of cheese and bread.
“We watch. We listen.” His voice takes on that cold, methodical quality that sends a shiver down my spine—not fear exactly, but awareness of the predator he’s become. “Varam has positioned our most trusted fighters at key points throughout Stonehaven. Mira is watching for anyone attempting to communicate with people outside of the fortress. The traitor will make a mistake. They always do.”
My eyes move over his face, trying to read what lies behind the mask of control. I’m searching for another glimpse of that raw hatred I saw when he mentioned Sereven’s title. A crack in his composure that revealed the depth of his fury.
“You already have suspicions, don’t you? About who betrayed you?”
He holds my gaze, as though considering how to answer, then gives a slow nod.
“There is someone, yes.” He says it softly, but there’s steel beneath the quiet words. “But suspicion without confirmation is dangerous. A wrong accusation could tear apart what remains of my people.” His fingers curl into a loose fist on the table, shadows weaving between them. “When I move, it will be with absolute certainty. And then there will be no mercy.”
The calm way he says it chills my blood. I think of the Veinwardens, the fighters, the healers, the people who live inside this mountain, believing they are safe. They’re all people who have risked everything for the Veinwardens, forhim. The idea that any of them could have sold him to Sereven, knowing what they would do to him, turns my stomach.
What kind of person could make such a heartless decision?
“You need to gain control.” Sacha’s voice cuts through my thoughts, drawing my attention to the faint light crackling between my fingers. There’s a familiar pressure building inside my head. “If a storm hits outside, it’s going to draw attention.”
I close my eyes, trying to focus on my breathing, on pushing down the anxiety and worry. My heart is racing, which makes it harder.
“I’m trying. But it’s not that simple.”
“Itisthat simple.” The confidence in his voice both irritates and settles me. “You’re fighting it instead of directing it. The power isn’t your enemy. It’s not separate from you. It’s an extension of your will, as my shadows are of mine. You’retreating it like an invader when you should be embracing it as part of yourself.”
I open my eyes to find him watching me with an intensity that makes my pulse jump.
“That’s easy for you to say!” I can’t stop myself from snapping at him. “You’ve had decades with your shadows. I’ve had weeks with whateverthisis.”
He stands and strides around the table. Before I can react, his fingers curl around my wrist. His other hand covers mine. The contact sends a jolt through me, heat racing down my arm where our skin touches.
The silver light pulses once, brightly, then starts to dim as it meets the shadows that curl like smoke around his fingers. Where light and dark touch, they don’t fight or cancel each other. They twine together.
