Page 50 of Shadowvein

He pauses, head tilting in that way I’m coming to recognize as him considering what to tell me. Then he lifts his hand, palm up. The air above it darkens, shadows coalescing. They swirl and compress, until they’re reduced to small uneven shapes. His fingers curl, trapping them against his palm. His lips move and he whispers a word I don’t catch, and then his fingers open again.

Three rough-cut gemstones rest there, black with deep blue and violet threads. They don’t catch the light, they deflect it.

“What? How?” I reach out, but don’t touch, my finger hovering above them.

“Shadowstones. Crystalized darkness. Rare and valuable, particularly to those with certain … interests.”

“And you can just …makethem?”

“I’m the only one who can. That’s why they’re valuable.”

The casual display of power makes my stomach flutter. Not entirely with fear this time, but with something closer to wonder. The realization that I understand so little about what he can do, about what's possible in this world, settles over me.

“Come.”

He turns the sandstrider toward the caravan, and we continue our approach. We take our time, making sure they’re aware of us before we get close.

My pulse hammers against my ribs. Despite Sacha’s calm presence, my mouth is dry with nerves. I’ve seen others since I got here, but this is different. These are the first people I’ll have to really interact with. The first time I might beseenfor what I am.

What if they notice? What if they know I don’t belong here?

As we draw nearer, I glance sideways at Sacha … and falter. He’s shifting. Not physically, not overtly, but something in him folds inward. The strange intensity I saw this morning—the way his eyes caught the light, the way shadows curled too eagerly around him—it’s gone. Dimmed.

He looks like a man again. Even his voice, when he calls out a greeting, sounds different. Back to how it sounded in the tower.

The lead travelers spot us. A subtle signal moves through theirranks—hand gestures, glances—and the caravan slows to a halt. Several men step forward to meet us, hands resting casually near their weapons. Ready, but not hostile. Capable of becoming dangerous in an instant.

Their clothing is clearly made for travel—loose-fitting pants and tunics in sun-faded earth tones that blend into the landscape, designed for movement and desert heat. Each man wears a brightly colored sash wrapped around his waist, the vivid patterns striking against otherwise muted fabric. Status markers, maybe, or clan symbols.

Sacha raises his hands, palms open, in the universal gesture of peace. One of the men calls out. Sacha responds.

I straighten instinctively, trying to project a calm I don’t actually feel. I’m still in jeans and snow boots, sticking out like a wrong note in a familiar song.

After a brief exchange, the tension around the group eases. The leader, a stocky man with an impressive beard streaked with gray, steps forward, bows slightly, and nods in my direction.

“They welcome fellow travelers," Sacha tells me. “They’re headed to Ravencross. They’re happy for us to join them.”

“So it still exists then?”

“It was only a small settlement in the foothills the last time I was there. Back then it straddled the border between Authority-controlled lands and the free territories. A place where people met to trade.”

The caravan leader speaks again, his gaze flicking to my clothes.

“He’s asking where you’re from. I told him you’re from beyond the Western Boundaries, where customs and clothing are different.”

I nod, hoping my expression conveys appropriate gratitude for allowing us to travel with them. The leader smiles, then calls to a woman standing near one of the carts.

She moves quickly, retrieves something from a pack, and crosses the space between us. She offers it to me, a folded bundle, and says something in that fluid, melodic language. I glance at Sacha.

“Clothing. She says you must be finding travel uncomfortable in what you’re wearing.”

I take the bundle with both hands, startled by the unasked for kindness.

“Thank you.”

“Narem.” Sacha says to the woman. He glances at me. “It means thank you.”

She smiles and pats my arm before returning to her position.

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