Page 73 of Shadowvein

“Where shadow leads,” Sacha whispers, his voice intimate and close. “Storm will follow.”

I wake with a gasp, heart pounding against my ribs. The lamp has burned out, leaving the room in darkness save for the faint glow of coals in the brazier. For a moment, I’m disoriented, caught between dream and reality … between Chicago and this strange underground room.

The thunder from my dream is still in my head, a distinct rumbling that vibrates through the walls … but then it evolves, changes, and I realize it’s not thunder at all, but voices coming from the main chamber.

Throwing back the covers, I stand on unsteady legs, my heart still racing from the dream. I walk to the door and open it just enough to peer through the crack. The room beyond has changed overnight. Maps and documents cover the table, illuminated by several lamps. Varam stands with Sacha, their heads bent over the papers, discussingsomething in tense, hushed tones. Several other people move around them, speaking in clipped phrases I can’t understand.

Where yesterday Sacha seemed to be rediscovering his place, now he commands it completely. He points to something on the map, and the others lean in, hanging on his every word.

Closing the door softly, I rest my forehead against it, the cool wood grounding me in reality. I dress quickly, preparing to face whatever this new day will bring, yet the dream clings to me. The raven, the thunder, the strange shadow patterns beneath Sacha’s skin, and that final whispered line that seemed so important.

Just a dream, I tell myself, shaped by everything that’s happened to me.

But as I splash water on my face, trying to wash away the lingering images, a distinct rumble reaches me through the stone walls of our underground sanctuary. Not voices this time, but actual thunder. A storm gathering somewhere above Ravencross.

My hands still, water dripping between my fingers as the words from my dream echo in my head.

Where shadow leads, storm will follow.

Chapter Sixteen

SACHA

“The bond between two carries further than the strength of one.”

Veinwarden Prayers

After Ellie retreatsinto her bedchamber, the room falls silent. I let the quiet wash over me, and alone in this space preserved from a life I lost, I finally drop the mask I’ve worn since our escape, and look around chambers kept like a shrine to a dead man who never actually died.

I wander the room, fingertips trailing over surfaces that feel both foreign and familiar. The heavy wooden table where we planned the stand at Thornreave, the shelves still holding books and scrolls I collected, the tapestries I selected to mask the cold stone walls. Someone, Varam most likely, has looked after this space, keeping it frozen in time, for a person he thought was dead.

My familiar responds to this place, sending tendrils of awareness through the chamber, recognizing spaces it once knew intimately. It’s strange to stand here, physically unchanged while everything around me has altered. The binding that held me in the tower preservedme in ways I’m still discovering. A paradoxical gift from those who meant to imprison and contain me.

My eyes move to the door Ellie disappeared through. She looked different tonight. A far cry from the terrified, alien creature in odd clothing who arrived at the tower. Her eyes have lost the dull, exhausted sheen, and seemed brighter, if tired. Her light brown hair, freed from tangles and sand, framed features more delicate than I initially registered—high cheekbones, a determined set to her jaw. The clothing Mira provided accentuates curves the borrowed mountain garments concealed, and I find the change … unsettling.

In the tower and during our journey, her otherworldly origin was constantly apparent, emphasized by inappropriate clothing, unfamiliar mannerisms, and the visible discomfort of someone thrust into a reality not her own.

My lips twitch as the image of her stumbling into the tower fills my mind.

Sunburned. Wind-scoured. Dust worked into every seam.

Now, clean and properly attired, she could almost pass for a citizen of Ravencross. Only her strange accent would betray her.

I push thoughts of her aside with more effort than I care to admit, and focus instead on the shadowblade now resting in its rightful place at my hip. The weapon pulses faintly against my thigh, a heartbeat that matches my own, as it stabilizes its reconnection with my powers. With each passing hour, the link between us strengthens, shadow magic flowing more easily. The blade remembers me, as weapons of such power always remember their masters, carrying echoes of battles and choices made a lifetime ago. Its edge gleamswith darkness rather than light, a sliver of the void made tangible through my will alone.

A quiet knock at the stairway door interrupts my thoughts. I recognize the pattern immediately—Varam. He doesn’t wait for me to speak, pushing the door open and stepping through. He’s alone, carrying a bottle and two silver goblets.

“Decades gone,” he says without preamble, setting the glasses down and filling them with amber liquid that catches the lamplight. “And you still stand at that table like you never left it.”

I accept the offered glass. “Mountain spirit. You kept it all these years?”

“For a special occasion.” A wry smile tugs his lips up. “The return of the Vareth’el seems an appropriate time to open it.”

We drink in silence, the liquor burning pleasantly as it goes down. Mountain spirit, distilled from rare berries that grow only in the highest reaches of Thornevale Ridge, aged in barrels made from ancient silver oaks. A luxury few could afford during the final years of our war. The fact that Varam preserved this bottle, one I acquired shortly after our first successful battle, speaks not only to his loyalty, but his refusal to lose hope in our cause.

My power resonates with the faint traces of natural magic remaining within the spirit. There used to be power in the mountains, in the plants that grow there, in the very air itself. Power the Authority did everything it could to destroy.

“Tell me the truth.” I break the silence. “Not the official report you gave earlier. Tell me what really happened after Thornreave Pass.”

---