Page 90 of Veinblood
The planning session continues late into the evening. Details pile upon details until my head swims with information overload. City layouts and places to hide. Phrases I need to remember if I’m in trouble, to what I should say if guards stop me at the gates. Authority patrol patterns memorized down tothe minute. Street names and meeting points. Back up plans layered on backup plans.
By the time we finally stop for the night, my head is spinning. I crawl into bed, fully clothed, too tired to change, and lie there, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep seems impossible. Tomorrow we begin the most dangerous phase of this entire plan. Tomorrow I’ll be walking back into the city where Authority soldiers hunt for me, where Sereven himself waits.
But we’re not just walking into danger. We’re walking into hope.
I must fall asleep at some point, because I’m woken by a soft tap on the door just after dawn. Grey light seeps around the edges of the shuttered windows.
Jorana, Corwin, and Bessa help alter my appearance once again. Different hair, braided and pinned in a style I’ve never worn. Different clothes that change my figure. Makeup to alter the shape of my face.
When they finally let me look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. The person staring back could be anyone … but I definitely don’t look like the person on the proclamations.
Then we’re on our way, leaving while most of the village still sleeps. This is it. No more planning. No more preparation. Now we act.
Every mile we travel brings us closer to the city where everything will change. The landscape rolls past. Hills give way to farmland, farmland to scattered villages. The road growsbusier as we approach Ashenvale, merchants and travelers mixing with our small group.
And then, as we crest a hill in the late afternoon, Ashenvale’s walls appear on the horizon. Three concentric rings of white stone rise, with watchtowers marking regular intervals where guards scan the land around it.
The Lirien Spire dominates the sky line, its white stone gleaming in the afternoon light. The throne room is in there somewhere. The place where Sacha’s ancestors ruled. Where Sereven now sits on a stolen throne.
But not for much longer.
“We’ll enter through a different gate to the one we used to leave,” Corwin says. “This time you’re my cousin heading into the city to visit family. Keep your eyes lowered at all times. Unless you attract attention, the guards won’t speak to you.”
I nod, but my attention is fixed on the city before us. Somewhere behind those walls are people who remember what Ashenvale was like before the Authority stripped away its freedom. People who might be willing to risk everything for the chance to see those days return.
Twilight has arrived by the time we approach the gates. The guards barely glance at our papers before waving us through—they look tired, bored, ready for their shifts to end.
Inside, the city feels different. More patrols move through the streets, the red cloaks making them instantly recognizable, hands resting on weapons, eyes alert as they scan their surroundings. I’m sure people are moving differently, as well.Their heads are down, shoulders hunched, and conversations are conducted in whispers.
“They’re scared,” Corwin murmurs as we walk along the street.
“Or angry. Look at how people are watching the guards. That’s not just fear.”
There is resentment in those glances, hidden but present. The kind of anger that builds over time when people have nothing left to lose.
We could have gone back to Masha’s, but I argued against it, not wanting to bring trouble to her door, so Jorana takes us to a small inn. We hang back while she secures rooms, and I look around, comparing it to the inn Sacha took me to in Ravencross. Unlike the relaxed atmosphere there, the common area of this inn feels oppressive. It’s almost empty, with only a couple of people lingering, while everyone else seems to eat and retreat to the safety of their rooms.
When morning arrives, after yet another sleepless night, I’m left in the room while the others leave to meet their contacts. The hours drag, and I pace the floor, in between watching the street out of the window, trying to focus on anything other than what we’re attempting.
Every footstep in the hallway makes me tense. Every voice in the street below might belong to Authority soldiers. But I force myself to wait, to trust that Corwin and the others know what they're doing.
By midday, the waiting has become unbearable. I venture downstairs to the common room, keeping my head down andmy voice quiet when I order food. The few other patrons speak in hushed tones that die whenever someone new enters. The atmosphere tells me everything I need to know about how the people in the city are feeling.
When the others return that evening, they bring information that makes my pulse quicken.
“There's definite unrest,” Corwin reports, settling into a chair. “More than we expected. Taxes have been doubled again. More arrests, more businesses being shut down for ‘violations.’”
“I was watching people’s faces when patrols passed,” Bessa adds, her voice low despite the privacy of our room. “They look away quickly, but the anger is there. It's building.”
“The market place especially,” Jorana says while she takes off her cloak. “People are talking about new permits that cost more gold than most of them can earn.”
“Can we use that?” The question feels necessary, even though asking it makes my stomach churn.
“If we give them a reason to act,” Corwin says slowly. “If we can create the right kind of chaos in the right places, people will react. It will keep the patrols busy while we take action elsewhere.”
“Then we do that. We create chaos. We give them reasons to fight.”
The next day brings more detailed information. Names of people ground down by Authority rule. Grievances that have been building. Reasons why individuals might be willing to cause trouble when the moment comes.
