Page 126 of Veinblood
“I was the unplanned-for younger prince. Sereven was being groomed to rule, so I had a lot more freedom. I could wander the city with my guards, meet people, learn about how things actually worked instead of just in theory.”
We reach the fountain, and he stops to study the carved figures more closely. The tension that has been with him all morning seems to ease a little more. His fingers find one of the carved lines in the stone and follow it around the basin’s edge.
“When I was older, I used to sit here and listen to the water while my tutors discussed philosophy or history. It seemed like the most boring thing in the world at the time.”
“And now?”
“Now I understand why they thought it was important.” He straightens, and we continue walking toward the plaza’s eastern edge. “Philosophy teaches you how to think about power. History teaches you what happens when power is used poorly.”
We leave the plaza through an archway that leads into one of Ashenvale’s residential areas. The streets here are narrow, lined with houses that show signs of recent repair. Some of the damage is obviously from the recent uprising—splintered doors, cracked stone, hastily patched walls. People look up as we pass, but don’t pay much attention, too focused on clearing debris and cleaning the red-brown stains from the walls and ground.
But as well as pockets of destruction being fixed, there are also signs of color and joy. The marketplace is open, and all the broken pottery has been swept away. The sound of voices reaches us—raised in laughter or discussion—and theatmosphere is very different from how I remember it from when I was first here.
We turn down a side street, where a row of stores have thrown open their doors, letting the scent of baked goods and roasted meats float out. Sacha’s expression turns thoughtful.
“This bakery …” He stops in front of a store. “It used to make the best honey cakes in the city. My tutors would bring me here as a treat when I showed focus instead of finding ways to escape lessons.”
“Do you want to see if they still have them?”
His eyes move to the doorway, and he shakes his head. “Not today. Maybe later. We don’t want to draw too much attention.”
The deeper we get into the city without being recognized, the more Sacha relaxes. He talks more often, voice soft in a way that sends shivers through me as he shares memories of a childhood spent in these streets.
“The Windhaven Academy was down this street.” He points toward a building with tall arched doorways that have seen better days. “Where noble children learned letters and numbers before they were old enough for more specialized training in their specific Veinblood abilities or Veinwarden tactics.”
“Did you attend?”
“For three years. My path was laid out to become commander of the Veinwarden armies … before my powers manifested, and everything changed.” A small smile tips up his lips. “That’s where I met Varam. I’d hide from my guards, and we’d sneak out during class to explore the city.”
“Even then he was looking out for you?”
“More like we were getting into trouble together.” His quiet laughter fades, and his voice becomes more serious. “He lost his sister when he was ten. The Authority were just starting to come into their power. No one thought they were much of a threat back then, but there had been rumors of them stealing children with potential Veinblood abilities. Varam’s mother was a Tidevein. He didn’t display any signs of having powers, but his sister did. She was six when she went missing. We believe a local Authority sect took her, but there was never any proof.”
We continue on in silence for a while, until eventually Sacha begins pointing out other landmarks. A small courtyard where he practiced sword forms, a scriptorium where he bought books and scrolls, and then he pauses in a narrow alley.
“This is where my familiar first appeared. Do you remember when I told you about that? I stupidly got myself lost. I was crying when the shadows gathered and formed into a raven. It led me home.”
“How did it feel? When it happened.”
“It was as … explosive as your first manifestation.” He casts a side-long look at me. “Do you remember when that was?”
I frown, thinking back. “The lightstones?”
He laughs. “Oh no. Long before the lightstones, Mel’shira. It was in Ravencross. You were yelling at me, and your frustration lit a fire in the hearth.”
The memory forms clearly in my mind. Sacha, shadows twisting and writhing around him, me angry and frustratedbecause I thought he was keeping things from me. The way the hearth erupted into flames.
“You said it was remnants of old magic.”
“It was, in a way. Veinbloods no longer existed, other than me.”
“So you knew even then.”
“Isuspected. It wasn’t until you nearly killed us on our way to Stonehaven that I thought it might have been something more. Sometimes people with just a hint of Veinblood blood can manifest power if they’re emotional enough, and then they never access it again. But you?—”
“What do you mean nearly killed us?” My hand lands on his arm, forcing him to a stop. “I didn’t do anything of the sort. What are you talking about?”
“Do you remember the storm? When we were almost killed by a mountain slide?”
