Page 142 of Veinblood
He pulls me closer, until I’m turned around and my back is pressed against his chest. His arms slide around my waist, and for a while we just lie there, letting the warmth of the water wash away the violence of the past few hours.
My eyes are drifting closed when he stirs behind me, lips brushing over my shoulder.
“We should really get out,” he murmurs.
I nod, and let him guide me upright. He holds my hand while I step out, keeping me steady, then follows me. He reaches for a cloth and slowly dries my body, his touch turning from necessity to need, until we stumble over to the bed, and we lose ourselves in each other until exhaustion drags us under.
The days that follow are a whirlwind of activity. Messengers arrive at all hours with reports from across Meridian. Sacha gathers the highest ranking Veinwardens, reunions between veteran fighters from before his capture take place, and he spends hours locked away planning what needs to happen next.
Four days after the night he killed the torturer, I find myself standing in the study watching him as he reads through the latest batch of reports delivered by scouts from the furthest reaches of the realm. The scent of parchment and wax fills the air as replies are written and sealed with the Shadowvein crest.
Word is spreading so much faster than I thought it would. Communities that have lived in fear for decades are finally daring to hope. Most are pledging support. Others are reporting Authority movements in their areas. A few are even asking for guidance on how to rise up against the garrisons stationed in their towns and villages.
The response shows just how much the Authority’s control has weakened since we took Ashenvale.
I move around the room, refilling Sacha’s glass and letting my fingers trail across his shoulders as I pass. His hand lifts to cover mine briefly, before his attention returns to Varam, who is giving a report about Authority movements.
“The scouts we sent west returned just before dawn,” he says. “They’re reporting that four of Sereven’s commanders have locked themselves inside Greyhold Keep.”
“Who?”
“Alvar, Vesren, Breslin, and Tamar.”
Four of Sereven’s primary commanders gathered in one location, instead of scattered to the winds.
“What are the defenses like?”
“Walls at least twenty feet high. A single gate with portcullis. One watchtower overlooking the main approach.” Mira joins usat the table. “No more than thirty soldiers with them. The rest have all fled.”
“What about the other commanders? Is there any word about them?” I ask.
“Thane fled south toward the Blackwater Marshes.” Varam consults the parchments he’s holding. “Dreck went north. The seventh remains unaccounted for. We believe he’s with Sereven.”
“Then we take Greyhold first.” Sacha pulls a map toward him.
“The keep sits on open ground.” Varam points to its location on the map. “There’s no cover at all for at least a mile in all directions. It was built strategically to ensure no one could attack it without warning. They’ll see us coming.”
“Those very things work against them just as well as they work for them,” Sacha says. “It means they can’t bring in reinforcements, and they have no escape routes if the gate falls.”
“Assuming we can reach the gate,” Mira points out. “The open ground would be a killing field for anyone approaching on foot.”
“What if we go at night?” I’m hesitant to speak up, but I can’t stay silent. “Wouldn’t that make it harder for them to see us coming?”
Sacha and Varam exchange a look, and it’s like they have an entire conversation without uttering a single word. After a few minutes, Varam sighs.
“The Veinbloods aren’t going to like it.”
“What was it you said to me? I get to rule on my own terms.”
A commotion outside the doors draws his attention beforeVaram can respond. Voices, the sound of boots, someone shouting. Sacha’s head turns toward the door, and I catch the subtle shift in his stance that means he’s recognized something … or someone.
“Wait … that sounds like—” The door swings open before I can finish.
Nyassa enters first, travel dust coating her clothes and exhaustion lining her face. Behind her is Telren, and two others I don’t recognize.
“My Lord.” Nyassa drops to one knee, and the others follow suit. Sacha waves them to their feet straight away.
“You made good time.”
