Page 152 of Veinblood
In our chambers, exhaustion claims us both. Ellie settles onto the bed with a soft sigh, and I join her, pulling her close until she fits perfectly against my side. Her body relaxes completely into mine, tension flowing out of muscles that have been coiled for action since we left for Greyhold. I have no idea who falls asleep first, but consciousness fades with her warmth pressed against me and the steady rhythm of her breathing in my ear.
Dreams come fitfully, fragments of memory and fear tangled together until I can't distinguish past from present.
Sereven's face as he explains why our parents had to die. The sound of my own screaming in the tower's depths before they sealed me inside. Ellie's voice calling my name across distances that darkness cannot bridge. And beneath it all, the growing certainty that a confrontation is approaching with the inevitability of winter following fall.
I wake with a start, pulse racing from the nightmares. Ellie stirs beside me, her hand finding mine in the pre-dawn darkness.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. Just memories." I squeeze her hand. "Go back to sleep."
But sleep doesn't return easily. I lie in the darkness, listening to her breathing slow and deepen again, while my mind turns over possibilities and fears. Somewhere out there, my brother prepares to face me. And when that moment comes, one of us must die.
When we wake the next time, we don’t linger in ourquarters. We dress quietly and go to my study, where Varam is already waiting.
“How do things stand?” I round the desk and sit in the chair that used to belong to my father.
“It’s been quiet since you left for Greyhold. No major developments, though there are signs that?—”
A knock interrupts him.
“Enter,” I call.
A Veinwarden messenger steps inside, travel dust coating his clothes. He bows low.
“My Lord. Commander Varam.” He straightens. “I bring urgent news.”
“Speak,” Varam says.
“Commander Dreck is dead, my Lord. A small group of Veinwardens caught him three days ago near the mining settlements in the north.”
Varam leans forward, interest sharpening his features. Another of Sereven's pillars, toppled while we were eliminating the four at Greyhold.
“How did he die?”
“He'd been trying to rally the local garrisons, and convince them to make a stand against your return, Vareth’el. Instead, the garrisons turned on him. They'd heard about Ashenvale's fall, about your victories. They chose survival over loyalty.”
His answer reveals everything about how our war is progressing. When garrison soldiers kill their own superiorsrather than follow orders, it’s clear that the Authority's control is all but finished.
“And now?”
“Those same garrisons have surrendered, my Lord. They're begging for mercy and offering information about remaining Authority positions.” The messenger pauses, taking a breath. Ellie stands silently, pours a goblet of water, and hands it to him. “My thanks, my Lady.” He gulps it down gratefully before continuing. “Three separate outposts have sent delegations requesting terms. They are asking that former Authority soldiers who renounce their oaths will be spared.”
The speed of collapse surprises even me. I expected the Authority's military structure to crumble eventually, but not with such complete thoroughness. Years of ruling through intimidation have created an organization built on fear and self-preservation instead of respect and loyalty.
Once the messenger leaves with orders to find food from the kitchen and rest, I scan the reports Varam has been receiving, each one tells a similar story in different places. It seems that news of the uprising in Ashenvale is spreading faster than armies can march, and the response is nothing short of joyous.
“Their whole system is collapsing faster than we anticipated. Authority control isn't just weakening, it’s disintegrating.” Varam’s voice carries both satisfaction and concern.
Rapid victories like this means fewer deaths from those supporting us, but it also means less time to prepare for whatever final gambit Sereven is planning. A man who watcheshis power fall around him will become capable of measures that would once have seemed unthinkable.
Another scout arrives before we can discuss it further. He bursts through the door without knocking, stumbling forward with a hasty bow.
“Commander Thane is dead,” he bursts out. “Killed yesterday near the Blackwater Marshes. The villagers did it, aided by local Authority soldiers. And we have confirmed Sereven's location. He's definitely at Blackvault.”
Blackvault.
Of all the places my brother could have chosen for his final stand, Blackvault represents the cruelest irony. The fortress where screams echoed from the purging chambers while Authority soldiers stood by and watched innocents die. Where so many of our people met their end in agony, their power ripped from them piece by piece until nothing remained but empty shells.
