Page 36 of Veinblood
“You are strong, Mel’shira. This is not the hardest battle you have faced.”
She knocks. Footsteps approach from the inside, and moments later the door opens to reveal an older woman. Her gaze settles on Ellie, and confusion fills her face.
Ellie speaks, and the woman responds with what sounds like a question. Then Ellie says something that makes the woman’s expression change from confusion to interest, and she opens the door wider. An invitation to enter.
But as Ellie steps forward, and I move into view, all color drains from her face.
Her hand rises to press against her chest, and she stumbles back a step. Without further warning, she drops to her knees onthe threshold, her voice trembling as words fall from her lips in a language she should have no knowledge of.
“Vareth’el et’Varin Sacha Torran.”
The words are spoken in perfect Meridian by a woman who should have no knowledge of my world, my language,ormy title.
Chapter Eleven
ELLIE
“The past speaks loudest through what it chose to preserve.”
Sayings of the Earthvein Sages
The world tiltssideways while the suburban street behind us carries on as normal. A neighbor shovels snow from his path in slow, steady sweeps. Someone’s dog barks a few houses down. The mailman walks by whistling some tune that sounds familiar but I don’t know the title of. All normal things happening around me while my brain tries to process what I’m seeing. Every detail feels too sharp, every sound too loud, as though my senses have been tuned to a higher setting.
Sacha is completely still beside me, but tension radiates out from his form.
Mrs. Clancy doesn’t speak, head lowered, hands pressed over her heart. A scene I witnessed a thousand times in Meridian after the Veinwardens discovered Sacha was still alive. A scene I haven’t seen once here on Earth.
“Stand. Before we draw an audience.” Sacha’s words are clipped.
Mrs. Clancy lifts her head. “My Lord, please forgive me. I never thought … never daredhope… that you survived. The Authority told us you were dead. They showed us your body, they paraded it through the villages before burning it publicly in Ashenvale.”
“The Authority lied. I was imprisoned, not executed.” His tone is gentler, but still commanding. “Stand. We should go inside.” He holds out a hand, and after a moment’s hesitation, Mrs. Clancy places her palm against his, and allows him to help her to her feet.
Her eyes never leave Sacha’s face as she steps back to allow us entry, as if she’s afraid he might vanish if she looks away. Once we’re in the small hallway, she closes the door and leads us through to the living room. A floral couch dominates the space, with a collection of ceramic birds arranged on the mantelpiece.
“Please, sit. I’ll make drinks. If you’ll allow it, my Lord, I’ve discovered during my time here that tea makes shocking discoveries easier to process.” She doesn’t wait for a reply, and disappears back through the door. A second later, there’s the sound of running water, and the clink of dishes. Normal sounds that feel a little surreal after what happened on the doorstep.
“This is impossible, right?” I whisper. “There’s no way she can know who you are.”
Sacha lowers himself beside me on the couch, scanning the room. “And yet she does.”
“Buthow?How can she possibly know you?”
The questions spin through my mind, each one giving birth to a dozen more. Mrs. Clancy was a staff member at thechildren’s home. Someone who worked shifts, filed paperwork, supervised chores. Nothing about her ever suggested she was anything more than what she appeared to be … but would I have even noticed? I had no reason to look for more.
Yet I can’t forget the reverence in her voice when she spoke Sacha’s name … how his title rolled off her tongue like it was her natural language …thatisn’t something you can fake. The way she knelt, the shock, the disbelief mixed with recognition. She knows exactly who, andwhat, Sacha is.
She returns before either of us can say anything else, setting a tray on the coffee table, and then takes the chair across from us. For a long moment, no one speaks.
Mrs. Clancy stares at Sacha. Sacha looks back at her.
“You must have questions, my Vareth’el.”
“One or two.” Sacha’s voice holds that dry tone I know so well.
She almost smiles at that, a ghost of expression that transforms her face, and reaches for the teapot. She pours three cups with hands that only shake slightly.
“I don’t even know where to begin.” Her voice is quiet.
