Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
ELLIE
“Every fortress contains the seeds of its own undoing.”
Sayings of the Earthvein Sages
“This way.” The woman doesn’t offer me her name, and doesn’t ask for mine. It’s a smart move, considering where we are and what I’ve just said to her. She turns away from the market stalls, and leads me down a narrow side street that winds between closely packed buildings.
I try to match her unhurried pace, despite every instinct inside me warning me to run.
I feel like there’s a sign on my head telling everyone the clothes I’m wearing are stolen, that I’m not truly from this world, and that I hide a power that needs to be destroyed.
My heart hammers against my ribs with every footstep, and every glance from a passerby.
I wait for them to see through me, to recognize me as the woman Authority soldiers were questioning last night, even though there were no other witnesses to it.
We turn one corner, then another, and finally stop in front of a house. Faded blue shutters offer a splash of color against the stone, and there are potted plants either side of the door. She takes a key from a pocket in her cloak, unlocks the door, and steps aside to let me enter first.
I hesitate on the threshold. This could be a trap. For all I know, Authority soldiers might be waiting inside, swords drawn. Once I cross this threshold, there's no taking it back—no pretending I never spoke those words, never approached her, never placed my life in a stranger's hands.
Don’t be ridiculous. How could there be? No one knows I was going to talk to her.
“Inside. Quickly.” The urgency in her voice pushes me forward. Whatever her intentions, she's clearly as nervous about being seen with me as I am about being seen at all.
I step inside. The door closes behind me with a click of the lock, followed by the heavy slide of bolts securing into place. I turn slowly as the woman raises her hands and pulls back her hood.
“Sit.”
I cross to the table she indicates, and choose the chair that faces the door.
My hands shake as I place them flat on the surface.
The grain patterns in the wood catch my attention—swirls and lines, the color going from light to dark.
It's strange what you notice when terror finally releases its grip enough to let other sensations through.
The way the morning light filters through the small gaps in the shutters.
The scent of herbs hanging in bundles from the ceiling beams. The sound of my own breathing, finally steady after hours of quick panicked breaths.
My mind latches onto these details like a lifeline, desperate for anything that feels normal, anything that doesn't scream danger.
The woman studies me for a moment, gives a quick nod, and moves to the windows, checking the shutters. Once she’s satisfied she turns back to me.
“Those words you spoke.” She watches my face carefully. “Where did you hear them?”
“Someone taught them to me. Someone I trust. They said if we ever became separated, I should use them to find help.” The words sound thin, but they're all I can offer without revealing too much about who I am.
“Who?” She doesn’t even pretend to dance around it.
Oddly, it adds to my relief. There’s something about her directness that reminds me of Mira.
She has the same way of assessing every word before she speaks.
I’m still not ready to give her that information, though, not when I don’t know who she is or what those words really mean to her.
“I can’t tell you that.”
“Can’t or won’t?” She lifts one eyebrow.
“Both.”
Her eyes move over my clothes, my face, and then down to where my fingers twist and turn on the table. I press my palms flat against the table, forcing them to stillness, and lift my head slightly, refusing to drop my gaze.
When she speaks again, her voice has lost some of its edge. “You’re in serious trouble, aren’t you?”
“Yes.” There’s no point in denying something so obvious.
“The kind that gets people killed by just knowing about it.” Her voice drops lower, almost as though her words might summon the danger she’s describing.
She isn’t wrong.
“I know what I’m asking of you, and I’m sorry.” I'm asking a stranger to risk her life for me, to trust that I’m not part of the Authority, not here to trap her, and not someone who will bring destruction to her door.
“Do you?” She crosses her arms, and leans against the wall beside the door. “Because the wrong choice here could cost far more than you understand.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I really had no other choice.”
She pushes away from the wall and crosses the room to take the seat opposite me. “Why did you choose me? Why did you think I would help you?”
“Because you look like someone who hates living under Authority control. Because you moved like someone who still believes in something the Authority wants to destroy.”
“And what is that?”
“Hope … freedom.”
She goes completely still, and for a second I think I’ve made a mistake. But then she stands and walks over to a small alcove, where she lights a fire and sets water onto the flame. She doesn’t speak while she heats the water and pours it over the herbs that make what passes for tea in Meridian.
“I could inform the Authority of your presence.” She doesn’t look at me. “I could tell them you approached me with suspicious words, threatened me, and forced your way into my home. The Authority would reward me well for information, especially if you are a dangerous fugitive.”
The bottom drops out of my world. She's right. She could. And there's nothing I could do to stop her. My mouth goes dry.
“You could.” I lick my lips. “But I don’t think you will.”
“How can you be so sure?” She glances back at me, one eyebrow raised in challenge.
“Because if you were going to do that, you’d have done it in the marketplace.
You wouldn’t have brought me here. You wouldn’t have risked your own safety by even helping me this much.
” I pause, hoping I haven’t misjudged her character.
“And because your eyes changed when you heard those words. You recognized them. Not just the phrase, but the meaning behind them.”
She finishes preparing the tea, then pours it into two cups. When she returns to the table, she sets one in front of me and wraps her hands around the other.
“Those words do have significance. The kind that can’t be taken lightly. The kind that have gotten good people killed for speaking them to the wrong person.”
I sip my tea. It burns my tongue but I welcome the pain. It’s real, immediate, something to focus on beside the growing tension in the room, and the way the power stirs inside me preparing to defend my life.
“If you’re lying about where you learned them, and your reason for speaking them to me … if this is some kind of trap …”
“It’s not a trap.” I meet her eyes. “I swear to you, I’m not Authority. I’m not here to hurt anyone. I’m just … lost and scared. And the man who gave me that phrase told me to search for someone who would understand it, and they would help me.”
“What help do you need?”
“I have to find my way back to the people I was separated from.” It’s the simple truth, but stripped of all the dangerous details surrounding it. “I have nowhere else to turn.”
She sips her tea, watching me over the rim of her cup. “Who are the people you want to return to?”
I’ve been dreading this question. How do I explain without revealing too much? Without endangering everyone involved before I know for sure I can trust her?
“Good people. People who are fighting for what is right.”
“That isn’t specific enough.”
“It’s all I can tell you right now.”
There’s another long pause. I can almost see her weighing risks, considering possibilities, trying to determine whether I’m worth the danger I represent. Eventually, she sets down her cup.
“I need time to think about this. You will wait here while I consider what to do. I have errands to run.”
Fear spikes through me. Is this where she goes and brings Authority soldiers to take me away?
“Wait for how long?”
“As long as it takes.” She stands, and lifts the hood on her cloak. “I am going to lock the doors from the outside when I leave. For both our protection.”
“You’re leaving me here alone? How can I trust you’re not going to bring soldiers here?”
“You can’t, but you don’t have a choice.
” Her voice is firm, matter-of-fact. “If you try to leave before I return, you will be on your own in a city that will kill you for not knowing its rules. There is no one else who can help you. You can either trust me, or take your chances alone. Decide now, before I leave.”
She’s right. This is my only chance. I have no real choice but to accept her conditions or face the city and its dangers alone with no allies.
“Can I trust you?”
“For now? Yes.” She pauses at the door, her hand on the lock. “For what it’s worth, I hope you are what you’re claiming to be.”
She slips out of the door before I can respond, and the lock clicks into place, the sound echoing in the sudden quiet, followed by the slide of additional bolts being secured from the outside. I’m alone, in a stranger’s house, depending on the mercy of someone who has no reason to trust me.
The hours crawl by with agonizing slowness. I try to distract myself by exploring the small room, but there’s little to see. A few books on a shelf. Clay pots and wooden bowls. A cooking area with a small fire. Everything speaks of a life lived simply, without drawing attention.
I attempt to read one of the books, but the words blur together. My eyes constantly lift to the shutters, tracking the shadows of people as they walk past on the street outside. Each set of footsteps could be her returning. Or could be Authority soldiers.
I test the shutters, checking their locks. They’re solid, well-maintained, but they won’t stop the Authority soldiers if they try to break in.
My mind keeps circling back to worst-case scenarios. What if the woman doesn’t come back? What if she’s caught and questioned? What if she’s already leading Authority soldiers back here right now, having decided that turning me in is safer than risking her own life?
Every sound from the street makes me freeze, and hold my breath.
The clatter of cart wheels over cobblestones.
Voices calling to each other. The tread of what could be patrol boots or someone carrying a heavy load.
I strain to decipher each noise, trying to determine whether it represents daily life in Ashenvale or my impending doom.
The waiting is torture. Every minute feels like an hour. I search the room more thoroughly, and pocket the small knife I find in a drawer. It won’t save me from soldiers with swords, but it’s better than having no protection at all.
Shadows lengthen across the room as afternoon turns into evening. There’s still no sign of the woman. I don’t want to think about what that might mean. The longer she’s gone, the more convinced I become that something has gone wrong.
I’m giving serious thought to trying to break the locks on the windows, when I hear footsteps outside, followed by the lock turning.
My fingers curl around the hilt of the knife in my pocket and I stand, bracing myself.
The door swings open, and the woman ducks inside, lowering the hood on her cloak.
“This is her.”
Three people follow her inside, and while I can’t see their faces, I can feel them staring at me.
“Speak the phrase again,” one of them says. A woman’s voice, firm and commanding.
I swallow. “Varamek nul’tor.”
“Where did you learn those words?”
“Like I told her, I can’t tell you that until I know who you are.”
There’s a pause, then a different voice, male but equally as careful. “Who are the people you have become separated from?”
Frustration burns through me. We’re going around in circles. They don’t trust me. I don’t trust them. But they can’t help me if I don’t confide in them, and I can’t survive in this city without their help. I have to take a risk.
“People who have been fighting against Authority rule for a long time. We were traveling from Stonehaven to Thornspire when we were separated.” It’s not strictly a lie, but not the entire truth either.
The reaction is immediate. Gasps from all four people, and then they all talk at once.
“Stonehaven?”
“You’ve been to Stonehaven?”
I wait until they fall silent. “Yes.”
“I’ve been to Stonehaven. Prove that you have.” The woman whose home this is steps forward. “Describe the main hall.”
Everything depends on this. I close my eyes, building an image of the large chamber in my head.
“Stonehaven is carved from the mountain itself. There are tables in the center, with maps always spread across them. Veinwardens train there daily.” I pause.
“There’s a crack running down the western wall.
Water drips from it all the time, and there’s always a bucket positioned to catch it. It’s used to water plants.”
The silence that follows feels charged. Then, as one, all three people reach up and lower their hoods.
I find myself looking at faces marked by years of hardship and survival.
One woman has iron-gray hair pulled back in a knot at the back of her neck.
The man is younger, but still has streaks of gray at his temples.
The third is a woman of middle years, her hair untouched by time, but her eyes show years of loss.
“I am Jorana,” the first woman says. “Corwin.” She nods toward the man. “Bessa.” That’s the third woman. “And Masha.” That’s the woman whose home this is.
“I’m Ellie.”
“Where are your papers? Without them, you cannot move freely around Ashenvale.”
“I don’t have any. I …” I struggle to find words that won’t reveal too much. “My arrival here was unusual.”
They exchange glances.
“There is a story there,” Jorana says.
“Yes, but …”
“You don’t trust us enough to share it yet. We understand.” Her voice carries no judgment. “We can help with papers. It won’t be quick, but it will help to keep you alive.”
Relief floods through me, so intense it makes me dizzy. I sink back into my chair. For hours I've been wound tight, waiting for the moment everything would fall apart. Now my body doesn't know what to do without fear driving it.
“Thank you. I understand, and I’m grateful, truly.”