Chapter 17
Chapter Seventeen
ELLIE
“Some chains are forged from duty. Others from love. Both can bind equally.”
Reflections on Captivity — Sacha Torran's Journals
The sound of footsteps outside the window jolts me awake. Sunlight filters through a crack in the shutters, casting a thin line of gold across the small bedroom. The bed beneath me is narrow but comfortable, the rough blanket warm against my skin.
It takes me a moment to remember where I am.
Masha’s house, in the middle of Ashenvale.
I stretch, and take a moment to enjoy the simple pleasure of waking up in a bed, without worrying about who might find me. For two nights, Masha has allowed me to stay here. She’s fed me, given me clean clothes, and opened her home to me. I’m not sure how I’ll ever repay her for it.
The memory of those desperate hours when I discovered I was in Ashenvale and not Thornspire still makes my skin crawl.
Stumbling through unfamiliar streets, ducking into shadows whenever I heard boots on cobblestones, pressing against the walls and holding my breath until patrols passed.
The relief when I finally found someone who recognized the phrase Sacha gave me feels distant now, but no less real.
Without Masha's willingness to take me in, I'd still be hiding in doorways and praying no one questioned me.
Even the connection to Sacha seems steadier this morning, a warm pulse deep inside my chest confirming he’s alive and moving around somewhere. Whatever he’s doing, I can sense his purpose driving him forward.
Through the door I can hear voices. Multiple people speaking in hushed tones, but the cadence is wrong for normal conversation. It’s too quick, too intense, punctuated by long pauses. It raises the fine hairs on the back of my neck.
Has she told the Authority I’m here? Am I going to walk out of the room and find soldiers waiting for me?
The possibility turns my blood to ice. Masha seemed genuine, but that doesn’t mean the people she introduced me to feel the same way. They might have changed their minds. Especially when the alternative could be their death.
I slip from the bed, and the floorboards creak beneath my feet.
Holding my breath, I stay still, watching the door, but it doesn’t open.
No one bursts in and drags me out. The voices continue their conversation beyond the walls, words too muffled to make out clearly but carrying enough tension to worry me.
My heart hammers against my ribs as I strain to listen.
Are they discussing me? Planning what to do with me?
The urgency in their tones suggests something important is being discussed, but even when I press my ear to the door, I can’t make it out.
Grabbing the clothes Masha gave me, I dress quickly, pull my hair back into the common braid she showed me, and then bend to tie my boots. My fingers shake slightly as I work the laces. Every choice I make has the potential to either keep me free or put me in chains, or worse, kill me.
The voices are still talking in the other room once I’m done, and I hesitate for a second before taking a deep breath and pulling open the door to step through.
Two of the Ashenvale Knot members are there with Masha—Jorana and Corwin.
Both women are seated at the table, while Corwin paces near the small hearth. The women stand up when I enter.
“—posted all over the city. Sereven has—”
The conversation stops, and they turn to look at me. My heart rate increases tenfold. The tension in the room is thick enough to taste. And I can’t stop myself from glancing at the windows and door, expecting soldiers to rush in at any second.
“What’s going on?”
Masha looks at me, then at Jorana. “Show her.”
The simple words twist my stomach into knots.
Corwin’s hand reaches inside his cloak, and I brace myself, waiting for attack. Power surges through my veins, lighting up my skin, but all he does is take out a rolled up sheet of parchment and hands it to me.
The silver glow fades, but my nerves remain on edge. I take the parchment from him with shaking fingers. The first thing I see is the Authority’s seal at the top. My heart attempts to break free from my chest as I unroll it to read the words.
By order of High Commander Sereven of the Authority, substantial rewards are offered for information leading to the capture of the Shadowvein Lord and the woman traveling with him.
Sacha Torran. Male. Enemy of the Authority. Shadowvein. Dangerous. Dark hair. Dark eyes. Height approximately six feet three.
Elowen. No last name. Female with silver and brown hair, traveling with him. Height approximately five and a half feet. Suspected Veinblood abilities. Dangerous.
Gold reward for information leading to capture. Death penalty for anyone caught harboring these fugitives. Report any sightings immediately to your local Authority garrison.
My mouth turns dry as I read the words, then again … and a third time. But they don’t change. What’s worse is that there are sketches that are uncomfortably accurate.
Of course they are.
The sketch of Sacha captures the sharp angles of his face—the arrogance of his expression, the dark hair, and his eyes when they’re black with shadows.
But it’s my own image that chills me. The artist has rendered my features with enough detail that anyone who sees this proclamation would recognize me instantly if I cross their path.
Sereven saw me. He knows exactly what I look like. My face is now known throughout the entire city. Every person who sees me could turn me in for that gold. I can’t hide the silver in my hair, or the changes to my eyes. It’s all there for anyone to see.
Every person I pass on the street is now a potential threat. Every child, every beggar could be studying my face, and comparing it to the image on this parchment. The false safety I’ve felt in Masha’s house evaporates.
The reward amount makes my hands shake. It's more money than most people see in years. Enough to change someone's entire life. How many desperate families would look at that sum and decide the risk is worth it? How many Authority loyalists would see it as their duty to turn me in?
The death penalty for harboring us makes everything worse. Anyone who helps me, anyone who even looks the other way, faces execution if they're caught. I've brought that danger to Masha's door simply by being here.
“These have been posted throughout the city. On every street corner. In every market square. And on the door of every public building,” Corwin says.
“The reward is enough to change a family’s life forever.” Masha’s voice is quiet. “Anyone seen in the company of someone matching those descriptions will be stopped and held.”
My head snaps up, and I pull my eyes away from the proclamation to search her out.
“Are you going to claim it?” I’m not sure what I’m going to do if she says yes. There are three of them, and one of me. If I use my powers, it’ll be seen. If I try to run, someone will see me. But my fingers curl, and I reach for the mist stalker, preparing to send it out to protect me.
The question hangs in the air between us. I watch Masha's face carefully, searching for any sign of what she's thinking. The woman who welcomed me, who fed me and gave me shelter, now holds my life in her hands. One word from her could bring soldiers to this door.
“Answer with truth. Were you with him?”
“That says I was.”
“But that isn’t what I asked. Is he the one you spoke about when you first arrived? Is the Vareth’el the one you’re trying to reach?”
My eyes dart to the door behind Corwin, then back to Masha.
I lick my lips, trying to ease the dryness.
“Yes.” The word comes out barely above a whisper, but it might as well be a shout for the reaction it provokes.
The silence that follows stretches long enough for me to hear my heartbeat thundering in my ears.
And then Masha sinks down onto a chair beside the table.
“For twenty-seven years we believed he was dead. And she stands here as proof that he lives.” The way she says it, the reverence in her voice, calms my racing heart.
I haven’t made a mistake. They really are Veinwardens. People who have spent decades believing their High Prince was dead. And now they’re looking at someone who was actually with him. Who saw him fight, witnessed him using his powers, who knows he’s real and not a memory to be whispered about.
The way they’re looking at me makes me want to shrink back into the bedroom. I’m just one person, but to them I represent something much larger.
Hope. Possibility. The chance that everything they believed, everything they’ve fought for, might actually have not been a waste.
“Sereven built his validity of holding the throne on the lie that the Vareth’el was dead,” Corwin says.
“As well as convincing people that the Veinbloods were monsters who needed to be purged for the good of all, it was pushed that he had claim rights through birth. He said that being born without Shadowvein power proved that it was time for change.”
“And people believed them,” Jorana adds. “After the purges, after seeing what happened to anyone who resisted …”
“They had no choice,” Masha says softly. “But now people will see the truth.”
“Will they?” The parchment crinkles under my fingers as I grip it tighter.
I’m not asking just out of concern for myself.
When word spreads that Sacha is alive, how will people react?
Will they see it as hope or as confirmation of their worst fears?
The Authority has spent years convincing people that Veinbloods are dangerous, that the purges were necessary.
Some people will welcome news of Sacha's return, but others might see it as vindication of everything they've been taught to believe.
“Some will. The ones who remember what it was like before the Authority took control. The ones who have been waiting. Others will fight because they believe what the Authority has taught them.”
“What about other Veinwarden knots? Can we get news to them?”
“We won’t need to. The proclamations will spread throughout Meridian. It will be carried to every settlement and outpost by Authority patrols.”
I imagine the news spreading outward. This room, this moment, this piece of paper with our faces on, being shown throughout Meridian.
Veinwarden knots learning that their rightful prince is alive.
The hope it might kindle in people who have lived under Authority oppression for decades … and the fear that might rise in others.
The thought makes my stomach churn. How many people will see the reward and decide the risk is worth it? How many will study the image of our faces, memorize every detail, and hunt down anyone who matches our descriptions?
This proclamation isn't just a manhunt, it's the latest move in a much larger conflict. By putting our faces on wanted posters, Sereven is forcing us toward a confrontation. No one will be able to hide anymore. Everyone will have to choose a side.
How many will die because of what we represent? The Authority won't hesitate to make examples of anyone who supports us. They'll use brutality to keep control, just as they always have. By simply existing, by being who we are, Sacha and I have put countless lives at risk.
My breath stills.
When did I stop thinking of the Veinwardens and Veinbloods as them, and start thinking of them as us?
“What happens now?” I force myself to ask.
“For you?” It’s Masha who answers me. “You will need to stay hidden. That reward will have people looking for you everywhere. It’s enough to tempt people who might otherwise look away and pretend ignorance.”
“Every desperate soul who is looking for a way out of poverty may see this as their only chance,” Jorana adds.
“Every Authority loyalist who truly believes that Veinbloods are a blight to be destroyed will use this as justification to target people who have things they want,” Corwin says.
“But I can’t stay here forever. Eventually, I’ll have to leave. Or someone will see me. I’m putting all of you in danger.”
By staying here, Masha and the others are at risk of being executed. All it would take is someone commenting that Masha has someone staying with her. But if I leave, I will be captured. I don’t have the skills to hide or blend in.
There are no good choices, only different degrees of risk.
“Moving will be dangerous. Staying even more so. But that isn’t the important part.” Jorana crosses to the window and checks the street outside, then closes the shutters.
My heart starts to pound again. “What do you mean?”
There’s something in their expressions that I can’t quite read. It isn’t fear, exactly, but it isn’t excitement either. More a sense of anticipation … or resolution.
“We need to decide whether we’re ready.” Jorana’s voice holds a warning I don’t understand.
“Ready for what?”
“Change. Real change, not just more years of hiding and hoping.”
I frown. “Have you been planning something? Something that has nothing to do with me being here?”
The way they look at each other confirms my suspicion. They have. There’s a plan in place that’s been waiting for the right moment. And apparently, that moment is now.
“Yes. For years. We’ve kept certain things hidden, while we waited for a sign.”
“What kind of things?”
“The kind that could change everything … or destroy what little we have left if it was discovered at the wrong time.” Corwin moves to the door and checks the lock.
The action tells me that whatever they’re about to share is dangerous.
“The Ashenvale Knot is the keeper of secrets. Ones we’ve had to keep from other Veinwardens.” Corwin comes back to the table, and pulls out a seat. “Please … sit.” He walks around the table and takes the remaining chair himself.
“Why would you keep secrets from your own people?” I lower myself into the chair he offered.
“Some knowledge is too dangerous to share. It only takes one person to slip. The Authority has spies everywhere. People who seem loyal to our cause but report back to them. We have learned to be careful about who we trust. With the Vareth’el alive and free, perhaps it is time.”
My thoughts go to Lisandra—a woman who was trusted with the highest position within the Veinwarden leadership, and betrayed the very man she had pledged her loyalty to.
If someone that trusted could turn against Sacha, then no one is above suspicion.
The Veinwardens might share a common cause, but that doesn’t make them a unified force.
Personal grievances, desperation, fear—any of these could turn an ally into an enemy.
“Time for what?”
The three Ashenvale Knot members exchange glances again, then Masha nods.
“There are Veinblood families who survived the purges.”