Chapter 19
Chapter Nineteen
ELLIE
“The condemned often carry the keys to their own liberation.”
Fragments of the Lost Veinwardens
The world tilts sideways, and I have to grip the edge of the table to keep myself steady.
There are Veinblood families who survived the purges.
The words refuse to settle into anything that makes sense.
Survived? How is that possible?
Sacha told me the Authority wiped out all the bloodlines, and hunted Veinbloods to extinction. He witnessed it, lived it. But these people are sitting across from me saying otherwise.
“How many?” I have to force the words past lips that feel numb.
Masha exchanges another look with her companions. “More than you might think. Fewer than we wish.”
“That’s not really an answer.”
“Because the true number isn’t something we want people to discover. The fewer who know, the less likely it will be discovered.”
Jorana reaches out, takes the proclamation out of my hand and places it on the table. “What we’re telling you could get everyone killed if it reaches the wrong ears.”
“Then why trust me with it?” I whisper.
“Because this proves the Vareth’el is alive. And you have silver under your skin. Prophecy speaks of shadow and storm together.”
“We have waited almost thirty years for this moment.” Corwin’s voice draws my gaze toward him.
“Where have they been all this time?”
“Hidden in plain sight. They live as farmers, artisans, merchants.” It’s Masha who answers me. “The safest place to hide Veinbloods turned out to be among the very people who searched for them.”
“You mean they live with people without power? Where the Authority can see them?”
“Not quite under the Authority’s gaze, but they come to Ashenvale to trade, and no one knows they are different to anyone else.”
The cleverness of it is impressive. While the Authority claimed to have wiped them out, the survivors were selling them bread, shoeing their horses, and making their clothes.
“How long have you known?”
“Some of us have always known,” Jorana says. “We helped them disappear during the worst of the purges. Over time, others have found their way to us.”
“Others? People on their own, or families?”
“Both.”
The sheer scale of what they’re telling me is almost impossible to comprehend. Entire family lines … People carrying Veinblood power … Sacha isn’t as alone as he thinks he is.
“But why didn’t you tell anyone? Why keep it a secret?”
The three of them exchange another loaded glance. I’m beginning to understand this is how they communicate when the wrong word could mean death.
“Because we’ve learned the hard way that the Authority has ears everywhere. Including among people we thought we could trust.”
My mind immediately goes to Lisandra, who I last saw locked in the cells beneath Stonehaven. “You know there are traitors among the Veinwardens.”
“We’ve known for years.” Corwin’s voice is grim. “The Authority knew too much about Veinwarden knots, and their locations. We couldn’t risk them discovering the Veinblood families.”
“Could I meet them?” The words come out before I can stop them.
“It’s possible. But getting you out of Ashenvale safely might be a challenge. The description on the proclamation is going to make moving you dangerous.”
“But we can still do it?” I need to meet these people. I need to see for myself that they exist.
“We will have to arrange documentation, and we should dye your hair to hide the silver.”
My hand lifts, touching my braid. “You can do that?”
Masha stands. “I can gather what I need to make a temporary dye from the market. It won’t last long. A day or two at most. Long enough to get outside of the city. The biggest problem is your eyes. We need a way to hide the silver in those.”
“A bandage. We can say she is blind, burned maybe,” Jorana says. “It’s unlikely anyone will ask to look, unless there is something else they feel is suspicious about you.”
“When can we go?”
“Tomorrow,” Corwin says. “I will need tonight to make arrangements.”
“What kind of arrangements?”
“The kind that will keep you alive. We’ll have to time this right, as well as you having documentation for the guards at the gates.”
I don’t want to wait, but I understand why. I can almost hear Sacha’s voice warning me in my head in that tone he uses when he’s explaining something he considers vital to survival.
It’s better to be cautious than dead.
Masha takes her cloak from the peg by the door. “Stay here. I’ll go and get the herbs to darken your hair.”
The other two follow her out, and the door closes behind them with a soft thud, leaving me alone in the small house.
Silence falls, broken only by the distant sounds of the city outside.
I jump to my feet, and start pacing. The space feels too small, too confining, and everything inside me is demanding I move.
I need to do something, other than wait.
But I can’t leave.
My hand touches my chest, just above my heart, where the odd connection to Sacha pulses. Whatever he’s doing, wherever he is, the bond that appeared when we were tossed to Chicago hasn’t gone. If anything, it seems stronger now we’re back in Meridian.
Stay safe. I try to send the thought along the connection. I have no idea if he’ll sense it, but it makes me feel a little less alone.
Time crawls by, every sound making me tense. The proclamation’s sketches burn into my brain. The gold reward offered. How long before someone recognizes me? How long before the reward money proves too tempting for even the most sympathetic person?
It’s almost noon when Masha returns, carrying a cloth bag filled with herbs.
“These will darken your hair without harming it,” she explains as she moves to the hearth and hangs a pot over the fire. “We’ll brew them strong and let the mixture cool before applying it. ”
She adds herbs to the boiling water. While they simmer, she makes tea and fills a plate with sliced meat and fruit. We eat while the concoction fills the room with an earthy, medicinal scent.
Once it’s ready, she pours the mixture into a bowl and lets it cool before bringing it over to me. “It needs to saturate your hair completely, and then we’ll let it sit for as long as possible before rinsing it off.”
The liquid is still slightly warm when she begins pouring it over my hair, working it through every strand with her fingers. When she’s finished, she wraps my head in cloth.
The herbal treatment takes most of the afternoon to work properly. We spend the time preparing vegetables for the evening meal and drinking tea.
When Masha finally removes the cloth wrapping, I check my reflection in the small mirror she provides. The silver strands have been muted to a darker shade—not completely brown, but dulled enough that the silver streaks look more sun-lightened.
“Better.” Masha’s voice is full of satisfaction. “The herbs will continue to darken it overnight. Between this and the eye covering, you should be able to move through the city without immediate recognition.”
Sleep, when it finally comes, is fitful and filled with dreams of silver hair turning brown and Authority soldiers checking papers at city gates.
But underneath the anxiety runs a current of anticipation.
Tomorrow, I’ll meet other Veinbloods. Tomorrow, I’ll see the proof that Sacha doesn’t fight for ghosts.
When dawn comes, I’m already awake and waiting when Corwin arrives.
“Time to go.”
Masha helps me wind a thin strip of fabric over my eyes. I can still see through it, but it should stop anyone from seeing the silver I’m trying to hide. Once it’s in place, I walk across the room to join Corwin at the door, then turn to Masha.
“Thank you.” The words feel inadequate for what she's done for me. “I don't know how to repay—”
“Find your way back to the Vareth'el," she interrupts quietly. “Help him reclaim what the Authority stole. That will be payment enough.”
These people are risking their lives for me, based on nothing but hope and belief in a man they haven’t seen in almost three decades.
I make a silent promise that I won’t let them down.
The morning air is crisp when we step outside.
Ashenvale is stirring to life around us.
Early vendors are setting up market stalls, Authority servants heading into buildings, inns opening for business.
Corwin leads me through narrow side streets toward the market district.
His steps are confident and unhurried, the pace of someone with legitimate reason to be outside rather than someone hiding something.
We join the flow of people heading toward the city gates. Merchants traveling to other settlements, messengers carrying correspondence, Authority officers with business beyond the walls. The crowd provides excellent cover. We’re just two more people among dozens.
“The gates are ahead,” Corwin murmurs as we approach the city walls.
Two guards stand beside the main gates, but their attention is more on the people entering the city than leaving. One of them glances at my paper without any real interest.
“Purpose for leaving?”
“Returning to Millhaven after staying with cousins for a wedding.”
He hands my paper back and waves me forward. Just like that, we’re through the gates. The city walls fall behind us as we join the main road leading away from Ashenvale.
“That was almost anticlimactic.”
Corwin releases a quiet chuckle. “The best escapes usually are. It’s when things get dramatic that people end up dead.”
We walk in silence for a while after that, leaving the main road to follow smaller less traveled paths that wind between fields and patches of woodland. The exercise feels good after days of hiding, and gradually the tension in my shoulders begins to ease.
“Tell me about them. The families, I mean. What should I expect?”
“Caution, mostly. They’ve survived by trusting very few people. Don’t be offended if they don’t welcome you warmly to begin with.”
“How many will I be meeting?”