Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
ELLIE
“Some prisons are built of stone. Others of unspoken truths.”
Reflections on Captivity — Sacha Torran's Journals
Our room feels too small for what we’re planning. The four of us are crowded around the map spread out across the narrow table, the air thick with unspoken fears about what might happen next.
Jorana’s fingers drum on the table-top, eyes on the map, but I’m not sure she’s really seeing it.
Her face has that distant look of someone lost in thought.
Corwin keeps adjusting his tunic and checking the hidden blade strapped to his wrist. Bessa keeps walking to the window, watching the people going about their business on the street below.
“I think the marketplace will be busy enough now.” Her voice holds the same tension as the room.
I flex my hands beneath the table, sparks jumping between my fingers, responding to my nerves.
Once we leave here, once it starts, everything that happens after will depend on my signal.
On me reading the moment right. If I act too early, the riots won’t have spread far enough.
Too late, and the Authority will regain control before our people can respond.
“Do you know what you have to do?” Jorana’s voice is barely above a whisper, despite the privacy of our room.
My throat is tight, mouth dry, but I lick my lips and nod. “Corwin will provoke the soldiers in the market square. If it sparks …” I shake my head. “When it sparks, and the violence spreads through enough streets, I call lightning. That’s when they come out of hiding.”
Veinbloods have been coming into the city over the past twenty-four hours. The Ashenvale Veinwarden Knot has set up people in all areas of the city, to repeat what Corwin is about to do in the main marketplace.
It sounds so simple. But the reality is going to be chaos, and blood, and people dying for the chance to be free.
“Oh, be certain that I will make them angry enough to start a fight,” Corwin says, his voice steady despite the danger in what he’s volunteered to do. “Authority soldiers love reminding people who is in charge.”
Silver light flares along my arms before I can stop it. The power wants to be used. I can feel the mist stalker sliding over my skin, pushing against my control, eager to answer the emotions surging through me every time I think about what we’re planning to do.
“The lightning needs to be visible everywhere.” Jorana points to places on the map where Veinbloods are waiting. “Every part of the city needs to light up. Our people have been waiting decades for this, and we must get it right. We won’t get a second chance.”
Using my power on that scale means drawing on everything I’ve learned since Sacha’s familiar slammed into me on that hilltop overlooking River Crossing. When it turned the power inside me into something that can split the sky and announce the return of everything Sereven thinks he has destroyed.
“When they see your signal, the Earthveins positioned outside will bring down sections of the outer walls. The Flameveins inside the city will target Authority weapon stores and the barracks near the Lirien Spire.” Jorana taps the map, marking the targeted areas of the wall.
Bessa turns from the window. “They’ll melt every piece of Authority steel they can reach … even if they’re wearing it.” Her lips curve up into a vicious smile. “Especially if they’re wearing it.”
I stare down at the map, trying to imagine how this is going to play out.
Veinbloods hidden throughout Ashenvale for the first time in over twenty years, waiting for lightning to tell them it’s time to step out of the shadows.
Veinwardens who have kept faith and loyalty to a man thought dead, now ready to risk everything to give him back a city he lost.
“It’s time.” Corwin steps away from the table.
The words drop like a stone into still water. The time for planning is over. My heart picks up speed, and for a second, I go lightheaded. The breath I suck in is shaky. I pick up my cloak from the bed and wrap it around myself, lifting the hood and tucking my hair inside.
We leave the inn together, then split up as planned.
Jorana heads to the administrative district, close to where I stayed with Sacha the first time we came here.
She’s meeting some of the Knot there, and will focus on taking control of that section of the city.
Bessa heads toward the plaza where the barracks and Lirien Spire are.
She’ll be meeting Veinwardens along the route, and they’ll be there to support the Flameveins when they rise up to target the soldiers.
Corwin and I walk together toward the market square, two more faces in the morning crowd.
The market is busy when we get there—vendors shouting their wares, customers haggling over prices, children weaving between stalls while their parents buy food. But even with how normal it looks, there’s still an air of caution and fear.
Authority soldiers patrol in groups of three, their red-cloaked uniforms marking them as clearly as targets. They move with the casual arrogance of men who have never questioned their right to be here or their right to enforce laws that grind people into dust.
“There.” Corwin nods toward a cluster of soldiers near a spice merchant’s stall. “Stay here and watch.”
I position myself near a fountain where I can see the entire square. Lightning flashes spark when I rest my hand against the stone, and I have to snatch it back and tuck it beneath my cloak while I fight not to let the silver light shine through.
Corwin walks across the square, his saunter almost arrogant as he moves closer to where the soldiers are. He stops three paces from them.
“Excuse me.” His voice is pitched loud enough to be overheard by anyone nearby. “I need to report a theft.”
One soldier turns, expression bored. “What kind of theft?”
“The kind where your High Commander steals half my earnings in taxes, and your captains demand bribes for permits I already paid for.” Corwin’s voice carries across the square, drawing shocked looks from people nearby.
“The kind where honest people can’t feed their families because Authority greed takes it all. ”
The change in the soldier’s expression is immediate. Boredom becomes anger, casual authority becomes focused threat. “Would you like to repeat that?”
“Which part?” Corwin spreads his hands, the picture of innocent confusion. “The bit about doubled taxes, or the part about your corruption?”
Everyone nearby has stopped what they’re doing to watch.
“I suggest you stop talking or I’m going to arrest you.” The soldier’s hand moves to the hilt of his sword.
“What for? Stating facts?” Corwin’s voice rises, carrying to every corner of the square. “For mentioning that the Authority has turned Ashenvale into a prison where children starve so its commanders can wear silk?”
The soldier’s backhanded blow catches Corwin across the face. It’s obvious to me that he doesn’t even try to avoid it. He staggers but doesn’t fall, blood dripping from his split lip.
“Maybe a night in the cells will teach you some respect.” The soldier grabs Corwin by his shirt and shoves him hard against one of the market stalls, sending pottery crashing to the ground.
Gasps ripple through the watching crowd, and the merchant whose stall was damaged steps toward the broken items on the ground.
“Who is going to pay for this?”
“Issue a report to Administration.” The soldier turns away, reaching for the rope at his belt to take Corwin into custody.
The merchant’s face darkens. “You destroy my goods, and expect me to just stand here and watch?”
“Stand back!”
The merchant picks up a large piece of pottery. “No. I’m done staying silent.”
He throws the shard, and it hits the soldier’s breastplate. The sharp crack echoes through the now silent square. The soldier’s arm swings out, and his fist catches the merchant across the shoulder, sending him sprawling.
The entire square seems to freeze, every breath held for the length of two heartbeats … and then someone grabs a wooden stool and swings it at the soldier’s legs. The man goes down hard, and in less than a second the crowd isn’t just watching anymore.
They’re attacking.
“I said stand back!” the captain barks, but his voice cracks slightly. Three men, even with swords, facing thirty angry citizens are not good odds, and he knows it.
A piece of fruit hurtles across heads to splatter against armor. Another person kicks over a merchant’s table, sending it into one of the soldier’s backs. The order of the marketplace dissolves into chaos as decades of suppressed rage finally finds a target.
Violence erupts like water through a broken dam. Fists and improvised weapons against armor and steel. Voices raised in fury instead of fear. Hands striking instead of cowering.
A baker throws a rolling pin with enough force to dent a helmet. A fishmonger’s wife swings a gutting knife that opens a gash along an armored forearm. Children dart between adult legs, pelting the soldiers with stones and rotten vegetables, before scrambling away from grasping hands.
The captain’s sword flashes as he tries to carve space around himself, but bodies press in from all sides.
His blade catches someone across the ribs.
A young woman, who stumbles back clutching her side, blood seeping between her fingers.
But two more people immediately take her place, grabbing at his sword arm while others attack from behind.
“Fall back!” one soldier shouts, but there's nowhere to retreat.
The crowd has surrounded them completely, a tide of fury that’s been building for so long it can no longer be held back. Pottery shards and wooden clubs rain down. Hands tear at straps and buckles, trying to strip away the symbols of the Authority.