Chapter 34 #2
We turn down a side street, where a row of stores have thrown open their doors, letting the scent of baked goods and roasted meats float out. Sacha’s expression turns thoughtful.
“This bakery …” He stops in front of a store. “It used to make the best honey cakes in the city. My tutors would bring me here as a treat when I showed focus instead of finding ways to escape lessons.”
“Do you want to see if they still have them?”
His eyes move to the doorway, and he shakes his head. “Not today. Maybe later. We don’t want to draw too much attention.”
The deeper we get into the city without being recognized, the more Sacha relaxes. He talks more often, voice soft in a way that sends shivers through me as he shares memories of a childhood spent in these streets.
“The Windhaven Academy was down this street.” He points toward a building with tall arched doorways that have seen better days. “Where noble children learned letters and numbers before they were old enough for more specialized training in their specific Veinblood abilities or Veinwarden tactics.”
“Did you attend?”
“For three years. My path was laid out to become commander of the Veinwarden armies … before my powers manifested, and everything changed.” A small smile tips up his lips. “That’s where I met Varam. I’d hide from my guards, and we’d sneak out during class to explore the city.”
“Even then he was looking out for you?”
“More like we were getting into trouble together.” His quiet laughter fades, and his voice becomes more serious.
“He lost his sister when he was ten. The Authority were just starting to come into their power. No one thought they were much of a threat back then, but there had been rumors of them stealing children with potential Veinblood abilities. Varam’s mother was a Tidevein.
He didn’t display any signs of having powers, but his sister did.
She was six when she went missing. We believe a local Authority sect took her, but there was never any proof. ”
We continue on in silence for a while, until eventually Sacha begins pointing out other landmarks. A small courtyard where he practiced sword forms, a scriptorium where he bought books and scrolls, and then he pauses in a narrow alley.
“This is where my familiar first appeared. Do you remember when I told you about that? I stupidly got myself lost. I was crying when the shadows gathered and formed into a raven. It led me home.”
“How did it feel? When it happened.”
“It was as … explosive as your first manifestation.” He casts a side-long look at me. “Do you remember when that was?”
I frown, thinking back. “The lightstones?”
He laughs. “Oh no. Long before the lightstones, Mel’shira. It was in Ravencross. You were yelling at me, and your frustration lit a fire in the hearth.”
The memory forms clearly in my mind. Sacha, shadows twisting and writhing around him, me angry and frustrated because I thought he was keeping things from me. The way the hearth erupted into flames.
“You said it was remnants of old magic.”
“It was, in a way. Veinbloods no longer existed, other than me.”
“So you knew even then.”
“I suspected. It wasn’t until you nearly killed us on our way to Stonehaven that I thought it might have been something more. Sometimes people with just a hint of Veinblood blood can manifest power if they’re emotional enough, and then they never access it again. But you—”
“What do you mean nearly killed us?” My hand lands on his arm, forcing him to a stop. “I didn’t do anything of the sort. What are you talking about?”
“Do you remember the storm? When we were almost killed by a mountain slide?”
A chill goes through me. I remember that day well.
We had to inch our way across the face of a mountain, with wind and rain whipping at us.
I’d been frozen with fear, and Sacha had come up behind me, and held me close against him while we inched across to safety.
As soon as we were out of reach, the mountainside had collapsed.
“That was me?” I whisper.
“That was the first clear indication that there was more to you than a woman who was lost.”
His finger touches my chin, gently closing my mouth. “Don’t look so shocked, Mel’shira.”
“Don’t …” I shake my head. “You let me think it was just a storm!”
“You were scared and confused. Telling you that you were the cause would not have helped.” He strokes a finger across my lips.
“We survived, and you have control. It is not worth dwelling on.” He touches my arm.
“Come. This way. The city streets are arranged in circles, so if you continue to follow one, you will eventually end up back where you started. There are intersections, and small courtyards, which keep all the streets connected. It’s actually difficult to become truly lost in Ashenvale, but when you’re young and frightened, you don’t consider that. ” His voice is wry.
He leads me through a courtyard, and along another street. From here, I can see the walls where Earthveins forced gaps, but repairs are already underway. We stop at the edge of a crowd, while Earthveins work to move the rubble and fix the wall.
“How long do you think it will take? To rebuild everything that’s been damaged?”
“Not long for the physical damage. But to reestablish how things work, and make sure people understand they don’t have to live in fear any more … that will take longer.”
Our next turn brings us back into the main plaza.
There are more people there now than when we left, and Sacha keeps his face hidden inside the hood of his cloak.
He stops near the fountain again, and looks around—at the people, the buildings, the banners flying Shadowvein colors from the Lirien Spire.
“What are you thinking?”
He’s quiet for a long moment, then he turns to me. “That I will never be able to repay you for what you have done. You have given me something I never thought would be possible. You have given me back my home.”
My throat closes up. Pressing my lips together, I lift a hand to curve it over his cheek, and his comes up to cover it.
“I never thought my life would have meaning. Who knew that almost dying in a desert would end up giving me so much.” I rise up on my toes and press a kiss to his lips.
When we separate, his thumb brushes over my cheek. “We should go back inside.”
When we return to the study, Sacha places the circlet back on his head and pulls on the formal coat. The transformation is immediate—from the man who walked quietly through his city unnoticed to a prince ready to address his people.
“How do you feel?”
“Ready.” His voice is firm, but I know him well enough now to hear the uncertainty beneath. “It’s been a long time. Some of these people have never known anything but Authority rule.”
“But a lot of them do remember what it was like before, and they will spread the word.”
We walk down to the throne room, where Varam, Mira, and the three Veinblood masters are waiting. Varam moves to the balcony and throws open the doors when we enter. Through it, I can see crowds gathering below.
Sacha pauses by the doors. “Will you stand with me?”
“Always.”
The doors open, and we step onto the balcony. The crowd below falls silent when we appear. Sacha steps forward to the balcony's edge and looks out over his people.
“People of Ashenvale.”
Vorith lifts a hand, her Windvein abilities carrying his voice to every corner of the city.
“I am Sacha Torran, son of High Prince Aldric Torran, rightful heir to the throne of Meridian. Thirty years ago, my brother Sereven betrayed our family and our people. First he murdered our mother, then our father. He drove out the Veinbloods from Ashenvale, and handed this city to the Authority. For years, you have lived under their rule. You have been told that Veinbloods are monsters, that magic is corruption, that the old ways are evil.”
His voice grows stronger with every word.
“Those are lies. The Authority ruled through fear because they knew that given a choice, you would choose freedom. They told you Veinbloods were dead because they knew that given hope, you would fight for a better future. Two days ago, you proved them wrong.”
Murmurs begin to rise from the crowd, scattered at first, then gaining momentum.
“Veinwardens throughout this city revealed themselves and fought alongside Veinbloods who had remained hidden in the surrounding lands. And then something wonderful happened. The people of Ashenvale chose to reclaim our city. You chose freedom over oppression. And today, we begin the work of rebuilding what was lost.”
He pauses, letting his words settle.
“I will not rule as the Authority ruled. I will not demand your obedience through fear or force. Veinbloods will return to Ashenvale openly. They will take their place as protectors, not conquerors. And every person, with or without magic, will have a voice in the future we build.”
The cheers are louder now, voices calling out support, hands raised in the traditional gesture of respect.
“But the Authority is not finished. Sereven escaped, and he will try to retake what we have won. But we are no longer scattered and hiding. We are united. We are strong. And we will not let anyone steal our freedom again.”
His voice drops slightly, becoming more personal despite the magic carrying it across the city.
“Tonight, celebrate what you have accomplished. There will be feasts held in the plaza and main courtyards through the city. Eat, drink, celebrate, and tomorrow we begin the real work of taking back Meridian.”
He steps back from the edge, and the crowd's response is thunderous. As we leave the balcony, I can hear the celebration beginning below—voices raised in songs, laughter, the sound of people finally allowing themselves to hope.
“Come,” Sacha says as we step back inside. “There's one more thing I want to show you.”
He leads me through hallways and down stairs until we reach a doorway that opens onto what must have once been gardens.
We step outside onto overgrown paths where weeds push through cracked stones and vines have claimed abandoned archways. The neglect is obvious—this area has been forgotten or ignored for years.
A winding path takes us deeper into the space until we reach a small clearing where a statue stands half-hidden by climbing roses. The figure is weathered but still recognizable as a woman in flowing robes with hands raised toward the sky.
“Who is she?”
“Lyrana the Windcaller.” Sacha moves closer to brush away some of the vines. “One of the first Windvein masters. She's credited with establishing the principles that govern how Veinbloods should use their power.”
“What principles?”
“That power exists to serve the people, not the other way around. That strength should protect rather than dominate. That leadership is a responsibility, not a privilege.” He studies the statue's face. “Principles Sereven abandoned the moment he had the chance.”
Despite the damage from years of neglect, there's wisdom in the carved expression, compassion worn smooth by time and weather. I can see why earlier rulers would have looked to her as an example.
“Do you think you can live up to those principles?”
“I don't know. But I have to try. The alternative is becoming everything the Authority claimed we were. Tyrants who use power for personal gain instead of the common good.”
Through the trees, we can still hear sounds of celebration from the plaza. People are singing now, their voices carrying across the city in songs of joy and freedom.
“They're not afraid of you. That’s already different from the Authority.”
“Should they be?”
“That's not what I mean.” I think about the faces I saw in the crowd during his speech—children bright with excitement, adults weeping with relief, old people who remembered better times. “Under the Authority, people learned to fear anyone with power. But they were looking at you like …”
“Like what?”
“Like you're something they've been hoping for.”
He considers this, still studying the statue. “The Authority ruled through fear and control. If I want to rebuild something better, I need to rule through trust and cooperation.”
“Is that what your father did?”
“My father tried to balance the needs of different factions while maintaining stability. It worked, mostly, but it also made him vulnerable to someone willing to use more direct methods.” Sacha's voice grows harder.
“That is why the Authority was able to grow as fast as it did.
Sereven didn't need to convince people he was right. He just needed to convince them that resistance was futile.”