Chapter 38
Chapter Thirty-Eight
ELLIE
“Every ending is a door. Not all who reach it have the courage to open it.”
Veinwarden Prayers
We don’t speak at all on the way back. Sacha seems wrapped up in his own thoughts, and I keep one eye on him as we walk.
I’ve seen him kill before, many times, but this particular death has touched him differently.
I know what it is. He didn't kill to protect me or the people with us.
He didn't kill because our lives hung in the balance.
This was personal, and even though he won’t ever admit it, it bothers him.
Shadows rise and surround us when we get close to Ashenvale, hiding us from the guards on the gates and anyone who might be out at this hour, and we slip back into the Lirien Spire unnoticed. He holds the concealment until we reach our quarters.
Inside, he walks through the room and into the bedchamber, where he stops. His hands hang at his sides, dark with dried blood. His shirt bears wet patches of even darker stains, and there are things clinging to his hair that I really don’t want to examine too closely.
“I should clean this off.” His voice barely carries across the room.
I glance over at the washbasin in the corner. It might hold enough water to rinse away the blood from his face, but nothing more. “I don’t think the water in the basin will be enough for all of that.”
He gives a shallow nod, but doesn’t move.
“Stay here. I’ll go and arrange for a proper bath to be brought up.”
I step back out into the hallway and walk to the end where the stairs lead down to the next level. At the bottom, two guards stand, assigned by Varam to stop anyone disturbing us when we’re in our quarters.
They straighten when they see me, eyes immediately going to the blood spatters on my face.
“I need a bath tub brought to our chambers immediately. And hot water. Lots of it.”
“My Lady?”
“No one is hurt. The Vareth’el had something he needed to do. You didn’t see us leave, but now we need to clean up.”
The second guard nods. “How much water do you need?”
“Enough to fill the tub, and some extra.” I pause, meeting both their eyes. “This must stay between us. No one needs to know that we left the Spire without guards. If anyone asks, tell them I wished to bathe.” I have no doubt that they’ve had stranger requests in the middle of the night.
“Yes, my Lady.” Fists hit their chests in acknowledgement.
One leaves to follow my orders, while the other remains where he is. I return to our room. Sacha is sitting in the chair by the window, still staring at his hands. When I enter, he looks up.
“They’re organizing everything.”
He nods, but doesn’t speak. There’s something in his expression that I can’t quite read. A quiet stillness that isn’t regret or satisfaction for what he just did.
Twenty minutes later, there’s a quiet knock at the door.
Four servants bring in a large tub between them when I open it, followed by five more carrying buckets of steaming water.
They work quickly and quietly, setting up the tub in the bedchamber and filling it.
They leave two buckets full of water beside the tub.
When they’re gone, I lock the door and turn back to Sacha. “Ready?”
He stands and follows me, stopping in the doorway to work at the fastenings of his bloodstained shirt. I cross the floor and place my hands over his.
“Let me do it.” I work the ties loose and pull the material over his head. The blood is mostly on his hands, forearms, and face, with a few splashes on his chest where it soaked through the fabric.
“Your pants too. All of it needs to come off.”
He strips quickly, then steps into the tub. A soft exhale escapes him as the hot water surrounds him when he sits. I kneel beside the tub, and reach for the soap and cloth the servants brought, along with one of the extra buckets of water.
“Give me your hands.”
He holds them out. I dip the cloth into the bucket beside me, and work it between his fingers. The blood comes away, turning the water in the bucket pink, then darker, each time I rinse the cloth. I work my way up his arms.
“Thank you.” His voice is quiet.
“For what?”
“For being there tonight. For helping.” His eyes stay fixed on his hands. “For being here.”
I pause in my scrubbing to look at him. “I told you. I’m here. I’m always going to be here. That hasn’t changed.”
“I know.” His head lifts, and he meets my eyes. “But it helps to hear it again, all the same.”
When I’ve cleaned every trace of blood from his skin, I drop the cloth into the bucket and stand.
“Better?”
He looks down, flexing his fingers. “Much better.”
“Good.” I unlace my tunic. “That water is still hot, and I think you could use the company.” I pull the tunic over my head and let it drop to the floor. “Unless you object, of course.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of his mouth, the first I’ve seen in hours. “I don’t object.”
The water sloshes a little as I step in and sink into the tub. I sit facing him, my legs across his. He watches me, that slight smile tilting his lips.
“What are you thinking?”
He reaches for my hand, and threads our fingers together.
“That I’m lucky. That of all the people who could have found me in that tower, I’m glad it was you.”
“Flatterer.”
“Truth.” His other hand strokes over my jaw, then my lips. “You’ve seen the worst of me, Ellie. The violence, the rage, the need for vengeance. And yet you’re still here.”
“I’m still here.” I turn my face to kiss his palm. “I don’t want to be anywhere else.”
He pulls me closer, until I’m turned around and my back is pressed against his chest. His arms slide around my waist, and for a while we just lie there, letting the warmth of the water wash away the violence of the past few hours.
My eyes are drifting closed when he stirs behind me, lips brushing over my shoulder.
“We should really get out,” he murmurs.
I nod, and let him guide me upright. He holds my hand while I step out, keeping me steady, then follows me.
He reaches for a cloth and slowly dries my body, his touch turning from necessity to need, until we stumble over to the bed, and we lose ourselves in each other until exhaustion drags us under.
The days that follow are a whirlwind of activity.
Messengers arrive at all hours with reports from across Meridian.
Sacha gathers the highest ranking Veinwardens, reunions between veteran fighters from before his capture take place, and he spends hours locked away planning what needs to happen next.
Four days after the night he killed the torturer, I find myself standing in the study watching him as he reads through the latest batch of reports delivered by scouts from the furthest reaches of the realm.
The scent of parchment and wax fills the air as replies are written and sealed with the Shadowvein crest.
Word is spreading so much faster than I thought it would.
Communities that have lived in fear for decades are finally daring to hope.
Most are pledging support. Others are reporting Authority movements in their areas.
A few are even asking for guidance on how to rise up against the garrisons stationed in their towns and villages.
The response shows just how much the Authority’s control has weakened since we took Ashenvale.
I move around the room, refilling Sacha’s glass and letting my fingers trail across his shoulders as I pass. His hand lifts to cover mine briefly, before his attention returns to Varam, who is giving a report about Authority movements.
“The scouts we sent west returned just before dawn,” he says. “They’re reporting that four of Sereven’s commanders have locked themselves inside Greyhold Keep.”
“Who?”
“Alvar, Vesren, Breslin, and Tamar.”
Four of Sereven’s primary commanders gathered in one location, instead of scattered to the winds.
“What are the defenses like?”
“Walls at least twenty feet high. A single gate with portcullis. One watchtower overlooking the main approach.” Mira joins us at the table. “No more than thirty soldiers with them. The rest have all fled.”
“What about the other commanders? Is there any word about them?” I ask.
“Thane fled south toward the Blackwater Marshes.” Varam consults the parchments he’s holding. “Dreck went north. The seventh remains unaccounted for. We believe he’s with Sereven.”
“Then we take Greyhold first.” Sacha pulls a map toward him.
“The keep sits on open ground.” Varam points to its location on the map. “There’s no cover at all for at least a mile in all directions. It was built strategically to ensure no one could attack it without warning. They’ll see us coming.”
“Those very things work against them just as well as they work for them,” Sacha says. “It means they can’t bring in reinforcements, and they have no escape routes if the gate falls.”
“Assuming we can reach the gate,” Mira points out. “The open ground would be a killing field for anyone approaching on foot.”
“What if we go at night?” I’m hesitant to speak up, but I can’t stay silent. “Wouldn’t that make it harder for them to see us coming?”
Sacha and Varam exchange a look, and it’s like they have an entire conversation without uttering a single word. After a few minutes, Varam sighs.
“The Veinbloods aren’t going to like it.”
“What was it you said to me? I get to rule on my own terms.”
A commotion outside the doors draws his attention before Varam can respond. Voices, the sound of boots, someone shouting. Sacha’s head turns toward the door, and I catch the subtle shift in his stance that means he’s recognized something … or someone.
“Wait … that sounds like—” The door swings open before I can finish.
Nyassa enters first, travel dust coating her clothes and exhaustion lining her face. Behind her is Telren, and two others I don’t recognize.
“My Lord.” Nyassa drops to one knee, and the others follow suit. Sacha waves them to their feet straight away.
“You made good time.”
“We left as soon as we heard the news.”