Chapter 39
Chapter Thirty-Nine
SACHA
“The storm's eye is not empty. It is where transformation gathers its strength.”
Writings of the Veinblood Masters
Steam rises from the bodies scattered across the path, and the acrid smell of burned flesh fills the night air.
My ears are still ringing from the thunder that cracked overhead, and the afterimage of lightning bolts burns behind my eyelids.
Shadows still coil around my fingers, unneeded now because Ellie reacted before I could.
Twenty-four men, dead in seconds.
Mira dismounts her horse from my left, and crosses to the bodies, crouching to search them for anything that might be useful. Our other fighters scan the surrounding darkness for signs that anyone might have witnessed Ellie's display.
My attention, however, remains fixed on Ellie herself.
She’s still kneeling beside the path, her body convulsing as she vomits onto the grass.
Sparks crackle around her with every ragged breath she takes, and her shoulders are shaking.
I’m not sure if the tremors are from the aftereffects of channeling her power or from the horror of what she’s just done.
It could even be both.
I've seen soldiers break after their first real battle, watched hardened fighters crumble when they realized what they'd become.
But this is different. This is Ellie—the woman who looked at me without fear even when she should have run.
Now she kneels beside the path, silver light flickering beneath her skin like trapped fire.
Dismounting, I walk over to her. Behind us, the ground is blackened where she stood when the power struck, vegetation burned away by the energy that erupted from her body.
The smell of fire clings to everything—her clothes, her hair, the very air around her.
When I reach for her shoulder, sparks jump between us, making my fingertips tingle.
“Ellie.” My voice is soft.
She doesn’t look up. Another wave of vomiting wracks her body, and she leans forward, pressing her hands flat against the earth.
“Mel’shira.” I drop to one knee beside her.
This time she lifts her head. Her eyes are wild, pupils dilated, the silver flecks so bright they swallow the brown of her irises entirely.
The magic still courses through her, visible in the way she’s shaking, in the erratic pulse of light along her arms, and in the way the air around her seems to shimmer.
“I killed them all.” The words are barely audible. “All of them. In seconds.”
“You stopped them from killing us.”
“I know. They deserved to die. I’m glad they’re dead.”
She draws in a shuddering breath, but the way her face twists with self-loathing tells me everything about the war raging inside her head.
“I enjoyed it. When the lightning struck and they all fell? I felt powerful. In control. And … and there was a moment when I wanted more of them to come, just so I could do it again.” Her head drops, hair falling forward to shield her face.
“Sereven told me my power was that of someone who should command … Tonight, I understood what he meant.”
Static builds in the air around us, making my hair lift and stand on end. Sparks jump between her fingers, the grass beneath her palms beginning to smoke. The scent of it burning mingles with the lingering odor of charred flesh.
“Ellie.” I say her name firmly. “You need to regain control of your emotions.”
Her breathing turns more erratic, becomes shorter, panicked. Silver light races up her arms. The temperature around us drops, thunder rumbling in the distance.
I know this feeling—when magic becomes a wildfire that feeds on itself until it consumes everything in its path. I've felt it with my own shadows, the intoxicating rush of letting darkness loose without restraint. The difference is that I learned control through decades of discipline.
“Look at me.” I reach out and cup her face between my palms, forcing her wild gaze to focus on mine. Sparks dance across my skin where I touch her, but I don’t pull away. “Right now. Look at me. Listen to me.”
Thunder crashes somewhere above our heads. For a moment I fear she might lash out, but then her gaze locks onto mine.
“That’s it, Mel’shira.” I keep my voice low and steady, a tone I’ve used to calm spooked horses or wounded soldiers on the edge of panic. “Breathe with me now. In through your nose. Hold. Out through your mouth. Follow my breathing.”
She draws in a shaky breath, then another. The glow dims slightly and the thunder fades. Her hands come up to cover mine, her fingers icy cold against my skin.
“Your magic responded to protect us,” I say once her breathing steadies. “You saved our lives. The fact that part of you found satisfaction in eliminating a threat doesn’t make you a monster, Mel’shira.”
“But what if next time I’m wrong? What if my emotions decide someone is a threat when they’re not? What if I become the kind of person who kills first and asks questions later?” Her teeth sink into her lip, and her voice drops to a whisper. “What if I become like him?”
I study her face in the moonlight, taking in the worry in her eyes, the way her mouth tightens. It’s not the expression of someone drunk on power or eager for more violence. This is someone horrified by her own capacity for destruction, terrified of the darkness she's discovered within herself.
And that terror, more than anything else, proves she's nothing like Sereven.
“Do you want to know the difference between you and my brother?” I brush my thumbs across her cheeks, feeling the lingering warmth of magic just beneath her skin.
“Sereven enjoyed the killing from the beginning. He sought out excuses to use his power. He created enemies where none existed, turned every disagreement into a reason for violence.”
Her eyes meet mine.
“You're sitting here sick with horror at what you've done, questioning every instinct, terrified of becoming something dark. That self-doubt, that capacity for disgust at your own actions … that's what will keep you human.”
“But I did enjoy it,” she whispers. “For a moment, when they all fell at once, I felt ... intoxicated. Like I could do anything, become anything. The power wanted more, and part of me wanted to give it more.”
“And that terrifies you.”
“Yes.”
“Good. The day it stops terrifying you is the day you need to worry.” I lean closer, my forehead touching hers. “Power without restraint is destruction. Power with fear is wisdom. You're learning the difference between necessary violence and cruelty.”
She's quiet for a long moment, processing my words. I can almost see the internal struggle playing out behind her eyes.
“I’m not the same woman I was when I first arrived here.”
“No. You’re not. Does that frighten you?”
“Yes. It should frighten you too. I just killed twenty-four men, and felt satisfied doing it. That’s not normal, Sacha. That’s not who I used to be.”
“The woman you used to be could have gotten us all killed tonight.” I help her to her feet, and she sways slightly. “Mourn her passing, but you have become what you need to be to survive. What this world requires of you.”
I look around. Everyone is back on their horses, waiting for us. We need to put distance between ourselves and this place before anyone comes investigating. The smell of death and the lightning will draw attention—from both humans and scavengers.
“We should go. Your lightning will have been visible for miles.”
She nods. I offer her my arm, and she leans against me as we walk back to her horse.
“How do you live with it?” Her voice is quiet as she prepares to mount. “The satisfaction? Because I know you feel it too. I've seen it in your eyes when you kill.”
I don’t answer straight away. How do I explain that the satisfaction comes not from the killing itself, but from the justice of it?
That every life I take is considered against the lives it will save?
That I've learned to separate the necessary dark pleasure that keeps me sharp from the destructive hunger that would consume everything I care about?
How do I tell her that some nights the ghosts of those I've killed do visit my dreams, their faces mixing with older horrors from my past?
“Some nights are harder than others. But I’ve learned that the alternative …
that letting evil triumph because I was too squeamish to stop it …
costs more sleep than taking action ever could.
And I accept that part of me enjoys the victory, the moment when justice is served.
But I never let that enjoyment drive my decisions.
The satisfaction comes after the necessity, never before. ”
“And if someday the line gets blurred? If I can't tell the difference between justice and revenge?”
“Then you'll have me to remind you. Just as you remind me that there are still things worth protecting.” I stroke my thumbs across her cheekbones, marveling at how someone who just leveled two dozen men can still look so fragile. “We'll keep each other human, Mel'shira.”
She considers this as she reaches for her horse’s reins, then pauses. “I used to think there were clear lines between good and evil. That protecting people meant never becoming something dark yourself.”
“And now?”
“Now I think those lines exist mostly in stories.” She swings herself into the saddle with visible effort. “Real protection sometimes requires becoming the monster so others don’t have to.”
She touches her heels to the horse’s flanks and it moves forward.
I keep a careful eye on her as we ride, noting the way she occasionally sways in the saddle, how her hands grip the reins too tightly to compensate for her unsteadiness.
If there's one thing I've learned about Ellie, it's that she's stubborn.
She won't admit that what she did has exhausted her until she's about to collapse.
I find myself thinking about her transformation, about the woman who first entered my tower with terror in her eyes. That Ellie would have been horrified by tonight's violence, would have tried to find another way, would have hesitated at the crucial moment and gotten us all killed.
This Ellie—the one swaying in her saddle ahead of me—acted without hesitation when our lives were threatened. She didn't flinch from necessary violence, didn't waste time with useless mercy toward those who would have shown us none.
She's changing, just as she said. The question that remains is whether she'll retain enough of who she was to remain human, or if this world will continue to forge her into something else entirely.
Something more like me.
The thought should disturb me more than it does.
As if to prove my assessment correct, she sways dangerously in her saddle, catching herself at the last moment before toppling sideways. I urge my horse closer, ready to catch her if she falls.
“You’re exhausted.”
“I’m fine.” The lie is transparent. Dark circles have appeared under her eyes, and her skin has taken on a grayish pallor that speaks of magical depletion. She's running on stubbornness alone.
“No, you’re not.” I reach for her reins. “Come here.”
“Sacha, I don’t need—”
“You’re about to fall off that horse. We don’t have time to slow down, and you can’t afford to fall unconscious and tumble into a ditch.” I extend one hand. “Pride won’t keep you upright.”
She looks at me, then at the concerned faces around us. Pride and stubbornness wars with exhaustion for a moment before she sighs and takes my hand.
“I hate being weak.”
“You’re not weak.” I squeeze her fingers gently. “But using power like that comes with a cost. You need time to recover.”
I bring our horses to a stop. Her jaw clenches as she realizes what I’m suggesting, but another wave of dizziness sends her sideways. I raise an eyebrow. Another sigh escapes her and she slides off the horse and steps toward me.
Reaching down, I help her up in front of me and she settles against my chest with a soft exhale. Her head finds the hollow of my shoulder, hair spilling across my arm.
“Better?”
“I guess so.” I hide a smile at the grouchiness of her tone. She shifts slightly, trying to find a more comfortable position. “Fine. I feel like I’ve been trampled by a herd of horses.”
“Rest if you can. I’ll keep you steady.”
“That’s what happens when you channel enough power to level a small army,” Mira says from behind us. “Most Veinbloods would have been unconscious for days after something like that.”
“Days?” Ellie’s voice carries a note of concern.
“You’re not most Veinbloods.” I dip my head to kiss the curve of her throat. “Rest now.”
She doesn’t respond, but some of the tension leaves her body.
I adjust my hold on her waist, and her head falls back against my shoulder, and her eyes slide closed.
Within minutes, her breathing deepens and her body relaxes completely against mine.
The light that was still pulsing through her fades entirely, leaving her looking young and vulnerable in the moonlight.
We continue on toward Greyhold in silence, broken only by the sound of hoofbeats and the occasional creak of leather. Ellie stirs in her sleep, murmuring words I can’t quite catch. Her dreams seem restless, but her breathing remains deep and even, and she doesn’t wake.
Rolling hills give way to flatter land, and the scent of pine begins to mix with the night air.
Greyhold sits on a low hill surrounded by open ground, a strategic position that makes it difficult to approach undetected.
The lack of cover means anyone approaching would be exposed, but it also means no reinforcements can reach them without warning.
When we're approximately two miles from Greyhold, I spot a cluster of rocks at the edge of the road. The outcroppings should provide enough cover to hide us for a little while.
“We’ll stop here for an hour.” That should give Ellie enough time to rest and be ready to continue on to Greyhold and face whatever waits for us there.