Chapter 40
Chapter Forty
ELLIE
“Between the decision and the act lies the space where courage is born.”
Sayings of the Earthvein Sages
Consciousness comes back in stages. Warmth, the steady thud of a heartbeat beneath my ear, the sounds of voices that fade in and out. I force my eyes open, and try to sit up.
“Easy.” Sacha’s voice comes from above my head. “Take it slow.”
When everything comes back into focus, I find myself lying across Sacha’s lap, my head against his shoulder, beneath an overhang of rock. It’s still dark, but I can see our small group sitting nearby.
Every part of my body aches. I can still feel the echo of the power that tore through me, a tingling awareness that makes my skin hypersensitive to touch. I feel drained, both mentally and physically, and my head throbs.
“How do you feel?” Warm fingers touch my chin and tip my head up.
Sacha’s eyes move over my face, a slight frown creasing his brow as he studies me.
“Still tired, but better.” I sit up, pushing my hair out of my face.
“Here.” He hands me a waterskin, and some cloth-wrapped food. “You need to eat before we move. Your body burned through everything it had.”
Unwrapping the cloth, I force myself to eat the bread and cheese, then wash it down with the water. It helps clear the remaining fog clinging to my mind. Sacha watches me the entire time, and gives a satisfied nod when I swallow the last mouthful.
“Good. We’ll continue on shortly.” He lifts me off his lap and stands. “The plan remains unchanged. We will approach under the cover of shadows. Thera will use her Earthvein powers to create handholds in the outer walls. Once inside, we will find the four commanders and kill them.”
I stand cautiously, bracing myself in case I sway or worse, collapse, but my legs stay steady beneath me.
Mira walks over to me, her eyes sharp as she examines my face, then looks down at my hands.
I follow her gaze. My fingers are curled into loose fists and I straighten them, then frown.
My nails hold a silver sheen that wasn’t there before.
“You seem determined to shorten my lifespan along with yours.” Mira’s voice holds a dry note. “Are you well or do you need to rest for longer?” She glances over at Sacha. “We have time. There are many hours before dawn yet.”
Sacha doesn’t argue. “If Ellie needs to rest, then we will rest.”
I shake my head, ignoring the way the motion makes my skull ache. “No. I’m fine. We can go.” I walk toward my horse, testing my balance with each step. “The longer we stay here, the more risk there is of someone seeing us. I’m ready now.”
After a moment of charged silence, Sacha nods. “Very well, then. Mount up.”
We leave the shelter and begin the final approach to Greyhold Keep.
The fortress comes into view. It sits on a low hill, walls rising toward the sky, with a single watch tower standing sentinel over the main approach.
A few lights flicker along the walls, hinting at sentries keeping watch.
The approach offers very little cover. Anyone attempting an assault would be exposed to crossbow fire from above.
It’s exactly what Sacha described—a fortress designed to withstand a conventional siege.
But we are people with very unconventional abilities.
“Gather close. We will need to leave the horses at the bottom of the hill.” Sacha draws shadows around us, somehow blending us in with the night.
We dismount as quietly as we can. Mira tethers the horses to some sturdy trees. The reality of what we’re about to attempt settles over me. Four of Sereven’s commanders wait inside those walls.
And we are going to try and kill them.
Tension holds my spine taut as we creep forward.
Every snapped twig under foot sounds like thunder in my ears.
Every rustle of cloth might as well be a battle cry.
My heart hammers against my ribs so hard I’m certain the sentries above will hear it echoing across the hillside.
But we make it to the walls of the keep without raising any alarm.
Thera places both palms flat against the stone. Power flows through her, and the wall responds to her touch. Stone flows like thick liquid as hand and footholds protrude from solid rock. She works slowly, drawing out the stone in a way that limits the noise and won’t bring guards to check.
Eventually she steps back and nods. “It’s ready.”
We climb in single file, slowly and silent.
My muscles burn from the effort of pulling myself upward while trying to keep quiet.
Sweat makes my palms slippery, despite the cool night air.
I’m terrified that every pull upward will be my last, that my grip will fail and send me plummeting to the ground below, where I’ll break every bone in my body.
Every scrape of boot against stone might as well be a shout to my heightened senses.
But eventually, we reach the top. Still masked by Sacha’s shadows, we climb over the wall’s edge and drop quietly onto the walkway.
The first sentry dies without making a sound.
Shadows wrap around his throat and mouth while he stares out at the darkness beyond the walls, watching for threats that will never come from the direction he expects.
His body slumps against the wall, and Sacha arranges him so he appears to be resting rather than dead.
We make our way down into the courtyard, keeping to pools of shadow between torches.
The main keep looms before us—three stories with narrow slits for arrow loops rather than proper windows.
Most of the garrison will be sleeping in the barracks across the courtyard, a low structure with smoke rising from its chimney.
A few guards patrol the grounds, but they look more like men going through the motions rather than soldiers on high alert.
The Veinwardens spread out. One by one, the patrolling guards fall.
Kael takes the courtyard sentry with a blade between the ribs, catching the body before it can fall and make noise.
The man barely has time to register surprise before death claims him.
Mira and Corwin work together, moving like dancers who have performed the same deadly routine a thousand times before.
Throats are opened, bodies positioned to hold the illusion that all is well.
Within minutes, the courtyard belongs to us.
“Keep watch. Ellie, come with me.” Sacha’s voice is pitched low, but it reaches everyone in our little group.
The Veinwardens and Veinbloods take up positions around the now-empty courtyard, where they can see all approaches and be ready to take action should anyone come out of the barracks and discover the missing guards.
I follow Sacha through a narrow servant’s entrance into the keep proper.
We climb a steep staircase, until we reach the top.
A long hallway stretches before us with doors on either side.
Tapestries hang on the walls between the doors depicting Authority battles.
The scenes show soldiers in red crushing enemies beneath their boots.
Sacha’s fingers flex, and I wonder if he’s fighting the urge to tear them down.
Shadows flow outward, slipping beneath doors to search each room. The first four are empty, then Sacha stops outside the fifth. He glances at me with eyes that have turned completely black, then eases the door open.
Inside, a man sleeps on a narrow cot. He’s still wearing his uniform and boots, and his sword hangs within arm’s reach of the bed. His eyes snap open as soon as we enter.
“Breslin.” Sacha whispers his name, and the sound sends a chill down my spine.
Recognition and alarm flash across the commander’s face. This is a man who has survived decades of warfare, and it shows in how he reacts. He rolls sideways off the bed, reaching for the sword, in one quick move. Steel rings as he draws the blade.
“You!” He backs toward the wall, sword raised.
“You remember me?” Sacha’s voice carries silky amusement as he moves deeper into the room.
Breslin’s eyes widen slightly as shadows curl around Sacha’s form. “You’re supposed to be—”
“Dead?” One eyebrow lifts in mock surprise.
Breslin lunges forward, his blade aimed at Sacha’s throat, but shadows move faster than steel. They wind around his sword arm, and yank it aside while more darkness flows across his mouth to muffle any cry for help.
Sacha moves closer, and the commander’s eyes burn with defiance as the shadows slowly suffocate him. His struggles grow weaker until, eventually, his body goes limp and slides to the floor.
Sacha nudges him with the toe of his boot, his shadowsword forming in his grip. Breslin’s head lolls sideways. The blade slides across his throat, leaving a thin red line. The man doesn’t move. Sacha nods, and walks out of the door.
At the end of the hallway is another door. Sacha pushes it open to reveal a man sitting at a desk, writing by candlelight. The man looks up at our intrusion, frowning in confusion that rapidly shifts to alarm.
“What do—Who are you?” His hand moves toward his weapon as his eyes focus on Sacha’s face. “No, that’s impossible!”
“Tamar.” Sacha’s greeting is almost friendly.
The commander doesn’t get a chance to reach for his sword.
Shadows pin him against his desk, dark tendrils wrapping around his throat.
The sounds he makes as they squeeze turns my stomach—wet, choking noises that make me want to cover my ears.
But I hold still and watch as he claws uselessly at the darkness slowly crushing the life out of him.
The crack when his neck finally snaps is sickening, and I press my hand to my mouth to stop any sound from escaping.
Tamar’s body slumps backward over his desk, scattering ink across whatever he’d been writing. The dark stain spreads across the parchment like spilled blood.
“Two left.” Rich satisfaction colors Sacha’s voice. “Shall we continue?”
He leads me back along the hallway and down the stairs, following the path his shadows mark through the keep. We move deeper into the fortress, searching for the remaining commanders. As we approach a set of heavy doors, voices drift toward us. Two men speaking in low, urgent tones.
“—reports from the south are troubling.”
“I wonder how long it will be before they come for us?”
“They’re already here.”
The heavy door doesn’t simply open, it implodes, torn apart by a force of darkness that reduces the wood to splinters. The room beyond is larger than the others, and two men stand inside, both wearing full armor, despite the late hour.
Both commanders react without hesitation. One draws his sword, while the other reaches for the horn hanging on the wall.
Lightning arcs from my fingertips without a thought, striking the sword from the first man’s hand. It races up the blade and into his arm. He screams, dropping the weapon and staggering backward, clutching his burned hand, while the smell of scorched flesh fills the air.
Shadows wrap around the second man’s arm and drag him across the floor away from the horn. He slams into the table with bone-jarring force, scattering parchment across the floor.
“I planned to take my time.” Sacha walks toward them.
“I thought to make you suffer the way you made so many others suffer.” He comes to a stop in front of them and raises one hand.
His shadows lift them both off their feet until they hang suspended in the center of the room.
At a snap of his fingers, two tendrils peel away and form into nooses, looping around both men’s necks.
“We can give you information!” one shouts.
“You have nothing of worth to tell me.” Another snap of his fingers, and both men drop.
The smell of urine and excrement burns my nose, and I take a step backward, but I can’t tear my eyes away from how both bodies hang there, swaying slightly in a breeze that doesn’t exist.
Shouts echo from the courtyard below. For a heartbeat, Sacha just stands there. Then he turns to look at me, and the two bodies hit the ground with sickening thuds. His raven materializes at his shoulder and takes flight, soaring silently through the keep. Sacha’s eyes turn black as I watch.
“Someone has discovered the dead guards,” he murmurs after a moment. “We should join the others.”
When we return to the courtyard, twenty soldiers have formed a defensive line. Shields lock together while spear points are leveled toward Mira and the others.
“If you don’t want to join your commanders, you should stand down.” Shadows flow across Sacha’s skin, twisting around his torso, and reaching out toward the men.
The line wavers as several soldiers recognize what they’re facing. Then one man steps forward.
“We have our orders.” His sword is half-raised, and his voice shakes despite his brave words.
“From dead men.”
The man’s face drains of color. “You’re lying.”
“By all means, send one of your men to check.” Sacha waves a casual hand to the keep’s entrance. “We’ll wait here.”
The man looks behind him at the line of soldiers, then back at Sacha. I can almost hear him thinking from where I’m standing. He’s wondering whether to risk his soldiers’ lives on what might be a bluff or find out if the commanders are really dead.
Sacha’s gaze sweeps the courtyard, then stops on Corwin. “Escort the captain inside. You’ll find two up in the bedrooms, and the other two in the main hall.”
Corwin nods, and steps up beside the pale-faced soldier. After a moment’s hesitation, the man swallows hard and gives a jerky nod. They disappear into the keep together.
When they return minutes later, the captain’s face is white as fresh snow.
“All dead,” he whispers. “Lower your weapons.”
Some hesitate, clearly torn between duty and survival. But most drop their spears immediately, metal clattering against the ground. Mira and Corwin move forward, searching each one for concealed weapons, while Kael, Thera and the others herd them toward the barracks. No one argues or resists.
By the time dawn breaks over Greyhold’s walls, the keep belongs to us.