Chapter 41
Chapter Forty-One
SACHA
"Some burdens can only be carried by those who understand their weight."
Writings of the Veinblood Masters
Once the soldiers have been returned to the barracks, Thera seals the doors and windows with stone, leaving only the smallest of gaps to allow air to enter.
It’s the only way we can ensure no one can break out and try to attack us overnight in a misguided act of revenge against me for the four Authority commanders I’ve killed.
Ellie is leaning against a wall, dark circles beneath her eyes a clear indicator that no matter how much she protests, she’s still feeling the effects from her power surge of earlier. I turn to Mira.
“Take Ellie and find somewhere she can rest.”
Mira’s eyes shift to Ellie. “She’ll argue about it.”
“Tie her up, if you need to. She’s about to collapse. And see if you can find some food for her as well.”
Mira snorts a quiet laugh, dips her head, and trots over to Ellie. As predicted, she argues, her voice carrying across the courtyard.
“Corwin, take two men and check the keep. There will be servants somewhere, possibly hiding if they’ve heard any of the commotion. Assure them that they are in no danger from us. If they try to fight, bring them to stay with the soldiers.”
Ellie is still arguing with Mira, so I turn and walk over to them. Shadows flow out before me, weaving around Ellie, and lift her off her feet. She gives a surprised squeak when they raise her higher and then drop her into my arms.
“What are you doing?”
I don’t answer, and stride inside, and up the staircase. One of the rooms I checked before finding Breslin was a bedchamber, and I use shadows to throw open the door and go inside. Kicking it shut behind me, I cross the room and drop her onto the bed.
“Rest.”
She sits up, swinging her legs around.
“I don’t need—”
“Ellie, I need you to rest.”
She frowns at me. “What? Why?”
I crouch in front of her. “Because there’s a knot in my chest that I can’t ignore.
” I take her hand and press it over my heart, where the bond between us pulses.
“I can feel your tiredness, and your desire to hide it. But it doesn’t stop it from being there.
” I raise her fingers to my lips and kiss them, one by one. “And if you don’t rest, I can’t rest.”
“Oh …” She twists onto her side and shuffles across the bed, leaving space for me.
I stretch out beside her, and she rolls against me, resting her head on my shoulder. It doesn’t take long for her eyes to close, and her breathing to change. What does surprise me is that I follow her into sleep.
When my eyes open, it’s to sunlight streaming through the small window. Ellie is still asleep beside me, burrowed into my side, her arm a welcome weight across my waist. I take a moment to enjoy the quiet and the peace her presence brings me, before turning my thoughts to the day ahead.
The war is close to ending. I can feel it in the way the Authority is scattering. But wars don’t simply stop, they conclude with violence, with confrontations that determine who writes the history afterward. And my brother still draws breath somewhere in this realm.
“We need to return to Ashenvale,” I tell Ellie when she wakes.
She sits up, blinking at me. “What about Greyhold?”
“Mira will come back with us, but the others will stay here. Once we’re back, I will send reinforcements to relieve them.”
“When do you want to leave?”
“This morning.”
Every hour Sereven remains free gives him more time to gather what loyalists remain to him, or plan some final act of spite that could cost hundreds of innocent lives.
The bond between us may have been severed by his choices, but I know him well enough to understand that cornered, he will become most dangerous.
Within an hour, Corwin has his instructions for overseeing Greyhold, and Ellie, Mira and I are ready to depart.
We ride in silence for the first few miles.
When we pause to rest the horses beside a stream, Ellie dismounts with fluid grace and leads her mount to water.
I watch her move, noting how different she is now.
The woman I first met has been transformed by violence and necessity, and the change both impresses and saddens me.
Yet another person remade by a war that has consumed my life.
“What are you thinking about?” Her hand finds mine.
“Sereven is running out of places to hide, commanders to protect him, and soldiers willing to die for his cause. It won’t stop him. He’s not going to just disappear or give up.”
There was a time when she would have peppered me with questions. Where will we find him, how many soldiers does he still command, what will happen when we face him? But she doesn’t ask any of that. Instead she cuts straight to the heart of everything I’m avoiding thinking about.
“Are you ready for what that will mean?”
Am I ready to kill the boy who once helped me practice sword forms in Ashenvale's training yards? The young man who stood beside me when we fled the burning city? The brother who chose the Authority over family, who orchestrated our parents' deaths, who ordered my torture and imprisonment?
The memories surface unbidden. Sereven at fifteen, laughing as we raced horses through the meadows beyond Ashenvale's walls. His face bright with pride when Father praised his swordwork.
That boy died long ago. What remains is something else entirely. A creature wearing my brother’s face while wielding power built on the bones of our people.
“I've been ready for years.”
The words are true, but they’re not the whole truth. I'm ready to kill the man who destroyed my family and enslaved my people since he first betrayed me. Whether I'm ready to kill my brother is another thing entirely.
We reach Ashenvale some time after high sun.
The guards wave us through with deep bows that still feel wrong.
Stable hands take our horses with the same mixture of respect and fear that marks all their interactions with me.
They want to trust I am not what Sereven claimed, but decades of Authority teachings about Veinbloods and about the Shadowvein Lord in particular won’t disappear overnight.
The city feels different since we walked through it before the official coronation.
There's an energy in the air, a sense of anticipation.
People move with confidence rather than nervous fear.
Children play in the streets without constantly looking over their shoulders.
Merchants hawk their wares with voices that carry genuine enthusiasm rather than forced cheer designed to avoid unwanted attention.
Hope, I realize. This is what hope looks like when it's allowed to take root.
Crossing the plaza toward the Lirien Spire, I wave toward one of the guards standing near the entrance.
“Can you please inform Varam we’ve returned, and that I’d like to meet him in my study in the morning.”
In our chambers, exhaustion claims us both.
Ellie settles onto the bed with a soft sigh, and I join her, pulling her close until she fits perfectly against my side.
Her body relaxes completely into mine, tension flowing out of muscles that have been coiled for action since we left for Greyhold.
I have no idea who falls asleep first, but consciousness fades with her warmth pressed against me and the steady rhythm of her breathing in my ear.
Dreams come fitfully, fragments of memory and fear tangled together until I can't distinguish past from present.
Sereven's face as he explains why our parents had to die.
The sound of my own screaming in the tower's depths before they sealed me inside.
Ellie's voice calling my name across distances that darkness cannot bridge.
And beneath it all, the growing certainty that a confrontation is approaching with the inevitability of winter following fall.
I wake with a start, pulse racing from the nightmares. Ellie stirs beside me, her hand finding mine in the pre-dawn darkness.
"What is it?"
"Nothing. Just memories." I squeeze her hand. "Go back to sleep."
But sleep doesn't return easily. I lie in the darkness, listening to her breathing slow and deepen again, while my mind turns over possibilities and fears. Somewhere out there, my brother prepares to face me. And when that moment comes, one of us must die.
When we wake the next time, we don’t linger in our quarters. We dress quietly and go to my study, where Varam is already waiting.
“How do things stand?” I round the desk and sit in the chair that used to belong to my father.
“It’s been quiet since you left for Greyhold. No major developments, though there are signs that—”
A knock interrupts him.
“Enter,” I call.
A Veinwarden messenger steps inside, travel dust coating his clothes. He bows low.
“My Lord. Commander Varam.” He straightens. “I bring urgent news.”
“Speak,” Varam says.
“Commander Dreck is dead, my Lord. A small group of Veinwardens caught him three days ago near the mining settlements in the north.”
Varam leans forward, interest sharpening his features. Another of Sereven's pillars, toppled while we were eliminating the four at Greyhold.
“How did he die?”
“He'd been trying to rally the local garrisons, and convince them to make a stand against your return, Vareth’el. Instead, the garrisons turned on him. They'd heard about Ashenvale's fall, about your victories. They chose survival over loyalty.”
His answer reveals everything about how our war is progressing. When garrison soldiers kill their own superiors rather than follow orders, it’s clear that the Authority's control is all but finished.
“And now?”