Selfish, said the other.
The thought made him miserable.
All of his thoughts did.
???
Night was coming, and with it, a new set of problems. Soon, temperatures would plummet, but Venick hadn’t thought to bring a tent. Two bedrolls, sure, but nothing more. He’d left in too much of a hurry.
He slowed his horse.
“It’s getting dark,” he told Ellina. “We need to find shelter. Do you know of any place?”
She blinked around blearily. He wasn’t even sure she’d heard him.
“Ellina?”
She focused her attention. Around them, the tundra was tufted with coarse brown grass. The mountains shone orange with the last of the day’s sun. After a moment, Ellina shook her head.
Venick rode a little farther. Eventually he dismounted, pulling Ellina down after him. Venick left her with Eywen while he scouted, returning a short time later. “There’s a little cave nearby. It’s small.” He cleared his throat. “But it’ll keep off the worst of the chill.”
The cave was indeed small. It was bear-sized with a low opening so that they’d have to get on their hands and knees to crawl inside. “I’m sorry,” Vencik said, though he wasn’t sure what he was apologizing for.
Ellina took one of the bedrolls and disappeared into the cave.
Venick didn’t immediately follow. He curried Eywen, refilled their canteens in a nearby stream. He gathered firewood, which he wouldn’t light yet, not while they were still so close to Evov, but would be grateful for later. He pulled Eywen towards the cave’s mouth, hoping the horse’s body might block the worst of the wind. Then he simply toyed with his hands, having run out of things to do.
Quit stalling.
He could sleep out here. He could lean against Eywen for warmth.
You’ll freeze.
He could build a fire after all. Just a small one. No one would see.
Don’t be an idiot.
With a heavy sigh, he grabbed his bedroll and ducked into the cave.
Ellina was curled up with her back to him. He strained to hear her breathing, some sign that she was still alive. He couldn’t, and felt a spike of fear. He reached out a hand, touched her pulse.
She startled, and Venick felt a wave of relief—and embarrassment.
“Sorry,” he muttered again.
She craned her neck to look at him.
“I thought…” he mumbled, trailing off. Ellina eased back into her bedroll. She pulled the material tightly around her chin, eyeing him in a way that made Venick realize he was staring again. He looked away.
???
Venick didn’t know how long he lay awake. He felt terribly split, as if half of him was frombefore, and half was fromafter, as if a great chasm had opened in his life. His thoughts were scattered, hunted and haunted. His eyes grew heavy, but he couldn’t stop straining to listen for Ellina’s breathing, or for movement outside the cave, Farah’s conjurors come to reclaim their stolen prisoner. He hung like that, somewhere between sleep and wakefulness—until he slipped, and was fully inside his dreams.
He dreamed that he was back in Irek. There was a holler, the boom of a cannon. Overhead, storm clouds gathered and spread, reaching towards the earth. Venick drew his sword. He slashed at the cloud, which wasn’t a cloud at all, but the cloak of a conjuror. The elf materialized, coming for him. Venick lifted his sword again.
Somewhere behind him, someone was calling out. But Venick couldn’t look, not while he was occupied with his own fight. Yet that voice continued to cry, tugging at his awareness. It broke, and shuttered…
He woke. He was disoriented when the crying seemed to continue, someone muttering, thrashing in their sleep…
