“Rahven was cunning,” Dourin continued. “He had something to hide.”
“So do you, I think.”
The accusation landed. Dourin flinched and looked away. There was a tense silence.
“Perhaps,” Dourin said slowly, “we should take a walk.”
“I don’t want to take a walk.”
“I think you might.”
They left the city behind. Dourin led the way, guiding them off the road into the northern woods. The land here was marshy, the trees stunted. Their rubber leaves shifted in the afternoon breeze.
Dourin picked up speed. Venick followed, silently at first, then huffing a little, trying to keep pace. It was easy to forget how quickly elves could move when they wanted. Easy to forget how far they could travel, alone and on foot, in a few spare hours. Quick enough to scope these entire woods in an afternoon. Quick enough to find something worth returning for now.
Dourin came to a halt in an unremarkable grove. The trees here were skinny, their finger-like roots arching over scummy ponds. Somewhere nearby, a frog sang her throaty song. But this was nothing unusual.
Venick touched Lorana’s necklace through the fabric of his trousers, a recent habit. “There’s nothing here.”
Dourin planted himself on a patch of dry earth and began stripping off his boots. His socks. Venick watched, frowning, as Dourin set them neatly aside and stood once more, coming to the edge of what appeared to be a small puddle. He stepped inside, toes first, careful not to splash. The puddle was barely wide enough to fit both of Dourin’s feet.
“Is this some kind of joke?” Venick asked. “It’s not very funny.”
Dourin closed his eyes and inhaled. “Do you have a message for me?” he asked in elvish.
“No, of course I don’t—”
The puddle began to ripple. It brightened, shimmering with an almost silvery light, and Venick understood everything all at once. Dourin hadn’t been askinghim. He’d been asking the puddle, which wasn’t a puddle at all.
It was an everpool.
A miniature one. Venick moved closer, seeing now what he’d missed before. Unlike the surrounding marshlands which were swampy and green, this water was clear, its surface perfectly smooth, like a mirror.
You step into the water and ask it your questions, came the memory of Ellina’s voice.Sometimes it gives you answers.
From the shallow bottom of the everpool something appeared. A ribbon, Venick thought at first, until Dourin reached into the water and pulled it out. It was a thin strip of parchment.
Dourin read the note quickly, then met Venick’s eyes. “Farah is beginning to call her forces back to Evov.”
“Who told you that?”
“My contact.”
“You have a contact in Evov?” Dourin didn’t answer. He was pulling his boots back on. “Dourin.”
“Yes.”
“Who?”
“I cannot say.”
“Yes you can.” Dourin went on ignoring him. “Let me see that message.”
The parchment was dry, despite having just emerged from a puddle. The handwriting was thin, black, splotchy in places. Familiar, now that Venick thought about it. Hadn’t he encountered this handwriting before? Or was it just that he wished he had?
They gather in the high city, the note read.She plans soon to strike.
Venick turned the parchment over, looking for the rest of the message, but that was it. Two short sentences, no explanation, no signature.
