Dourin appeared at Venick’s side at the edge of the dancefloor. Some of the elves wore human clothes, sashes and tunics likely purchased for this event, but many, like Dourin, simply wore their armor. Venick didn’t think the elves meant to intimidate, yet he couldn’t help but notice how they appeared—that cold, marble-cut beauty set against the banquet’s garish colors. Dourin’s cool elven mask was firmly in place.
“Don’t look so cheerful,” Venick commented dryly.
Dourin merely shook his head. “It is the noise. Whatisthat?”
“Music,” Venick replied, and a true smile tugged at his mouth, the first true smile of the night. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard music.”
“Of course I have heard music.”
“It is meant to be enjoyed.”
Dourin’s eyes jumped to Venick so quickly that for a moment Venick thought he had said something wrong. “Yes,” the elf said. “Let us enjoy it.”
???
Later that evening, a moment came between the dancing and gift giving when the Elder was occupied, and Harmon was occupied, and no one else was demanding Venick's attention. He took his opportunity. He slipped out onto one of the many grand patios that spread like wings around the great hall. Inside, the banquet whirled along, but out here there was no music, no dancing or revelry. Venick was alone. It was a relief to be alone.
It didn’t last. Footsteps sounded from behind.
“Hiding?” Harmon asked lightly.
“I just wanted some air.”
“We shouldn’t be long. Someone will notice.” Yet she came to stand beside him.
Venick couldn’t quite hold her gaze. He leaned against the rough stone railing and peered out over the city, then up into the night sky. The stars, like the banquet, seemed to spin.
“Tell me what it’s like,” Harmon said.
“What what’s like?”
“War.”
He looked at her then. She was steady. There was a solidness about Harmon that would have made her an excellent soldier. It was, Venick realized, the same quality that would make her a skilled healer. Nothing seemed to faze Harmon, not her father’s schemes, or a march through the highlands…or Venick, dodging their engagement party.
He offered an ironic smile. “You’re a healer for your army. You know what war is like.”
“Then tell me what peace is like.”
She wanted to get him talking—the topic didn’t matter. She wanted to ask him questions so that he could give their answers. She wanted to know him, because they’d been pledged to each other. She would spend her life with him and bear his children and watch his wrinkles deepen. Venick didn’t know if Harmon had a lover, someone else she’d rather marry. He didn’t know if this was simply her way: that steady sureness, like a sun across the sky.
“My father often spoke of peace between our nations,” Venick replied, “but I’m not sure the mainlands have ever truly wanted peace. Men yearn for glory. There is no glory without war.”
“But you want peace,” Harmon said. “Even if your people don’t. It’s the reason you forged an alliance with the elves.” Venick gave a nod, though with the uncomfortable awareness that that hadn’t been hisentirereason. “It is why you agreed to marry me.” It was bold of her to speak so plainly, but Venick was coming to learn that Harmon was like her father in this. She didn’t flinch away from the truth of things. “I like the idea of peace. If we’d had peace, my mother would still be alive.” She moved closer. He could smell her flowered perfume. “The fighting between our people…it’s senseless. I’d like to see the war’s end. I’d like it if no more children had to lose their parents.”
Her stare was star-bright. Venick saw it and amended his earlier thought. Harmon didn’t just want to ask questions. She didn’t just want his answers. He knew what she wanted.
He could have stopped her then. But he didn’t.
She said, “I’d like to see the mainlands united.”
And she kissed him.
Her mouth was soft. Dry. And the kiss was…quiet. Their lips made no noise as they moved against each other. Odd, Venick thought. Kissing should make some sort of noise. Or their breathing should. Her hand on his face should. His hands, snaking across her waist, into her hair, which was long. It held a slight wave. He could feel the gentle curls, the thickness. Harmon’s hair wasn’t straight, not pulled back tightly into a braid like…
Venick stopped the direction of those thoughts. He held his breath against the folds of his own anger.
Harmon pulled back. “Venick?”
