The pace was agony. Venick felt the hard tick of every second passing, the pressing weight of every moment that had passed already. He was terrified that he was too late. How long had it been since he’d last seen Ellina? Months. He hated himself for it. He could hardly stand his own thoughts: that she was hurt, in pain. That she needed him and he hadn’t been there. It was all Venick could do not to rush, to simply let go and let gravity speed his decent. Maybe if he did, the fall wouldn’t kill him. Maybe he’d hit the water and somehow not break his legs.
Maybe you’re an idiot.
Venick refocused, traversing the rocky cliffs as carefully as ever, hand over hand.
He reached the water. Waves battered the cliffside. He was close enough now to feel their wet spray. There was no shore, just rocks and ledges. He’d have to jump. He wasn’t bothered by the prospect of freezing water, and when he dove in, he barely felt it. He began to swim, pushing himself to move faster, faster.
He emerged soaked, trembling, on the other side. He gazed up at the palace. It stretched higher than the stars.
He began to climb.
???
The mouth of the tunnel, when Venick found it, was nothing. Child-sized. He would have missed it if he hadn’t known what he’d been looking for.
There had been a path here in the mountainside once, which was his first clue. It was crumbling and grown over, nearly shapeless in the dark, but it caught his attention. Elves would have had no reason to build a path here, not unless they’d planned on docking boats in the water below, and clearly, they weren’t.
So. Some other reason.
He found the tunnel half by accident, a stupid stroke of luck. His foot had slipped and he threw out an arm, his hand catching not rock as he’d imagined, but loose roots. Air and dust. His arm had gone clean through the rockface. Blinking, he’d pushed the roots aside to reveal a hole. More digging then, scrambling with fingers and elbows to create an opening wide enough to squeeze through.
Using up all your luck, Venick.
He hoped not. He’d need more, much more, if he was going to sneak past the guards, and somehow find Ellina, and get them both out alive.
The tunnel was pitch black inside, the ceiling low. Venick had to get on his hands and knees to climb through. He felt his way along, his sword thumping bruises into his hip, until eventually the tunnel opened and widened and allowed him to stand.
He picked up pace, one hand on the wall for balance, more useless blinking into the dark. His heart had turned molten. It cracked at the corners, seeping under his ribs.
Soon, the tunnel changed again, sloping upwards. Venick could hear noises. The clatter of metal. the sizzle of oil. Up ahead, light seemed to leak from the ceiling. A trapdoor. As Venick came closer, he could smell baking bread. That metallic clattering was the clattering of pots.
He was beneath the kitchens.
Which was not where he’d expected this tunnel to lead. Most escape routes were connected to a more practical location. Not necessarily the dignitary’s chambers—that came with too many of its own risks—but somewhereprivate, at least.
The kitchens, he thought again in disbelief. Hell and damn. His luck really had run out.
Venick set his hand to the trapdoor overhead, which was not in fact a door but a slab of stone. He pushed it up just enough to glimpse the room, and the two dozen or so elves preparing the morning meal.
His heart sank. He’d never be able to sneak past them all. He could possibly fight his way through—most of these servants appeared unarmed—but he hated the thought of killing innocents, let alone doing itquietly, or how many guards would come swarming once the blood stared to flow…
So don’t fight.
Sure, don’t fight. So he was supposed to just push up into the kitchens and—what? Beg for help? That was more likely to end in disaster than fighting would…except at that moment, Venick realized he knew some of these elves. Not well, not even by name, but from when he’d been a prisoner in this palace and Ellina had ordered servants to bring him food and linens and soap. Some of the elves, curious about a human in their city, had stayed to talk. They’d swapped stories. The elves had seemed kind.
Which shouldn’t change anything. That realization should changenothing. He shouldn’t feel bolstered just because these elves had once beennice…
Venick realized what he was planning and smothered a laugh. Reeking gods, he really was insane.
He pushed up through the floor and stepped out into full view. The elves saw him, and froze.
“Please,” Venick said to the now quiet kitchen. “Help me.”
There was a sudden flurry of movement as the elves sprang into action, some rushing to close the doors, others caroling him into a back corner of the kitchen to keep him out of view.
“How did you get in here?”
“Are you mad?”
