“He will not, once he is dead.”
“Who told him about that city?” She became stony. “What else does he know?”
The male paused. He tilted his elegant face. “You think he is a spy for the south.”
“Yes.”
Venick blinked. His courage slipped away. An enemy spy?
“We cannot take any prisoners.”
“I am not asking to take him prisoner, Raffan.”
Raffan made a noise, frustrated. “An interrogation? You cannot torture a dead man, and this one is as good as. Look at that foot, Ellina.”
“A bargain, then.”
“Ah, as you are making with me now?”
Ellina clicked her teeth again, but seemed to glean something from the exchange that Venick had not. Permission, he assumed, as she turned back to face him. She didn’t take another step forward, didn’t raise her voice. She didn’t need to. She had his full attention.
“Who sent you to Evov?” she asked in mainlander. “What is your mission?”
“The queen is in danger.” A guess. “I have information regarding your war.” A lie.
“I do not believe you.”
“That doesn’t change the truth.” It was unwise to bring up that word.Truth.Elves hated it as much as they hated circles. They would hate it more that he might have it when they did not. Venick watched the female’s anger hollow her. He knew what she would say before the words were out.
“Man knows no truth—”
“—and cannot be trusted.” He finished the elven saying and tried for a smile. It came out a grimace. “Let me prove my honesty.”
“You cannot.”
“Then leave me. Let fate take things from here.” Not that he believed in fate, but the words sounded genuine enough. The pain in his leg even thinned his voice, made it sincere. A nice touch.
“Fate is not—” but she faltered. That was odd. Elves rarely stumbled over their words. “You cannot prove your honesty,” Ellina said instead, “because you speak the language of men.”
Venick understood her meaning. Men lied, but it was impossible to lie in elvish. Neither humans nor elves could break the rules of that language, the ancient binding that forced the speaker to tell the truth. Venick knew too well the way it was with elvish. To attempt to lie was to come up short, the words stuck, hovering just out of mind’s reach. Try harder and face a pounding headache. Harder than that: suffocation.
It was the reason Venick continued to talk in mainlander, continued to play on their ignorance. If they discovered he knew their language, they would force him to speak in elvish, and then he would have no choice but to admit the truth: that he was not a messenger, not anyone who mattered, that he’d crossed the border illegally for no better reason than that he was hungry—starving—and the elflands were his best chance at a decent hunt. This silver thread of a lie he was weaving would unravel, and then he would have no hope at all.
“You want me to prove myself in your language,” Venick hedged.
“You do not speak our language.”
“No.” Another lie. And an idea. “You could teach me,” he said, and ignored the way she recoiled. As if the thought of teaching a man their language was repulsive.
“You are aman.”
But she weighed him. She seemed to consider what he might know, the difficulty of the task. Venick again felt that spark of hope, because he saw it clearly: a way out. No matter that learning a language took months,years, and she would be a fool for agreeing to teach him. If only she agreed totry, it would buy him time to form a real plan. To escape.
“Enough, Ellina,” Raffan said. He stepped between them. “He is stalling, and we are out of time.”
But at that moment came another noise Venick recognized. One that made his insides sink, his whole body harden to stone. Those were wanewolf howls. Alerted to the smell of blood, no doubt.Hisblood, which stained the leaves around where he lay, pooling up to his fingers, thick and wet.
“We go,” said Raffan, and motioned for his comrades to sheath their weapons.
