Ellina.
There, on the far edge. Venick’s pulse stammered at the sight of her, then shot high. He had the sudden insane urge to run to her, to barge through this strange elven camp and draw his weapon anddareanyone to stop him. He clamped down on the urge, hard. Forced himself instead to look, tosee. He scanned her face, her wrists, her clothes, searching for any sign of a struggle, chains, a wound. Nothing. She was speaking to another elf, their heads bent low, her face gathered in the way it did when she was thinking. She wasn’t a captive. Wasn’t harmed.
But Venick did not relax. He glanced at Dourin. He wanted to askwhat is she doing?anddo you know these elves?but didn’t for fear of being overheard. He studied Dourin’s face instead, noticing the droop to his shoulders that was relief. The elf seemed to know something Venick did not. He motioned in elvish, quick movements Venick wasn’t supposed to understand.She is fine.And then, a motion hewouldunderstand, in both languages.We will go back.
Venick thought of Kenath when Ellina had been surrounded by southern elves, when she’d fended off their attack with halfhearted parries, not believing herself to be in any real danger. She’d made the same motion then. A small shake of her head, a firmness behind the eyes.Do not interfere. I can handle it. Go back.
Venick hadn’t listened then, either.
He crossed his arms. The elf frowned and motioned again, but Venick made his intention clear.I will wait.
Dourin looked ready to argue, then thought better of it. He shook his head, which might meanidiot humanorit is your choice.Then he disappeared.
Venick turned back to the camp. The elves were dressed in furs, their weapons out and in plain sight. They didn’t carry green glass; instead, their swords and axes were made of honest steel and stone. Rudimentary, though, as if carved themselves. And indeed,everythingabout these elves was rudimentary. Their bare feet. Their feathered clothing, hair unbraided. They were nothing like the elves from Kenath. Nothing like any elves Venick had ever met. Venick reckoned Ellina knew who—what—they were, though, and Dourin did too. He could see that clear enough. Dourin wasn’t worried. Dourinwalked away.
You can too.
Venick crouched instead, careful to stay downwind, to let the smoke cover his scent. He watched Ellina, scanning her again for any sign of distress, watching for her tells, but she was at ease. Her voice came to him in snatches over the noises of the camp. She was questioning these elves, Venick figured after a time. About what, he’d have to ask her after. Assuming she’d tell him the truth.
His anger, which had fled when he thought Ellina might be harmed, returned. He felt the beads of it crowd on a string, pulling and stretching and threatening to break. He knew better than to feel betrayed. He remembered each of Ellina’s lies, all the things she kept hidden. He remembered the bear trap, the brothel. She didn’t tell the truth. Neither did he. This was how it was between them.
But he’d never known Ellina to befalse. Though their time together had been short, Venick had a sense of her. He’d never thought her to pretend to be someone she wasn’t, to feel or think things she didn’t.
And yet, she was the queen’s daughter.
And yet, she hadn’t told him.
Thewhybothered Venick. What did it gain her to keep that from him? What did she worry would happen if he knew? He wanted to ask her in elvish for the truth, all of it, bare it out once and for all. Maybe he would. Maybe he would walk into this camp right now and demand answers.
Or maybe he would stay silent. Push those questions away and remember his life price. Remember that she was an elf, and he was a human, and the secrets and lies were there for a reason. He thought of the last time he had won an elf’s secrets. He thought of the last time he had fallen in love.
That what you’re doing, Venick?
The thought drove him to his feet. No.No.Ellina had saved his life. Then he saved hers. They’d become partners, somehow, their fates entangled.Thatwas what this was, and nothing else.
Believe that.
He did. It didn’t matter that he enjoyed her company. It didn’t matter that he was drawn to her strength and her cunning. Hell, it didn’t matter that he cared for her, or that he had been scared, terrified, to think she was hurt. It didnot.
The memories were there then, lightning flashes that left him blind. Static on air, the heat of a kiss, a dream. Lorana in Irek’s market. Lorana holding his hand. Lorana’s smile. But it wasn’t Lorana’s smile in his mind, not quite. Because Venick knew that smile. He knew the quick grin, the way it made light dance in her eyes. Sharp, though, uncertain, in the way one attempts kindness but doesn’t quite manage it.
Ellina.
It was her in his thoughts. Her face. Her voice. That dark braid, her slender figure, the fierceness of her stare. The challenge in it. Him, feeling like he wanted to be good enough. Him, feeling…something else.
Venick blinked. What he was thinking…what was hethinking?
He spun. He could leave. Could make sure these feelings went nowhere, put distance and a border between them. He no longer required safe passage home; the mainlands were close enough. And indeed, the urge to leave was suddenly feral, the pressure of it growing large inside him.
But you won’t.
No.
Venick let out a breath. He pinched his eyes shut. No, he wouldn’t. They were almost to Tarrith-Mour. It was a day away. He could control himself for one more day. Ignore his budding feelings, lock them away, pretend they never were. As he turned back to watch Ellina, Venick realized that he’d known his feelings all along. That he’d nurtured it, even, this small thing growing between them.
Blame the loneliness. Blame three years of isolation, and a slow-burning grief, and Ellina, who’d shown him kindness, whocared, whatever her reasons. Venick watched her in the growing light of dawn and wondered how things would have been if she’d never chosen to save him. If her arrow had aimed true and sunk into his heart. If he’d died in that bear trap, like he should have.
EIGHTEEN
