And she had told him. Small pieces, the parts of her story she could bear. She had poured the words like poisoned wine so that he could see and smell but could not drink.
She had not thought he understood.
She was wrong.
“Ellina.”
It was rare for elves to teach humans elvish, though it had not always been. Before the border, before the laws, elves taught humans elvish to gain their truths and to share their own. Lovers taught lovers, especially. There was a certain intimacy to it. And it was a way for humans and elves to show their commitment to one another, that they might embark on the task. If he knew elvish, it was because an elf had once loved him.
But then, Ellina had wanted to teach him elvish, too.
Her heart pounded, the quick rhythm ringing in her ears. Her hatred was not snow, she decided. It was the river in Kenath, cold and powerful.
Or maybe it was the night sky. Vast, endless.
“Ellina,” Venick said again. “I’m sorry. I never meant—”
She pushed out a hand to stop him, but their eyes locked, and she saw reflected in him everything she felt. The hurt, the worry.
Fear at seeing him killed. A certainty absolute that she would never forgive herself if he was.
Their kiss. It rose into being within her.
Maybe her hatred was not hatred at all. Maybe it was something else entirely.
Her mouth had gone dry. Her lungs burned. She was ashamed. It shamed her to have stepped so completely off the edge of honor. She should never have allowed herself to get close to him, should never have allowed these feelings for him to grow. She thought of her vows. Elves did not kill elves. Ellina had sworn her life to the legion, had made oaths to her country and to herself. But Ellina had sidestepped those oaths, had allowed herself to be blinded.
“Please,” Venick pleaded. “Say something.”
She thought of the way Venick had burst into the clearing of conjurors. He killed for her. Maybe he would even die for her. She knew this, but the knowledge was not a comfort. It accused. It pointed its finger and pinned Ellina for what she was: the culprit. She had known his feelings and done nothing to stop them. It was wrong.Hewas wrong.
She was.
She could not bear to face her thoughts, which swirled in her mind, a bright stream of ribbons. She could not bear to look at Venick, or to see his remorse, or to know that he felt remorse at all, because what was his grief compared to hers?
She turned away so that she would not have to.
TWENTY-ONE
Venick went after her.
“Ellina.”
She flitted in and out of sight. She moved through the forest with perfect grace. He struggled to keep up.
“Ellina, wait.”
Venick’s mind wasn’t working. His thoughts crowded together. His breath came short and fast.
“Ellina.”
She spun to face him, and gods, herexpression. He’d never seen her like this: stripped and angry and lost. Venick halted. Everything he wanted to say vanished. His mind became a winter valley.
She started to move away again, but Venick reached out a hand to stop her. “Please,” he said. She glanced at the outstretched hand, his wordless appeal. Her eyes slid up his arm, his neck, his mouth. He let his hand fall. “Just—let me explain.”
“There is nothing to explain.”
“I’m sorry.”
