Venick was slow to understand. He saw Ellina’s head snap back with the force of the blow. He saw how she stumbled, how her eyes watered as she clutched her cheek. The red print of a hand swelled beneath her fingers.
Venick’s blood iced over. Rage fisted inside him.
He lunged.
He barreled into the elf, forcing them both to the ground. He didn’t remember drawing his knife, but that weapon was suddenly in his hand, arcing toward Raffan’s neck. He didn’t remember seeing the elf’s counter and blocking it, heaving a punch with his free fist. He didn’t—couldn’t—see anything but the echo of Ellina’s pain, Ellina’s hurt, the raised mark on her cheek.
The rest of Ellina’s troop descended quickly. They pulled Venick off, strong hands forcing him to his knees. He fought. He landed a kick before they were shoving his face into the dirt, pinning him to the ground. A mouthful of earth. A knee between his shoulders. Both hands bound quickly, cinched tight enough to bruise. They hauled him back to his knees as Raffan stood unsteadily. He gazed down at Venick with murder in his eyes.
And then, the cold press of green glass at Venick’s neck.
The sword bit into his skin. Blood leapt from the cut. Venick didn’t have time to feel fear, wouldn’t have had room for it anyway. All he felt was anger, an anger so complete it consumed him. His vision pulsed. His whole body trembled.
Fool.
It was over. Some distant piece of him understood that he’d just assaulted an elf in elven lands, that he was bound and weaponless and at their mercy. But elves had no mercy, not for humans.
Except.
Venick looked at Ellina. His eyes sought hers, and when they locked he felt chilled relief, because he saw what he worried he wouldn’t, even if the moment was too quick for him to understand that worry. Ellina’s gaze was full of fear. Despite her angry words, despite the pain of his lies, Ellina didn’t want him dead. She was afraid at seeing him hurt, because shecared.
Raffan took a step forward. “You would defend her?” he asked Venick. His expression was perfectly controlled. His voice, though, was a storm.
“Raffan.” Ellina. She stood statue-still at the edge of his vision. Raffan turned on her.
“He defends you,” he said in elvish, “at his own peril.”
“He owes me his life,” Ellina answered. Her tone didn’t change, but Venick saw the look in her eyes, the inward quality to her expression, which had become as smooth and clear as ice. Venick realized he recognized that expression; it was the way Ellina looked when she was scheming. “You know about human life prices, do you not?”
“I care not for the ways of men.”
Ellina almost shrugged, but stopped herself. Raffan saw it. Venick saw Raffan see it, and saw how it changed his anger into suspicion. Venick remembered his father, suddenly. The slow morph of fear, the need to control, the distrust. Raffan looked the way his father had the night he discovered Venick loved an elf.
“It has served me,” Ellina said.
“But hasheserved you?There must be some reason he is still alive.”
“We made a bargain.”
“Yes, I remember. You would teach him elvish and he would give you his secrets.” Raffan’s voice simpered. “And how has he performed?”
“He knows every word I have given him,” Ellina said easily.
“And does he have valuable information for our queen?”
“He overheard a conversation between the southern conjurors. He says they are gaining power. They are uniting.”
True, all true. Venick should not have been amazed. This was Ellina.Thiswas what she was good at. Telling lies in half-truths. Telling them with confidence. Her face might have been a looking glass: transparent, unclouded.
“Well,” Raffan said, “now that we have his confessions in elvish, he is no longer any use to us.”
Venick’s anger curdled. He clenched his fists, glaring.
“And now,” Raffan said in mainlander, “he assaults an elf. In theelflands.”
“He did not mean it.”
“I think he did. We allowed him to break our laws once, and look at where it has led.” Raffan’s gaze drifted back to where Venick knelt. “This time, he will not go unpunished.”
