“I make my own choices.”
“What are you saying? That you would choose to stay?”
His answer, despite all his earlier doubts, came easily. “Yes.”
“Why?” Ellina took a step closer. “Why would you want that?”
He held her gaze. “I think you know why.” But color rose in Ellina’s cheeks, and Venick remembered the forest, their kiss, all his promises. He couldn’t say things like that to Ellina. He shouldn’t eventhinkthem. He quickly added, “I was raised a warrior. I know about battle. I can help you prepare. And my country is at risk, just as yours is.” He told her about the southern conjuror’s threats and how the southerners would likely attack the mainlands once the northern crown fell.
Ellina exhaled, hard and frustrated. “I think you are making a mistake.” She cast her gaze upward. “I think you are a fool.”
“That’s nothing new.”
“If you stay, I cannot promise that you will survive.”
“I’m not asking for any promises.”
“When my mother returns…”
“I will give her my warning, just like you said.” Venick gathered his voice, tried to make the words stick. “She needs to hear it from me.”
“You. Of course. And if she does not believe you?”
“She will.”
Which he couldn’t know for certain. Which was a madman’s bet. Still, his words seemed to have their desired effect. Ellina’s posture softened. He watched the anger drain out of her. She came to sit on the edge of his bed.
Not an agreement, no, but a truce.
Venick watched her tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear. Her golden earrings winked in the firelight. He was reminded of their first days together in the forest. She had sat opposite him in a cave. Her armor had been propped on a nearby stone. He remembered thinking she had looked small without it. Delicate.
Though, maybedelicatewasn’t quite right. If she had looked delicate to him then, it was the delicacy of a spider’s web: beautiful, yet crafted to kill.
“I want to know something,” Ellina said.
“Anything.”
“Miria taught you elvish.”
Venick was surprised. “Yes.”
“That would have taken years.”
“Not so long as that.” Venick recalled the painstaking hours he and Lorana had spent together, the way she tutored him through the words. She used to tell him he had no natural talent for her language, but they both knew that was untrue. “Six months, maybe, to master the basics. Another year to perfect them. She was a good teacher.”
Ellina plucked at his bedsheets. “Will you tell me what happened to her?”
“It’s not a nice story.”
“I want to hear it anyway.”
But still, Venick hesitated.
“I think—” Ellina fumbled. “I want you to be honest with me. I want to be honest with you.”
Honesty. The opportunity to give Ellina all his truths. For her to give him hers. Venick realized hedidwant to tell Ellina about Lorana. He wanted to remember the elf he had loved with someone who loved her, too.
And so it was, finally, that they told each other everything.
