This is for Miria. For Venick. For everyone who has suffered for your prejudice and greed.
But in the end, none of that was true, or if it was, it was not the whole truth. Ellina ground her teeth. She spoke deliberately, made sure the last thing Farah heard would be these words. “This is for me.”
THIRTY-FOUR
It began to rain. As Venick slipped out of the Dark Army’s ranks and returned to the trees where they’d left their horses, he turned his face to the sky and closed his eyes, allowing the downpour to wash the gritty black powder residue from his skin. The storm was just a storm. There were no hidden meanings to be found within it, no black magic at play. If there had been conjurors among the Dark Army’s caravan, they’d abandoned their post; Venick hadn’t seen a single black-haired southerner since leaving Hurendue.
The others reappeared. Alfrick was smiling, clearly pleased with their handiwork, but when he began spouting about their success, Dourin cut him off. “Do not be so self-congratulatory. It was not merely our stealth that won us this day. Those elves knew we were among them.”
“But then…” Alfrick’s boyish face turned a pout. “Why didn’t they stop us?”
“Revolution sounds nice in theory, but the reality of self-sacrifice is much less glamorous. My guess? The southerners turned a blind eye because by destroying their black powder, we were saving their lives, too.”
By the time they returned to Kenath, the storm had blown itself out, the late afternoon sun washing yellow over the city. The Elder had not yet arrived. But neither had Ellina.
Venick’s worry simmered. He stalked around the inn, glaring at anyone who tried to approach. He hated to see Harmon, who’d grown quietly anxious over her father’s impending arrival, because he couldn’t understand how that possibly mattered when Ellina was still missing. Yet he also hated seeing Erol, whowasworried for Ellina, which made Venick feel absurdly possessive. Erol was Ellina’s father, but he hadn’t really been a father to her, hadn’t been in her life, and seeing his worry was like seeing a reflection in a lake, distorted and colorless. It did not compare.
It was in this frame of mind that Venick went to the prison.
Raffan was awake. He sat on a little stool at the back of his cell, his face a motley purple, hands hanging loosely between his knees. He tipped up his head as Venick approached but did not stand, and Venick wondered, was that meant to be a slight? Or was this Raffan’s way of showing submission? Raffan would have never willingly submitted before, but then, he’d also never been a prisoner. By choice. To a human he hated.
Venick shouldn’t have come.
But he couldn’t leave, either, now that he was there, so he approached the cell, bringing Raffan’s face into clearer view. The elf’s expression was unusually open, and concerned. “Is she—?”
“I don’t know.”
Raffan fell silent.
Venick said, “Your crimes haven’t been forgiven just because you’ve had a change of heart.”
“I know.”
“What you did to Ellina, what you’ve done for years—it would earn you a death sentence in the mainlands.”
“Yes.”
“Ellina will be the one to decide your punishment.”
“That is fair.”
“I wish you weren’t so calm about all this.”
“I am not calm, inside.”
Venick shoved his hands into his pockets to stop himself from unlocking Raffan’s cell and adding a few more bruises to his face. He’d come to vent his frustration, but this didn’t feel like venting. It brought him no relief.
Venick gave Raffan his shoulder and said, “You’re lucky my men only broke your nose, and not your neck.”
“These bruises are not from your men.”
That drew Venick’s eyes back.
Raffan motioned at his jutting nose. “Farah did this to me. It was part of my punishment for allowing Ellina to escape our last fight.”
Venick would have been surprised by that, maybe, except talking about Ellina with this elf was starting to drive him a little crazy. Venick’s scalp prickled. His shoulders felt too wide for his jacket. If Ellina wasn’t back by the time he walked out of here, he’d ride to Revalti.
He turned to leave.
