All eyes came to Venick. A morning bird began to chirp, a sound that seemed both aptly timed and wildly out of place. The air radiated anticipation.
Venick gave the signal.Now.
Ellina threw open the covers, lifted her dagger—
And froze.
The bedroll was stuffed with cloth where a body should have been. Ellina glanced up to see Lin Lill uncovering a similar dummy, and Branton too, and Artis…
Instantly, the five of them were coming together, moving back-to-back. They reacted just in time to see the conjurors—black-clad and long-limbed and very much not asleep—sliding from the spaces between boulders, their hands lifted, hoods drawn low to conceal their faces. There were eight elves in total, not five, each well-armed with swords and knives and even an axe.
Apparently, these southerners did not share their brethren’s qualms about wielding weapons.
“I applaud your efforts,” said an elf to the left. Ellina flinched, expecting Balid, though she had never actually heard him speak and therefore did not know his voice. But the conjuror who lowered his hood was not Balid. He was shorter, with a wide stamp of a nose and hawkish yellow eyes. “Ambushing elves is near impossible for a human. We almost did not hear you coming. And the timing.” He tilted his chin towards the lightening horizon, seemingly entertained. “Impeccable. Unfortunately, your game is up. Though…” He trailed off for effect. “I suppose I could be convinced to spare your lives, in exchange for something that I want.”
“A bargain.” Venick was unamused. “I’ve learned not to bargain with elves. It tends not to go so well for me.”
“You have not yet heard my offer.”
“I don’t need to hear it. I know what you want, and my answer is no.”
Ellina caught the look on Venick’s face. The sharp clip of his mouth, the barely concealed rage. She realized what she should have known already—the conjuror was asking forher.
The world condensed. Yet Ellina scarcely had time to absorb her fear, because on the tail end of this realization came another, worse thought. She remembered the two elves she had battled by the Taro. She saw again how the female had hesitated to attack, how the male fought with only his fists. But he had been wearing a sword.
Why had he not drawn his sword?
And why had the female—a warrior in prime fighting condition—not used her conjuring? Was it because she was truly sapped of strength, as Ellina had believed…or because she was stalling?
Ellina understood, suddenly, what she had missed.
She had been outmatched. If those elves wanted to kill her, they could have done so easily. But they had not wanted to kill her. They wanted to take her captive.
The earth seemed to shift. It cracked, rolling, shaking her foundation. Ellina wasshaken, because she had overlooked this, something so obvious as to be unavoidable. Doubt seeped into her vision, and that was worse, because Ellina could not afford to doubt herself, not now, when she needed her concentration and every bit of her confidence. And yet, would she have survived that fight, if not for her opponents’ reluctance?
Would she survive this one?
“Give us the princess,” the coven leader demanded. His shoulders were hard knobs, his boots molded to look like bird talons, a sharp claw at each toe. “Do so, and we will let you go free.”
“Say it in elvish,” Venick challenged.
“Would that make any difference? Our language has cracks. We all know it.”
“Humor me.”
Venick was grandstanding, buying them time. It was not hard to guess why. Now that their plan of ambush was in tatters, their best hope was to stall until the sun rose fully above the horizon.
The dark elves, however, had no intention of waiting. They moved closer, tightening their ring. Ellina felt Venick’s shoulder press into hers. She could hear the thin sound of Lin Lill’s breath at her back, the turn of Artis’ feet in the sand.
“A shame,” said their leader. “I hoped we could handle this civilly. Though, I am not surprised. I was told that you can be…difficult.”
Venick’s smile did not touch his eyes. “One of my many charms.”
“Last chance, human. Is she really worth your life?”
Venick drew his sword between both hands. He gave his answer in elvish. “Yes.”
In a synchronized motion, the conjurors unhooked their cloaks, allowing the fabric to pool at their feet. Their faces—pale and shining, unique yet similar—were revealed, and though Ellina knew she should be marking each of them, cataloging their weapons, noting their positions, her eyes latched onto a single face and refused to pull away.
