She pushed upright. Her bandaged hand throbbed, a reminder that just because she had been injured once did not mean she could not be injured again. There was no limit to tomorrow’s grievances. No promise, really, of tomorrow at all.
She got out of bed.
???
Ellina moved softly through the lamplit house, her bare feet skimming the wood, feeling for planks that were too high or too low and would therefore creak. Up one flight of stairs, her hands touching nothing, not the walls nor the balustrade nor the small, silver-framed portraits. Up another flight, finding a soft spot on the landing, imagining it whining noisily under her weight and avoiding it. She went left, then left again. She moved as if she knew where she was going, though Ellina had never been to this part of the house before. She had never roamed these rooms.
There was a covered balcony that stretched the length of the third floor, an exterior door left ajar. Stone underfoot now, which would not creak, but could still make noise in other ways: loose stones. Plaster shaken free. Dead leaves blown in by the wind, waiting to crunch beneath her soles.
Ellina avoided it all, moving down the long line of windows. Her reflection flitted alongside her, appearing and vanishing and appearing again, mirrored in the glass like a ghost. The windows were all dark, save for one near the balcony’s center that brimmed with yellow light.
She went to that window, feeling pulled. The curtains were drawn shut, though not quite all the way. If Ellina leaned forward and down a little, she could peer between them into the room beyond. She remembered having once done something like this before, looking in when he could not see out. Ellina felt the temptation. Understood its cowardice.
She tapped a knuckle to the glass, a clear, brisk sound.
A sloshing noise from the recesses of the room. A soft curse. The scrape of a chair.
Ellina felt the first stitch of nervousness. Or, that was not quite right. She had been nervous the whole way there—as she skipped up the stairs, as she counted windows, figuring which one must belong to him. Before, though, it had been easy to rename her nervousness, to call itcuriosityoranticipation,which were less vulnerable words and therefore easier to carry. Yet as Ellina stood waiting, her nervousness broke clear, like clouds parting to reveal the moon. She could no longer pretend it was anything else.
Venick threw open the curtains. He saw her. His fingers tightened around the glass in his hand.
He undid the window’s latch and heaved it upwards. Ellina expected the window to rattle, to make some kind of noise, but it slid on well-oiled hinges.A relic,Venick had called the house, but this no longer rang entirely true. The house was well kept and lived in. Loved, even.
That word, loved,made Ellina’s jaw clench. She forced herself to hold Venick’s gaze.
Yet for once, it did not seem like he knew what she was thinking. Venick was looking at Ellina as if he could not quite believe she was real. It took several thick beats of her heart for him to ask, “Are you…what are you doing here?” He scrubbed a hand down his face. “No, don’t answer that.” He stepped to the side. “Would you like to come in?”
Ellina climbed through the window, ducking to fit under the panel, her knee bumping clumsily against the frame. She had thought his room would be a suite, but there was only a single chamber, the bed high in one corner, a sitting area set before a small fireplace. Venick’s pack was open, his belongings scattered: a coat, a pile of armor, a familiar-looking book that might have been a journal and might not have been.
Venick walked over to a desk, where he found a pen and parchment. He moved to the sitting area’s two-person sofa and arranged the supplies over the low marble table, then picked up his drink again. The clear liquid glowed orange in the fire’s light. He took a gulp.
Ellina sank into the chair opposite the sofa—cushy, velvet, a winged back—and hesitated. She was not yet ready for the pen and parchment. She pointed at his glass, questioning.
“A lowland liquor,” he said. “Erol gave it to me. He distills it himself, which is apparently not an easy thing to do. Here.” He slid the glass across the table. The contents sloshed, spilled a little. Ellina lifted the cup to her lips. She put her mouth where his had been.
The liquor was strong, slightly sweet. Pleasant at first, then the burn. She struggled not to cough.
“It’s called winterclear. We used to drink it in Irek. When I was a boy, my parents would buy it from traveling merchants around wintertime. My friends and I would steal the bottles and run to this hidden cove near the beach. It was our favorite spot. Beautiful in the summer. Not freezing in the winters, but cold enough that you wouldn’t want to swim. We’d share the bottle between us and then dare each other to jump in.” His smile was wistful as he took back the glass. Ellina could still taste the alcohol on her tongue. Sweet again, with an undertone of spice. Not unpleasant. She licked her lips, saw Venick’s eyes drop to her mouth.
Ellina’s nervousness returned. It glowed under her skin.
“Why don’t you tell me why you’re here?” Venick prompted, motioning to the parchment. Ellina nodded. This was why she had come. She was haunted by the way she had left things with Venick. She remembered their last conversations before her voice was stolen, first in the stateroom, then on Traegar’s balcony, and finally in Irek. Her lies. Their cruelty. It hardly seemed to matter anymore that her reasons for lying had been noble. She should have found a way to tell Venick the truth about her. She should have done it long ago.
But she could do it now. Venick might have already guessed many of Ellina’s reasons, but she owed him a full explanation. She had planned to write it all down.
And yet, now that she was there, it felt wrong to write those things on paper. The awkward business of scribbling her notes and passing them to him, waiting for him to read and pass them back.
A fresh wave of jitters. Ellina’s heart was straining with the knowledge of what she had come to explain and how else she might do it.
She stood from her seat.
Venick’s eyes were dark as she moved towards him. She came around the table, stopped at his knees. He was still looking at her as he had been, like he was not sure she was real. Ellina remembered him looking at her like this once before, when she had stripped off her clothes to swim in an everpool. She had worn nothing but her thin shift, the fabric nearly sheer. Venick’s swallow had been audible.
It was again now. Though Ellina was fully clothed—save for her shoes, which she had left behind in her determined rush—she felt utterly naked.
She reached to touch the space beneath his jaw. His pulse slammed against her fingers. He opened his mouth but said nothing. His grey eyes were clear, yet she could see that he doubted, that he was still not entirely sure of her intention. He held himself perfectly still.
She brought their lips to meet.
