He turned, searching for a head of dark hair among the crowd, those golden eyes. He was met instead with a mix of faces, elven and lowlander and highlander and plainsperson, and Harmon before them all, a warning in her expression as she followed his gaze and his train of thought. Venick couldn’t go running after Ellina, not when this was supposed to be a heartfelt reunion with his bride.A show of unity,he could almost hear Harmon thinking.Remember?
The pause had gone on too long. People were beginning to notice.
“I could use a drink,” Venick finally admitted.
“An ale,” Harmon agreed, her smile returning in full force. “I know just how you like it.”
???
“You fool,” Harmon snapped.
She crossed the room—private, underground: the tavern’s cellar—in four long strides, braced her hands against a wine barrel. Spun back around in the next instant, her teeth baring like a wild wanewolf. “Whose idea was it to name you Commander, anyway? The way I see it, men usually want a leader with a brain.”
“I have a brain,” Venick replied mildly.
“Half a brain, maybe.”
It wasn’t the first time Venick had borne the brunt of Harmon’s anger. Wasn’t the first time he’d earned it, either. After smoothing over the almost-incident at the city’s center, Harmon had ushered Venick into the tavern for a round of drinks, then into the adjoining courtyard for the official treaty signature ceremony, then back to the tavern for a celebratory performance orchestrated by the city’s leaders. Venick greeted dignitaries and shook hands but faces and names quickly began to lose all meaning. It was around this time that Harmon had explained—quietly, the words fluttering over his shoulder—that the highland soldiers would be expecting a public display of affection from the soon-to-be-weds. Nothing overblown, she’d assured, nothing extreme, just a small gesture. A holding of hands would suffice, or even a fond smile.
Venick had been stiff as a wooden plank. Harmon did her best to smile for the both of them, excusing his stiffness for exhaustion, and the gatherers seemed appeased, right up until the moment when Venick asked if anyone had seen Ellina.
The room had gone still. Glances were exchanged. The vintner asked Venick to repeat himself, and Venick—tired of being paraded around like a circus animal, and suddenly resentful of his situation—had done so. Loudly.
“Honestly,” Harmon continued, making fists of her skirts. “Things were going fine until you pulled that stunt. It’s like you wantpeople to figure out we’re faking this engagement.”
Venick didn’t want that, but nor did he understand why there had to be so much showmanship. It was a politicalmarriage, for gods’ sake. Half of these men had been there when the Elder made his proposal: the highland army in exchange for Venick’s fidelity. Venick didn’t love Harmon. She didn’t love him. Everyone knew that.
“These are highland traditions,” Harmon continued. “It’s what’s expected, no matter how the marriage was arranged. Things might be different in the lowlands, but if you want to convince my men to fight alongside yours, to show our countries that we are truly united—which is necessary to hold this whole thing together, by the way—then this is how it has to be.” A heavy sigh. “I’d do this without you if I could. But I can’t.”
And there it was, the twinge in Venick’s belly that was regret. He gave a sigh to match hers, loosened his stance. Venick had known the challenges they faced, knew the kind of balance they’d need to strike to convince highlanders and lowlanders and elves and now plainspeople to live and breathe and work in the same space, when before that space had been filled with nothing but war and derision.Venick had thought, because he’d been able to persuade elves and lowlanders to work together, that it’d be as easy to connect the highlanders and plainspeople, too. But he’d already earned the loyalty of the lowlanders and the elves and had been able to translate that loyalty into cooperation.
He didn’t have that kind of pull here. The highlanders belonged to Harmon first. As for the plainspeople…it was likely that they fell somewhere in between. They’d wait to see how things would play out before fully committing to a side. Would the newly formed resistance succeed in battling the Dark Army, or would they tear themselves apart first?
“Well?” Harmon demanded. “Do you have anything to say?”
“I’m sorry.”
She rolled her eyes. “I’ll say.”
“I am,” he insisted. “I can do better.”
She blew a breath through her nose, what might have been a snort. “There’s a welcome dinner tonight, hosted by the city’s council in our honor. Can you at least tryto follow my instructions?” She gave another sigh, but her anger was all used up now, and there was no real force behind it. “This arrangement isn’t forever, you know.”
Venick studied the ceiling. Music wafted from the tavern above, floorboards creaking under people’s feet. Every so often, someone would stomp, and a dusting of plaster would shake loose. The cellar was coated with it, as if all the barrels had grown a second skin.
“Venick?”
“Yeah,” he said. “I know.”
FOUR
Ellina tipped her head back, surveying the slatted exterior of the granary. The building stood a half-story taller than any of the surrounding structures, its planking done in three different types of wood, which either meant that this granary had once burned partway down and had since been rebuilt, or the original carpenters were just poor planners. Ellina considered both possibilities, weighing the likelihood of each, though neither the three-toned wood nor the cause of its incongruity made any difference to her current problem—if she wanted up this wall, she would need a running start.
The thought made her jaw harden. Ellina had scaled hundreds of walls, but never before had she required a boost. Usually, mounting obstacles took little more than a thoughtless springup,a quick release of speed and strength. Maybe—Ellina thought this timidly, like a beggar holding out a cautious hand for fear of being slapped—if she gave herself enough time and rest, that was still all it would take. But for now Ellina’s shoulder was aching, and her legs were saddle sore, and if she wanted to reach the granary’s roof before dark, this was how it would have to be.
She took the necessary steps backward. Ten, maybe twelve. Ellina did not know, exactly. She did not count things like steps anymore.
She sprinted towards the building in a burst, took several vertical leaps up the wall, and launched herself within reach of the jutting roof. She caught the ledge and gripped tightly with one handhold, ignoring the hot sear of pain in her shoulder, the protest of weakened muscles. Her legs dangled wildly, her feet windmilling as she swung up her second hand, then used what was left of her strength to haul herself over the lip.
