He heard her hesitate. Felt the warmth of her body fit alongside his. She gave her answer in elvish. “Always.”
???
“This is a nice change,” Dourin said.
Venick peeled open his eyes to see Dourin stepping through a thin privacy curtain, which must have been installed around his cot while he slept—a Commander’s privilege. Ellina was there, too, no longer tucked in bed beside him but perched on a wooden chair near his head. A section of her trousers had been cut away, a wide bandage wrapped around her thigh.
“Dourin.” Ellina’s tone was stern. “Don’t.”
“I like to see him bedridden for once.”
“Not funny.”
“Everyone is talking as if he is a god of some sort. They do not know Venick like we know him. They were not there for the beartrap or the poisoned dagger. And then there is all that time he spentmopingjust because you told him you wanted him dead—”
“Can we talk about something else?” Venick interrupted, angling himself up against his pillows. It was still nighttime. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep—a few hours? A day?—but his head felt clearer, despite the throbbing. He closed his eyes, pressed fingers into the sockets. “The battle.”
“What is there to say?” Dourin spoke like a jester for a crowd. “Ellina managed to kill nearly all of Farah’s conjurors with her brilliant little trap while you decimated their remaining ranks with fire and water. The Dark Army retreated. You suffered a blow to the head, which has made Ellina snappy, despite Erol’s conclusion that the injury is not severe. And, of course, there is the matter of Ellina’s voice.”
Venick’s eyes came open. Ellina’s face was drawn closed. She said, “Dourin is leaving now. You should rest.”
Venick shook his head, then winced. “But, your voice.”
“Shh.”
“Ellina. I don’t even—”
“I know,” she relented.
“It’s like—”
“Yes.”
“And you didn’t even—”
“Iknow.”
Dourin made a disgusted sound. “What is the point of being able to speak if you two can just read each other’s thoughts?”
???
“Your voice,” Venick said again, later. Outside the infirmary windows, sunlight streamed hazily through smoke from extinguished fires. Citizens could be seen clearing the streets of ash and debris, singing old tavern songs as they worked. Earlier that morning, wine barrels had been rolled out of storage, the pale liquid passed around for all to share. The mood, despite the gloom, was celebratory.
“How did you win it back?” Venick asked. Ellina had moved from the chair back into bed with him. Her shoulder pressed against his. A slow, heavy warmth.
“It is a long story.”
“We have time.”
She readjusted her shoulders against the metal headboard. She must have bathed at some point—her clothes were dry, her skin clean. Yet she looked unhappy.
“What is it?”
“Your head. The wound.”
“I feel fine.”
“You have been awake too long. Before, Erol said you should stay alert, but now he wants you to sleep.”
