She thought of conjurors, and how they, too, were marked by black hair. It had long been said that only southern elves could conjure, yet had Ellina not proven this assumption false? Had she not broken the bounds of their language by learning to lie in elvish? What other rules could be broken? What rulescouldn’tbe?
Humans were the original conjurors. Centuries ago, before the purge, it was humans, not elves, who bore the ability to wield magic. Elves—worried about what humans might do with such power—chose to destroy what they could not possess. They conducted the largest massacre of their era, eradicating human conjurors from the earth for good.
It was only a few years later when the first elven conjurors began to emerge. Some supposed that the magic, without human conduits, jumped to elves. Others called it coincidence. No matter which theory one believed, there was no mistaking the truth. Elves—in an ironic twist of fate—had somehow discovered the very ability they once sought to destroy.
That word,discovered,hung in Ellina’s head like a star during the day. It drew her eye, lovely in its simplicity, but not quite right.
TWENTY-SEVEN
You’ll need to name her,” Erol said one afternoon as they stopped to water their horses. A stream spun down through the meadow, its shallow edges bordered by young grass. Somewhere in the brush, a liralin bird chirped a high, trilling song. Their group was all gathered, the seven of them crowding around to watch the puppy sniff the water.
Venick crouched down, flicking the water’s surface to entice the hound’s interest. “Any ideas?”
Lin Lill—who had stubbornly chosen to ride with a broken foot rather than stay behind with the other injured soldiers—came to sit heavily on Venick’s other side. “How about Big Paws? You know,” she went on when the others merely stared at her, “because her paws are so big.”
“Thanks, Lin,” Venick said. “We’ll consider that.”
“You need a strong name,” Traegar said. “Something she can grow into.”
“But a meaningful one,” Dourin added.
“There is a word in elvish,” Ellina offered. “It is pronouncedbournmay.”
Venick didn’t know the word. “What does it mean?”
“That depends. If a mother calls her childbournmay,it means my loved one.A teacher to a student means my star.If a master calls his houndbournmay,it simply meansmine.”
“So many options,” Venick teased. “What does it mean if I call youbournmay?” But Ellina turned bright red, and when Venick looked around to figure out what he’d said wrong, the others all looked away.
???
The army moved from the road into a pasture situated on a ridge. It slowed their pace, and caused trouble for the horses carting the supply wagons, but Venick wanted the high ground. Bournmay—May, they called her—had already grown too big to ride in Venick’s jacket, so she was left to trail Eywen’s heels as they traversed the ridge, disappearing occasionally to find Ellina, then back again, as if drawing an invisible tether between them.
Though Venick had grown up hearing tales of banehounds’ uncanny abilities, he didn’t truly understand until he saw it happen.
They’d paused to rest on a hillock overlooking a village. The day was breezy, the clouds puffy and sparse. Venick sat on a low rock with a bone needle and some thread and began stitching a hole he’d discovered in the seam of his vest. He wasn’t an expert sewer—really, not very good at all—but his mother had taught him the basics.If you can’t manage neat seams, at least double back on your work. It’ll be strong, even if it isn’t pretty.He’d been a young man when Lira had said this, already a fighter. Impatient, and hell, ornery. He hadn’t wanted to learn to sew, especially not when he could see the other boys sparring outside through his kitchen window. But Lira had insisted.
You’ll be sorry when you’re in the field and you can’t repair your own clothes,Lira said.When Venick rolled his eyes, she’d added,Your father knows this skill.
Your father.Those had always been the magic words, and Lira knew it—Venick wanted to know anything General Atlas knew. After that, he’d been nothing but attentive to Lira’s lesson.
Now, Venick squinted past the shadows his own hands were making and threaded the needle, stabbed the cloth. The task—and the day, the balmy breeze, so much like Irek’s weather—brought his memories to life. That kitchen, with its decorative plates hanging on the walls. The clock, which chimed off schedule. The worn table, where his mother had spread her sewing supplies, explaining the purpose of each item. Even given everything that had happened since then, even after his mother’s death and his banishment, after killing his own father in that very kitchen…it was a nice memory. Venick smiled a little, wishing Ellina was nearby so that he could tell her the story. It was something he wanted to share.
Venick finished his patching, then held the vest up to the light. Gods, itwasn’tpretty. But it would hold.
As Venick was packing away his supplies, Bournmay appeared over the ridge, pulling a bewildered Ellina by the sleeve. Venick was instantly alarmed. “What—?”
“I don’t know,” Ellina replied breathlessly. “She just started whining, but May never whines. Then she began tugging at my clothes. I thought—” Ellina pushed back her hair, which had blown into her face. “I thought something must have happened to you.”
“I’m fine,” Venick said quickly, eyeing the banehound.
“What is it?”
“I think…well.” He cleared his throat. “I was wishing you were here with me. May must have known,” he continued, trying for lightheartedness and mostly failing. “She could feel it. Sense it, somehow.”
They quieted. Bournmay looked between them with bright yellow eyes, placated now that she’d brought them together.
Venick breathed a laugh. “You’re as persistent as Ellina,” he told the hound, who gave a single thump of her tail. Venick peeked back at Ellina. “Is this what it feels like to begeleeshi?”
