She studied his face in the light of morning. Strong jawline, strong nose, eyebrows that were slightly darker than his hair. His chin looked different up close, more square. His eyes, though. They were as she had always known them: deep and clear as winter.
“We should be getting up,” he said, though it sounded like a question.
It took two tries for Ellina to reply. “Or we could sleep in.”
“Hmm.” He drew his thumb across her bottom lip. Ellina’s pulse rose to meet the point of contact. Venick’s eyes gleamed.
They stayed in his room a while longer, but did not sleep.
???
Later that morning, Ellina found herself in a daze. She moved through the city like a spore on a breeze, stopping here and there to pin leaflets onto doors and boards before continuing on her way. The leaflets were Erol’s idea—they explained the threat of minceflesh, as well as the new protocols that must be followed in order to prevent further poisonings. It was an important task. Vital to the city’s survival. Yet even as Ellina pulled a fresh page from the pile and secured it onto soft wood with a little tack, her thoughts were not on minceflesh. She was not thinking of corpses or conjurors or the war. Her mind was on Venick, and a low-lit bedroom, and the flush of her body and the noises they made and the sweet tide that had filled her from the crown of her head to the tips of her toes.
She pulled another leaflet from the pile. The flyers themselves were simple, done in bright red ink and stamped with an image of a walking corpse. Ellina’s hands seemed to float in front of her as she pinned the paper to a wall. She realized she was smiling, and that smiling at an image of a corpse surely looked odd. Yet she could not make herself stop.
There was a commotion among the citizens. Ellina might have moved past the disturbance altogether, drifting along with her tacks and her leaflets, if not for the fact that she heard someone speak her name.
“Asking to meet with the princess,” a red-haired woman was saying. “Insists he has a message that could help the resistance.”
“As if anyone would believe him,” another woman tutted.
Ellina came more alert. She moved towards the crowd, which had gathered along the curb to watch a small band of guards march someone down the street. The sky was clear that morning, the spring sun shining harshly. It was in Ellina’s eyes. She could not quite see.
“Who?” Ellina asked no one in particular, squinting into the light. “Who is it?”
Yet at that moment, the guards passed through a shadow, and the prisoner came into focus. Silvery white hair, a plain silk vest, that nose and those cheekbones. Ellina inhaled, one hand jutting sideways as if to catch her balance. Sensing her shock, or maybe hearing her sharp intake of breath, the captive lifted his head and met her gaze.
Raffan.
???
He was taken to the prisons.
Venick was already there when Ellina arrived, his boots tapping an anxious beat as he paced the prison courtyard. There were four guards stationed on either side of the building’s thick doors, with more men patrolling the structure’s perimeter, but aside from those guards, the courtyard was empty; the rest of the area had been cleared.
“He wants to speak with you,” Venick told Ellina, shaking his head as if to dispel water. Bournmay hugged his side, looking as if she had grown another few inches overnight. “Alone.”
“Why is he here?”
Venick frowned. He didn’t know.
Ellina tried a different question. “How was he captured?”
“He…wasn’t, exactly. The barricade soldiers say he just walked up to their line, held out his hands, and asked to be taken captive. He didn’t even put up a fight.”
“That does not sound like Raffan.”
“No, it doesn’t.” Venick’s eyes narrowed on the grey doors as if he could see right through to the prisoner inside. “I don’t like this.”
“I know.”
“It feels like a trap.”
“It could be.” Yet Ellina remembered the way Raffan had pushed her into a crevice to shield her from an incoming stampede. His words, spoken in a rush.It has to be you. If you want your voice back, you have to be the one to kill Balid.She thought of how he had given Venick the key to her cell.
Venick was watching her. She could tell by the way his features darkened that he knew what she was thinking, and hated it.
“He hurt you,” Venick said. “Again and again, he chose to hurt you when he could have done otherwise.”
