“That’s . . .” Her face was unreadable. “That’s an interesting thought.”
Dropping my shirt to the ground, I casually flexed one arm to push back the combed waves of my hair. “How interesting a thought is it, exactly?”
“I think there’s a cultural barrier here. I’m not really following.”
Aware of my clenched teeth, I relaxed my jaw. I was a golden lion. Everyone wanted me. Confidence was key.
Loping closer in a leonine fashion, I sank to my haunches and dropped a muscled arm around her shoulders. “I’m sure any barrier can be overcome.”
I moved in for a kiss, and Glenda yelped, her head shooting back so fast that, if not for my arm, she’d have toppled to the ground. I froze, lips puckered.
“I’m so sorry. I’ve, uh, it’s not you. I’ve just never been that attracted to humans,” she said, looking anywhere but at me. This close, her breath smelled strongly of seaweed.
Realizing that my arm still trapped her, I recoiled, leaping to my feet. “But you . . . I mean, don’t you love me?”
“I do! I do love you.” Glenda hugged her knees. “You make me laugh every day. And I’ve had such a wonderful time serving the Order with you at my side. My friends back home, they’re always asking me how to get a human of their own.” She tried to smile, but it wobbled and failed. “They love hearing about you.”
A human of their own?“Isn’t that somewhat bigoted?” I asked. It came out sharper than I intended.
Glenda rocked back like she’d been slapped. “I didn’t mean—that’s not—Cameron, I am going to miss you so, somuch, and I will never forget you, I promise!” Her head sank into her hands, her breath coming in gasps.
I realized, as the noises became wet and clogged with snot, that we had entered another round of crying. And back came my anger. I was the victim here. I ought to be the one in tears, and yet here she was again, emotionally incapacitated by the slightest . . .
Hold that thought. She was incapacitated, wasn’t she?
Something despicable occurred to me then, and I immediately accepted it as my best course of action. “Glenda,” I said, fingering the hilt of my sword. “This is my last day alive, and you’ve already ruined it. Would it have been so difficult to peck me on the cheek and lie? Or am I too lowly even to touch?”
Her damned elven hearing could ruin it all . . . but Glenda had her pointed ears covered to better blunt my words, and her own swallowed cries likely drowned out some level of noise.
“You shouldn’t have told meanyof this!” I timed my shout with the oh-so-gentle snick of my unsheathing blade. “You broke a promise to the Elders, and for what? Just to scare me before I die?”
This outburst must have been shocking to her—we’d never had so much as a disagreement. But I couldn’t spare any pity.
She belched something that sounded like an apology into her knees, her body quaking. I stood behind her, lining up a shot with the flat of my blade.
“Sorry, Glenda.” And I swung.
CHAPTER 4
In Which an Elf Is Concussed, but It’s Not Really My Fault because What Would You Have Done? Would You Not Have Concussed the Elf? No, Of Course You Would Have. We All Would Have Concussed the Elf. Besides Which, I Am Very Sorry for Concussing Her and Will Try to Make Amends Later if She Stops Trying to Kill Me. And Also, Her Intent to Kill Me Was a Highly Relevant Factor in My Decision to Concuss Her.
My plan of traumatizing and concussing an elf was a great success.
After she crumpled forward, I thought about giving her another whack, but decided against it. The smear of blood on the blade . . . had I really hit her that hard?
“You were fully planning to murder me.” I rolled her onto her side in the dirt and checked her breathing. She looked like a newborn calf, all gangly limbs. “Fair is fair.”
But still I stood there, peering down at her sadly—until her finger twitched, at which point I bolted with a choked screech. I did not want to be there to receive her bloody rage when she woke.
Some indistinguishable length of forest passed before I realized, with a nasty jolt, that I’d forgotten my pack. But it was useless weight, I reassured myself, full of pointless things. Like food. And water.
I’d also left my shirt, which the heat of my run made me temporarily grateful for. And my sword, God damn it all.
Well, there was no point obsessing over errors. All I could do now was run.
A root caught my foot, sending me crashing to my hands and knees. I scrambled up, panting and swearing, feeling the wetness of my scraped palm but not the pain. My body shook with the urge to keep moving, but instead I pressed myself flat to the trunk of an oak and tried desperately tothink. Every second mattered. I had to keep running. But towhere?
In early summer, the sun rose in the northeast. Using that as a compass point, I could roughly guide myself to any number of places. But the Order wouldn’t waste time in broadcasting my fugitive status, and their influence extended, well, everywhere.
