Venick smelled the city before he saw it.
He had never been to Kenath, but he recognized that smell immediately.
It was chimney smoke, cooked meat, the sour odor of animals and people shoved together in too-close quarters. A city smell. Different from what he was used to, which was open sea air and mountain. It might have been unwelcome, too, if not for the alternative: a wet forest and an aching leg and a chill that might be the wind. Might also be his fever returning.
He tried not to worry over which.
They'd trekked through the night and into the morning without any sign of the not-wolves. The forest was quiet save for Ellina's soft footsteps and Venick's uneven gait and the motherless rain. It had frothed and swelled into a true storm, battering them in a way that made Venick wonder if rain could be vengeful, and what he'd done to cause offense.
It wasn't until dawn that the rain finally retreated, rolling back into clouds that parted and drifted away.
To reveal Ellina in stark daylight, there, ahead. Venick had only seen snatches of her through the night. She flitted through the trees, finding him long enough to say keep going or watch the path before disappearing again.
Venick might have assumed she was covering their trail if not for the storm there to do that for them. He considered asking, then thought better of it. He didn't expect her to walk with him. He didn't want her to. It was bad enough that he was limping, his bandaged foot sucking and popping in the mud. It took all his concentration just to keep that leg under him without having to pretend otherwise.
No room for your pride, Venick.
And who was he fooling, anyway? Act like he hadn't got his foot caught in a bear trap, act like the metal hadn't sunk into flesh and muscle. It was a wonder he was walking at all. He had considered asking her about that, too.
She'd said she wasn't eondghi, but she was more skilled than the average soldier. He remembered pieces from the cave, but they were foggy, halfdreamed. The medicines she'd used, something thrown into the fire, leaves wrapped and rewrapped around the wound. How she knelt over him, her dark braid falling across one shoulder. How her hands brushed his cheek, checking for fever. The warmth of them.
"The city," Ellina said from where she stood at the edge of the trees.
Venick—damn his stupid pride—forced himself to walk normally as he came to her side. He watched her expression, which was carefully impassive. Her hand, though, had dropped to her sword.
"Trouble?"
"No. No trouble." But she wouldn't quite meet his gaze.
He arched a brow. "Really?"
"Look for yourself if you do not believe me."
He squinted across the meadow towards the city, trying to see what she saw that might cause that stiffness. Kenath was built on a river, a wide valley to the south, sloping hills to the north, grey and red buildings stacked to either side.
It was a border city, sprawled across the invisible boundary between the elflands and the mainlands and one of the few places where elves and men could meet freely. It was also north of the southern forests and therefore in the north's domain. Ellina should be safe in such a city.
And yet, her hand on her weapon. And yet, the set to her shoulders, the tightness behind her eyes.
Venick didn't understand it. He scanned the watchtowers, the rooftops, but he couldn't make out much else from this distance other than that the city was bigger than he had imagined, and tightly packed.
But that was nothing unusual.
"I don't see anything," he admitted.
"Then there is nothing to see."
But Venick was unconvinced. He remained alert as they followed the trail down into the meadow, as the soft earth turned into paved road, which led them through the gates.
The city was human-built, the stone and slate set over the hills rather than dug into them as elves would have done. The river was high and swift from the recent rain, the streets slick. Crowded, too, as Venick had imagined, but mostly with humans.
For a border city, there weren't many elves.
None at all, now that he looked, except for Ellina. Venick peered around, searching for the telltale golden eyes, the white hair. Nothing.
And yet, that couldn't be right. Because here: a horse wearing an elven-woven blanket. Here: elven glyphs carved into the side of a cart. And here: the sliding eyes of strangers, too keen.
Had they been back in Irek, Venick might have understood that suspicion, but Kenath was no small town to worry over newcomers.
Ellina led them through the streets, which followed no obvious pattern.
Some were wide and straight, others curved, slanted, paved in brick or stone or some combination of the two. That was typical of man-made cities, especially on the border. There were no quarries this far east. No reliable overlords, either, to see a project through. This city had likely been built bit by bit, perhaps mauled down during a war and rebuilt differently after.
Some would argue all cities should be built in such a way. It made them less susceptible to attack when there was no clear path in or out. It made the citizens susceptible, too.
It made Venick's skin itch, is what it did, as he peered up and behind. It might have been his imagination, the shadow sliding behind the window overhead, another on the roof above. His imagination, the way the crowd seemed to part for them, keeping distance, making room.
But he didn't think so.
"Ellina," Venick said, perfectly calm. "Want to tell me why you've led us into an ambush?"
"It is not an ambush."
"Want to teach me elvish for the hell it's not?"
"Elves do not curse. And stop looking around. We are almost there."
There turned out to be a tavern wedged between a whorehouse and the river. The exterior had been painted and then painted over again, the edges cracked and peeling in the sun. The door slid smoothly when pushed. Silent.
Well-oiled. Ellina led the way upstairs, past a few empty tables and the bartender who glanced up, then away. As if he didn't see them. As if he'd been bribed not to.
Venick swallowed and wondered, for the first time, who Ellina really was.
He wondered if he was an idiot for not wondering sooner.
The stairs led to more rooms. Dark, musty, mostly empty. Ellina strode to the one at the end, pulling him through and closing the door behind them.
She crossed to the window and drew the curtain shut, then knelt to pull up a floorboard with a twist and a snap. She retrieved a dagger and a coin purse from the space underneath. Which she pushed into his hands.
The realization cracked open inside him.
"The southern elves have seen you with me, but you are human," she said. Fast. A little breathless. "They have no reason to harm you."
"Ellina."
"If they stop you, you tell them you know nothing. You lie, human. That is what you are good at, is it not? Wait a few days. Act as if you are just passing through. And then you leave. Home, back on your own side of the border."
And where is home, Venick?
He didn't know. It didn't matter, either. Not right now. No, what mattered now was that gaze, two golden eyes waiting for him to respond, to tell her he understood.
And do you?
That she never had any intention of taking him to Tarrith-Mour, yes. That she never planned to kill him, yes. That she knew he didn't have information for her queen, that she lied to her troop to save him, yes.
Remember that conversation now, Venick. Remember the male's question—You think he is a spy for the south—and her answer, in his language.
Reeking gods.
"You said the city would be safe," he said.
"I said the city would be safe for you. And it is."
A wise man wouldn't ask questions. A wise man would take the money and the dagger and hope never to see this elf again. A wise man certainly wouldn't argue. It didn't matter that she had lied for him and mended his foot and asked for nothing in return.
Elves didn't deal in life prices, didn't think in terms of debts paid.
But.
"I don't understand," Venick said. "Why? Why help me?"
"Consider it a blessing from one of your gods."
"Elves don't believe in gods." Venick pushed a hand into his hair. He should be dead. He'd trespassed into the elf lands, and lied about his reasons, and Ellina knew, and she saved him anyway. He owed her his life. Three times over he did.
"You risked yourself for me."
"I risked nothing." Her chin lifted, eyes flashing. Damn him if that wasn't pride.
"That so?"
"Yes." She ghosted a smile, already turning to leave. "Be thankful, human, that you are not the only one who lies."
✽✽✽
Venick decided he would count to one hundred, then he would follow her.
One.
He could still see that flicker-smile on her face, the one she'd given him sbefore turning on her heel and striding back out the way they had come.
Two.
He could see everything the smile was meant to hide. The tension. The worry.
Three.
He watched her touch the hilt of her sword. Her fingers traced its edges.
Four.
Venick went to the bedroom window. He beat a light fist against the glass, then opened his palm to feel its cool surface. He could not understand why she'd chosen to help him. Why she'd lied to her comrades, created excuses to bring him to safety. She had risked herself.
He thought again of the shadows in the windows, on the roofs. He imagined who might be following her. Who might wish her harm.
He shouldn't care. He was an outlaw. He had no duty to anyone, no reason to honor his life price. He was not honorable. Maybe he had been once, but that was before he'd murdered his father and fled into exile. Three years in the mountains had hardened him, severed all loyalties, made him forget what it meant to fight for someone else.
Except, Venick felt the pull of it. Rusty, stiff like an unused muscle. A desire to help, to do. An unease at being indebted, a shame that he would even consider ignoring his debts. A memory of a time when he'd befriended an elf, loved her, would have done anything for her. Another memory, this one of Ellina in the forest, the gentle way she had touched his face when he was fever-dreaming.
The surprise at discovering her gentleness.
Venick understood that his exile had hardened him. But as he gazed out the window, a plan taking shape in his mind, he thought maybe it hadn't changed him. Not really.
Five.
Count to five, then. Close enough.
He tucked the dagger into his belt and went out the door.