Ellina forced herself to walk.
It would do no good to run. Running was for open spaces. For when you knew the city, knew the streets and the slopes and the tide of the crowd. For when you had somewhere to run. But Ellina did not know this city. She did not know the hidden paths or alleys like she knew the ones in Evov. If she ran, she would meet a dead end. She would become stuck against the river.
And then she would be trapped.
No. Better to walk and wait. Count her steps, count the arrows at her back. Count the shadows trailing her.
Four, so far as she could tell. Two behind, two on the roofs above. She did not need to see their faces to know they were southern elves, the same ones who had hunted her in the forest. She could tell by the way their shadows seemed to follow her, peeling away from windows and corners in pursuit.
That was not a trick of the light. That was conjuring.
And a skill Ellina did not possess. No northern elves did. Usually, she felt glad that she did not have that witch-magic inside her. It was bad enough that her hair was dark, almost as black as the shadows that followed her. Black hair was rare among elves and rarer still among northerners. If not for the certainty of her heritage, she might have been called a bastard fledgling and cast out to the wild for it.
Now, though, she would not mind some of a conjuror's skill. To weave the shadows over herself and disappear.
Ellina took a hard right, moving under a sky of merchant flags. They fanned in the wind, the sound of them filling the air. There were other sounds, too. The bay of a goat. The angry burst of a child. The hush of a crowd sensing danger, an almost imperceptible change.
Ellina risked a glance behind her and caught sight of golden eyes.
She pushed forward, through bodies, past guards. They were a false comfort. The crowd was. Humans did not intervene in elven affairs and and could not be counted on to help. No. Better to escape back to the forest.
There, she knew how to cover both her scent and her trail. There, her troop waited for her. There, she could disappear.
She turned back towards the river, skirting down a narrow alley. She trailed her hand across the brick and stone. Smooth, no crevices for climbing. The only option was forward. She wished she had thought to wear a hood. She wished she had thought. But she had been busy, her mind full of the human. Keeping him safe, keeping him alive.
There was no room for anything else.
Raffan would skin her could he see what she risked for him, let alone why. It was bad enough that she had broken ranks and chosen to stay behind with false promises to question the human further. She made those promises in the language of men, a testament to her dishonesty. But Raffan had let her go anyway.
He would punish her. In front of others, if she was lucky. In private if she was not. Ellina outranked him in blood titles, but he outranked her in the legion. And now that they were bondmates, he outranked her in both. He could erect whatever punishment he wanted and be well within his right. And he would enjoy punishing her, no matter in public or private.
It was why he said nothing of her obvious lies. He let her disobey him. He wanted her to.
Ellina could hear the river now. It churned, a low hum. She flexed her hands, touched the sword at her hip. She could draw it. That might gain her some human attention. Or it might prompt her pursuers to act faster, to subdue her before she could cause a scene.
As they seemed to intend now. She could sense them close behind. Moving closer. A too-long shadow flitted across her vision. Another angled beside her.
She wrapped her fingers firmly around the hilt of her sword. Fight, or flee?
One breath. Another.
She turned and drew her weapon