Venick had never liked the sound of green glass.
It wasn't like the clang of steel, which was hard and cold and solid. Not like the swoop of an axe or the strum of a bow. Green glass said shh, a mother to her child. It was low and soft. Animal.
And clear, now, as it hissed through the air.
Venick cursed. He ignored his bad leg, the way the stitches pulled. Ignored his pounding heart, which had vacated his chest and clawed up his throat. He darted glances through the crowd, moving as fast as space and injury would allow, praying his leg wouldn't give, praying he wasn't too late. He didn't imagine what he would see if he was. Didn't imagine the reason green glass echoed through the streets, Ellina backed into a corner, her pupils blown wide, an arrow through her heart.
He did not.
And yet, Venick couldn't quite help but hear Ellina's words, the surety in them. We elves do not kill our own. She might have spoken in elvish, how certain she was of that truth. Yes, elves would maim and fight and torture, but this was old law, one she thought was never broken.
She was wrong.
The memory slipped inside him before he could stop it. Lorana's screams. The flash of an arrow. His own voice, hoarse, desperate. The way he'd fought to reach her. He felt panic rising, and couldn't tell if it was true panic or the memory of panic.
Time layered over things, made his mind foggy. He remembered Lorana's panic too, the way it gripped her, a black claw sunk into flesh. But then that terror had calmed, vanished, replaced by steady silence as she realized she was going to die and there was nothing Venick could do to save her.
Venick clenched his jaw and forced those thoughts away, forced himself to see the now and not the past.
Ellina is not Lorana.
But she wasn't no one, either.
Venick turned a corner, then another, hating Kenath's streets for being too narrow and too winding and too crowded, so packed full of people that no one noticed him until he was shoving them aside with a move and a curse.
And still too slow.
But then, there. A flash of green. And there. Ellina. He saw her in plain sight, caught between the market and the river, surrounded by four elves with weapons drawn.
Venick's fear vanished then, anger crowding in its place. At the human guards who watched but did nothing because it was not their race and therefore not their problem. At the elves who had her cornered. And at Ellina, who had drawn her weapon but was doing a worthless job of using it. Venick had seen Ellina when she wanted something dead.
He remembered how she'd killed the wolves in the forest, the skilled strokes, effortless and without hesitation. But she was holding back now, speaking in low tones as the four elves advanced, parrying their strikes but attempting none of her own. As if she was afraid to hurt them.
As if she refused to kill.
And all Venick had was a dagger. And an idea.
A lousy one. But there was no time to think of anything better.
He pushed towards her. He caught the surprise in her eye as she spotted him, the confusion and then the fear as she realized what he intended. She shook her head once, quickly.
Don't.
Too late.
Venick stepped into the space created by wary onlookers. He didn't pull out the dagger. Four long strides brought him to the closest elf, who spun at the look on Ellina's face, who wasn't expecting an attack and therefore didn't raise his weapon.
Venick heaved a punch. He aimed for the jaw and missed. The blow struck the elf's windpipe instead with a thump and a whoosh of air. Crushed it. The elf heaved, then stumbled, clutching his neck. And now Venick did draw Ellina's dagger, which was useless against swords but made a fine distraction as he cocked his arm as if to throw. And yes, three pairs of golden eyes on him, weapons up and exposed as Ellina took the opportunity he created for her, folding into the space and swiping her blade across another's calves, ripping flesh and muscle. Crippling but not deadly.
Venick threw the dagger then and missed. He drew his hunting knife into his hand next. No good history of hitting things with that weapon either, so Venick didn't try.
He held onto it as one of the two remaining elves came at him, green glass flashing, and damn he was fast. Venick dodged the first strike, then the second, but not the third.
The sword slashed his chest, flayed open the skin. A pain that broke his vision.
Stay on your feet.
He did, somehow. He managed to stumble backwards out of reach as Ellina stepped between him and the elf, as she parried another strike, hissing in elvish, and then just hissing, angry and gritty and fending off the attack with a skill that was beyond any of them, that could have ended in four southern elves dead had she only chosen it.
Venick lurched sideways under a swipe of green glass and up by Ellina's side. He felt the spray of the river at his feet. He saw the shadows of buildings on either side, the white eyes of the crowd who watched the fight in fascination, who by doing so blocked any easy chance at escape. There was no way they would win, not unless Ellina decided to start killing, and she wasn't.
Venick spun then. He wished to offer an apology, an explanation, but he managed only a grunt as he grabbed Ellina around the waist and swung her into the river.
Time seemed to slow. It stretched thin. Venick could see each piece of the moment, every beat of seconds passing. He saw Ellina's hair in the wind. The sword still in her hand. Her eyes wide, shocked. She hit the water and her head disappeared under the surface.
There was a moment of terror. Venick felt it under his skin, down between his ribs. Because elves couldn't swim.
Ah, Venick. But that's the point, isn't it?
He didn't look back to see if the other elves understood what he had done or if they would follow. He knew they wouldn't. He sucked in a lungful of air and jumped in after her.
✽✽✽
The river was exactly as Venick knew it would be: cold and furious. It slapped the breath out of him and whipped him under, pulling him feet-first through the black water. Venick let it. He relaxed and didn't struggle, waited for the current to bring him up for air.
Which it did, briefly, before sucking him under again. Venick held his breath until it ached. He pretended he was back home, pretended these were Irek's currents, the ones he knew by heart. Venick had grown up in those waters.
He understood the way the tides came in and out, how to recognize a rip in the current, the way the water would heave and buckle. The way his pulse would jump before he remembered not to panic, to time his breaths and wait for the ocean to release him, which it always did safely near the shore. Venick had learned that all water was like that: conquerable, if you knew what to do.
He waited for the river to toss him up a second time, then a third without making any attempt to swim. But then the river turned a bend. It widened and slowed just a bit. Enough. Venick kicked and brought himself to the surface.
It was easier to stay afloat now. He let the water propel him as he looked for a head of black against brown waves.
And saw nothing.
Dread kicked him in the gut. He beat it away, forced himself to focus. It occurred to Venick that Ellina might not have made it this far. It occurred to him that she didn't know how to relax into waves. Even if she did, he'd given her no time to prepare. Instinct and cold would make her inhale. Fear would make her struggle.
The waves rolled. Their silvery reflection in the sunlight blinded. They lapped against the seawall on either side. There was nothing to hold onto out here, not a single boat in the water, no one to see her and pull her to safety. Had this been Irek, the river would be teeming with rowboats, maybe a few larger vessels. Not here.
The people of Kenath weren't fishermen.
The elves certainly weren't.
The current began to strengthen again. It roiled, pulling at him on all sides. His ears were full of water. His eyes were. And still no sign of Ellina. He began to lose the reigns on his own composure, began doing everything he'd been taught not to. He swam against the current. He called Ellina's name, shouting himself breathless. He had no way to know how far the river had taken her. No way to know if she had swallowed a lungful of water. If she was floating somewhere under the surface.
Until he spotted her just ahead, clutching the vertical bars of a sewage grate with one white-knuckled hand. In the other hand, her sword, which she'd somehow managed to keep hold of. Relief flooded him, hot and heavy. He used much of his remaining strength to swim to her. "Ellina."
"You are a fool." Anger rolled off her in waves, more violent than the current.
"We're still too exposed. We might be seen. We need to move."
"I told you to leave. But does the human listen? No. The human follows and tries to get us both killed."
He didn't bother responding to that. There would be time for her anger later. Now, though, they were losing warmth and energy and needed to move. "I'm going to get you out."
"No." She bit off the word, hard and flat and maybe a little frightened.
Venick softened.
"It's just water, Ellina. It can't hurt you." Which wasn't true, not for elves who could hunt and fight and climb better than any human but who couldn't swim to save their lives. It was meant to be a secret among their race, not something they wanted humans knowing. As it was, Venick did know. And he could swim well enough for the both of them. "I won't let you drown."
He was asking her to trust him. There was no reason she should, not after he'd thrown her down here in the first place, even if it was to save her.
But he saw her study him, saw her wet and cold and yes, there, frightened.
Hell, Venick.
Better than let her die.
Which she would have, had that fight gone on a moment longer, and damn her elven laws.
"Ellina," he said. He moved closer and pretended not to notice her flinch away. A quick glance downstream confirmed his suspicion: each end of the river was blocked by a tall metal grate where the city wall crossed the water.
They could not escape that way. But: "There's a ladder not far from here. Near your hideout. We just have to make it there."
"We cannot go back there. We were seen."
"The whorehouse next door, then."
She wanted to refuse. He could see that refusal in her every fiber. But he saw the quality of her gaze, the way it changed from firm denial to something more reluctant. And then, finally, she gave a tight-lipped nod that he took for a yes.
Venick wanted to be gentle. It was important, suddenly, that he did not frighten her more, that she understood what he was doing as he moved closer, as he wrapped a strong arm across her body and carefully, so carefully, pulled them back into the water.
He watched Ellina's face, measuring her reaction. Trust me, he wanted to say, but didn't. He thought the words instead. Trust me.
And he saw it. He saw the way her shoulders relaxed, how her eyes lost their glazy fear. Her breath tickled his neck. Her hair ribboned along the water's surface. And there, like he promised, a ladder that brought them to safety.