“They have glamor,” I say. “We should go to Theren.”
She shakes her head.
“No.No more people.No more permission. We need to leave. I need this to be over.”
I grab her wrist as she freezes, finally looking up at me. I know she is afraid, but this is not wise.
“But we can only do so on the back of a dragon.”
She takes a deep breath. “And it’s a good thing they spent a day teaching us to ride.”
“What? You can’t believe that one riding lesson is enough to prepare us.”
She rakes her fingers through her hair.
“Vann. Listen to me. When the darkness came, I saw Arion. Was in the room with him for a few moments. Remember the men that came to get me before we arrived? There are more. Two hundred archers. I can’t—” she breaks off. “I don’t want anyone else to die for me. We need to go.”
I watch her, biting my lip and thinking. Enduvida’s relationship with the elves was varied at the moment. We didn’t need any more enemies.
If we stay and risk Arion’s men finding us, then we could find ourselves in trouble with both Selric, and by extension, our only ally. Mrath.
But we couldn’t leave this place without saying anything. Not after they’d welcomed us as a guest.
We need their blessing.
“All right, we will leave. But wemusttell Selric.”
She starts to protest, but I shake my head, cutting her off. “There is no reason why we shouldn’t. They are not friends with Arion. They deserve to know what is happening.”
Somehow, I find her in my arms again, seeking refuge. “I won’t put you in unnecessary danger.
She takes a deep breath, pressing into me, and I can remember every moment we shared just hours before.
Does she feel how the air between us is different? Realize I can’t stop touching her?
“Very well.”
I hesitate, then say, “Get dressed.”
She does so quickly, pulling on her tunic and boots beforereaching for her coat, the heavy fabric settling around her shoulders. She slips on her gloves, fingers still trembling.
I do the same, tugging my shirt on, donning my coat and securing the gloves.
We grab our packs. Without a word, we sling them over our shoulders, and leave our room.
The moonlight cuts through the cliffs as we step into the cold night. Our footsteps are muffled on the cobblestone streets. The Vaer’Tharion’s mansion is nearby. We’d just had the party there hours ago. It’s so different now. Dark. Clean. Silent.
As we approach the metal entrance, I find one guard. He spots us immediately, assessing us before his hand hovers near the hilt of his sword.
“What’s your business?” he demands.
“We need to speak with Vaer’Tharion Selric,” I say in my mediocre elvish. “It’s a matter of life and death.”
The guard hesitates, then enters the mansion, motioning for us to wait. Moments later, the door creaks open, and we are let inside. Selric awaits in a long, golden robe.
“Our guests—what is the trouble?”
“Vaer’Tharion,” I saw with a bow. “Forgive the late hour, but it is urgent. My wife’s curse. It has been activated. Arion spoke through her mouth.”