Page 111 of The War of Four Winters

Just as hope began to fade, Elindir's body convulsed suddenly. Water spurted from his mouth as Yisra quickly turned him onto his side. More river water followed in painful heaves, each tortured breath bringing color back to his deathly pale face.

"There you are," Yisra said, satisfaction clear in her voice as she sat back on her heels.

Elindir's eyes fluttered open, confusion gradually giving way to recognition as they found mine.

"Ruith," he rasped, voice broken from nearly drowning. "The bridge—"

"I know," I said, gathering him carefully into my arms. "I know. Rest now.” I turned to Yisra as healers rushed forward with dry blankets. “What was that?"

"Old sailor's trick," she explained, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. "When men fall overboard and stop breathing, sometimes you can force life back into them. Learned it from Savarran pirates decades ago." She stood, already turning her attention to the other survivors. "Keep him warm. Watch for fever. River water in the lungs brings sickness."

"Thank you," I said, the inadequate words carrying the full weight of my gratitude.

She shrugged, uncomfortable with the sentiment. "Just doing what's needed."

Elindir struggled weakly against my hold. "Battle mages," he managed through another coughing fit. "They waited until we were on the bridge."

"Save your strength," I said softly, my fingers tangling in his wet hair. "You've come back from the brink twice now. Even you need recovery time."

He clutched my arm with surprising strength, given his condition. "All the bridges," he rasped. "He destroyed them all."

"I know." The tactical implications were impossible to ignore. "Tarathiel has isolated the Assembly island completely."

"Trapped himself," Elindir observed, remarkably clear-headed despite his ordeal. "Why would he—"

"Because he thinks he's winning," came Aryn's voice from behind us. He approached slowly, favoring his left leg, his silver hair darker with river water. "He believes we can't reach him now."

Healers arrived with a stretcher, gently transferring Elindir from my arms. I reluctantly released him to their care, though everything in me wanted to keep him close, to never let him out of my sight again.

"Get him warm, dry clothes," I ordered. "And I want our best healer watching for signs of fever."

"Yes, Your Majesty," the lead healer acknowledged, already gesturing for her assistants to lift the stretcher.

Elindir caught my hand before they could carry him away. "What now?" he asked, his eyes holding mine with fierce intensity despite his weakness.

"Now we turn Tarathiel's strategy against him," I replied, an idea forming as I spoke. "He's trapped himself on that island, thinking we can't reach him. But that works both ways. He can't escape either."

Aryn nodded. "A siege."

"Exactly. We control the city now. The outer districts, the food supplies, everything that the island needs to survive. Tarathiel and his loyalists are enclosed in a gilded cage."

"And yet," Aryn countered, his voice dropping so only I could hear, "a cornered wolf is most dangerous. He still has enough battle mages to cause significant damage. And they're guarding the Assembly Hall, where all power ultimately resides."

"Then we need to reach him directly," I said. "End this before it becomes a drawn-out siege that costs more lives."

"The tunnels," Elindir suggested from his stretcher. "The ones beneath the river."

"The same tunnels where Klaus and his warriors died," I reminded him. "Tarathiel will have those heavily guarded now."

Aryn's expression remained neutral, but something shifted in his ice-blue eyes. "There are other tunnels. Older passages that few know exist."

Understanding dawned. "The Shikami tunnels."

He nodded once, a barely perceptible movement. "They connect all fourteen districts, including passages beneath the river to the Assembly island itself."

"But the Shikami have remained neutral," I said, recalling their steadfast refusal to take sides in matters of succession. "Why would they help us now?"

"They wouldn't. Not for our internal power struggle." Aryn hesitated. "But Michail's campaign changes the calculation. If we can convince them that Tarathiel's weakness puts all elven-kind at risk..."

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