Chapter 10
My balance was not at all fine. Callen had spent nearly an hour setting me in a staggered position and prodding me. The goal was to not let him move me, and after stumbling and tipping countless times, he eventually moved on to single-leg stands for the next hour.
“Balance is the foundation of any offensive or defensive position,” he’d said.
Well, balance was also the reason my ankles and legs ached as I sat on my bed, the room only slightly illuminated by the glowing embers in the fireplace, as I finished tying three of the bed curtains into a long rope.
If that was Callen starting “simple” with me, I didn’t want to know what real training with him looked like.
With any luck, I wouldn’t find out.
The escape wouldn’t be easy. I would lower myself to the balcony below me.
From there, I’d descend the remaining two stories with the makeshift rope.
I’d have to leave it dangling along the wall, but the trees should hide most of the upper guard’s view, delaying any realization of what I’d done.
I’d pass through the kitchen, but after that, I’d be improvising.
If I kept my hood low enough, it would shield my eyes from view, and if there was no way to walk out of the walls, I would find a cart to hide in.
As far as plans went, it was messy at best. But with Harthon’s intentions to keep me hidden away, I wouldn’t be able to do much better.
There’d be no traipsing around the Citadel to study my options, and if I didn’t leave before we journeyed to Fifth, I’d be kept from home for at least another week.
I tightened each knot as much as the fabric allowed and quietly strode to the mirror to fasten my cloak. I’d donned the same blue and black attire I’d arrived in, the dark colors more suitable for melting into the night.
If there’s one thing you’re good at, it’s making do with what you have, I reminded myself, going to the window.
Several minutes later, the guard on the wall walk turned away, and I gingerly opened the glass pane.
Cool, biting air washed across my face. Once again, I took a piece of bread I’d saved from dinner and threw it down by the lower guard, who sat slumped against the wall.
He didn’t stir. I grabbed the knotted curtains and slowly dropped the makeshift rope onto the balcony below me.
The gauzy material fell onto the stone, and I froze, waiting for any indication that it’d been spotted. Nothing happened.
Now came the difficult part. I’d never been one to climb trees, despising the tremble in my muscles whenever I saw how far I could fall.
This was worse—at least four times worse—but I couldn’t afford to think about it. Just do.
My heart lurched into my throat as I spun and slowly came to kneel on the sill. Ensuring my grip was tight, I slid one leg out and then the other, coming to my belly before lowering all the way.
Do it.
Fingers releasing, I was weightless for a moment, and then the stone slammed into my feet. I welcomed the fall onto my ass, hoping it quieted the thud of my landing. A glance above the stone balustrade showed the upper guard still turned away and the lower one still asleep.
Moving quickly, I tied one end of the rope to the side-most column with shaking fingers.
Three knots later, I stood and yanked. The fabric held, and I tossed its length over the railing.
The end dangled a few feet above a shadowed bush.
Whether the bush contained thorns, I didn’t know, but there was no backing out.
Not now. There was no way I could scale the wall back to my room, and if Harthon caught me mid-escape…
Don’t think about it.
I shook my quivering hands, gripped the balustrade, and swung my legs over before my body refused me. Grabbing the column, I released my feet and pinched the fabric between them.
The fabric would hold, or I would plummet down the two stories.
Inhale. Exhale.
I squeezed my eyes shut as I released the solid column and grasped the fabric with my hands.
It held. But my hands didn’t.
I barely stemmed a cry as I slid down one foot, then two, jolting to a stop when my feet rammed into the first knot. Adrenaline flushed my skin cold.
No time to lose it. Keep going.
This time, I anticipated the slide, and I controlled my speed better as I plummeted to the next knot. I examined the remaining distance to the ground. I was five or six feet above the bush, but there was no knot at the end of the rope to stop me once more.
There was no choice.
I careened down the remaining fabric and slammed into the bush, thin branches crunching on impact, their broken ends jabbing into my skin like needles. I rolled off the plant before I had time to register the discomfort, getting low to the ground as I waited and assessed.
While my landing had sounded like thunder in the quiet night, the guard on the ground didn’t move. A snore traveled through the air.
Harthon was going to kill him.
It wasn’t my problem.
A burst of pride brought me renewed energy as I scurried to the kitchen door, which had no lock. It was thankfully quiet as it slowly swung open, and I scanned the darkness for signs of movement.
To the right was an alcove brimming with baskets of what resembled vegetables, and three long preparation tables stretched before me. Empty fire pits, grated grills, and more baskets lined the walls, and two cavernous stone ovens sat to the left of the tables.
There were no people.
I crept forward on silent feet, searching for knives and packable food. Combing through the baskets, I found the pile of leather satchels I’d been hoping for. I checked the first one to confirm that it held dried meat, and then I palmed four, stuffing them into my pockets.
Spotting the outline of a knife block on one of the tables, I moved toward it—
Across from me, a door swung open. Soft light flooded the room, and I flattened to the ground before sliding beneath the table. I hadn’t been able to grab a knife.
There was a man’s animated laugh, then the light disappeared as the door clicked shut.
“Shut the fuck up. You’re going to get us caught,” someone hissed.
The laughing stopped.
“I can’t believe this worked,” another man whispered, his words followed by the sound of shuffling feet.
My blood became a roar in my ears.
There were three, maybe four of them, and they clearly weren’t supposed to be here. While the darkness provided some camouflage, I was exposed on all sides, the tabletop my only cover.
“If I was a kitchen bitch, where would I stash the ale?”
“If only there were one here, we could ask.”
There was a cruel chuckle. “We wouldn’t ask. We’d be busy with better things.”
The implication sent alarm shooting through me. These weren’t just men who could catch me. They were bad men, and if they found me—
Boots brushed stone, creeping closer to where I lay. My limbs began to shake.
“There’re baskets everywhere. Check every single one. See if there’s more under the tables.”
Just like that, the need to survive overtook any desire for escape. If these men looked under the tables, there was no doubt they’d spot me, and I couldn’t fight them all off. Even if I called for help, these walls could be too thick for the sound to travel far.
I swung my head toward the garden door, narrowing on the exit with tunnel vision. If I made it out there, I could get the upper and lower guards’ attention.
On a silent breath, I bunched up my legs.
Then I exploded from beneath the table, dashing to the door.
A shadow materialized from the storage alcove, morphing into a heavy-set man who snatched me mid-stride and threw me to the floor like I was no more than a doll.
His mass hit me a second later, knees caging my hips, and I opened my mouth to shout.
A meaty palm slammed over my lips, fingers squeezing my cheeks.
“Look like we found a kitchen bitch,” he drawled. Short hair. Middle-aged. Pudgy cheeks.
I hadn’t even seen him.
He leaned closer, and I jammed my fingers into his eyes. I felt the nauseating squish before he howled, releasing my jaw and falling back. I scrambled to my feet, barely straightening before another man was before me.
This one clumsily lunged for my arm. Just as he made contact, I shoved my knee into his groin. There was a sharp yell, and then he crumpled, cupping himself.
The remaining two approached me slowly, the one on the left blocking my route to the door. He smiled, teeth glowing in the darkness, and it reminded me far too much of Koerlyn.
“I like it when they fight,” he snarled.
There was a moment for the horror to dawn that he’d probably done this before, and then they pounced.
I didn’t stand a chance.
They were on me before I could shout, tackling me onto the stone floor.
My spine bruised on impact, and then I was being dragged, hard fingers digging into my ankles.
I clawed at the floor, fingernails splitting on stone.
Abruptly, they stopped, flipping me onto my back.
One landed on my arms while the other straddled me, their faces blurs of violent intent as I flailed.
I pulled in a stuttered breath and screamed.
A backhand to the cheek cut the sound. Pain exploded. The taste of blood coated my tongue as tears flooded my eyes.
“Fuck, do you think someone heard that?” the one at my arms asked.
“We’re fine,” the man on my hips answered. Even in the dark, I could see that his face was a mottled jigsaw of ugly scars, thin lips, and angry gray eyes. “Scream again or struggle, and I’ll smack your brain out of your head,” he spat, pure menace in the curl of his lips.
My limbs froze.
His smile faltered, and then he jolted forward, bringing his nose to mine. The smell of alcohol and sweat assaulted me. “What the fuck?” he muttered.
“What is it?” his friend asked.
He lurched away, wariness flashing over his features. “What the fuck are you?”
He was afraid. I desperately jumped at the opportunity. For once, these eyes could work in my favor.