NINE #2
I stuff a fresh set of bandages, a dress, an extra set of undergarments, and my collection of herbs and potions into my satchel.
It’s all that will fit next to my mother’s journal and her copy of The Herbal Healer’s Handbook.
Two things I refuse to leave behind. I remember how I would sit at my dresser while my mother took her time brushing my hair; how we’d curl up in my bed as she told me stories and made me laugh, but now the bad memories far outweigh the good.
No matter how much I want to cling to my mother’s memory, I know I can’t stay.
Taking a deep breath, I bend forward to lace my boots. The bandages stretch against my wounds, but even if I start bleeding again, I’m confident it won’t show against my dark navy dress. I’m ready—I nod decidedly—and I’m never coming back.
It’s dark, and everyone is asleep. There’s no murmur of conversation or movement when I open my bedroom door.
They’ve killed all the lamps, but this isn’t my first time sneaking out of the manor in the dead of night, and I’m determined to make it my last. Holding my breath, I take a step forward into the passage.
The floorboards creak softly beneath me, and I stop.
My heart races by the time I reach the balustrade.
Keeping my steps light, I let the gentle curve of the carved balustrade guide my way, carefully testing every step before I fully load my weight onto that foot.
If I make a noise and someone finds me… I shudder to think of the consequences.
I won’t only be caught wandering after curfew but also running from home, with clothes, potions, and forbidden articles in hand.
Reaching the bottom of the staircase, I hear a door close behind me.
“Better hurry, young one.”
I move quickly, landing on the balls of my feet.
The rug stretched out in the foyer softens the sound of my boots on the hard floor.
I have no other option of footwear to choose from.
Heels and flat-soled pumps won’t keep my feet safe from injury, nor will they keep me warm, but my riding boots are as loud on the floor as they are slippery on grass.
The strap of my satchel slips from the point of my shoulder, grazing my back.
The unexpected surge of pain almost makes me yelp out loud, but I grit my teeth and push forward despite the compulsion.
The faint chime of a bell alerts the servants to go to my stepmother’s room.
Hers is the only one with an installed cable attached to a bell, which is fixed in the kitchen.
Light spills past the wall, and footsteps rush up the stairs.
My heart hammers against my ribs. With a sickly sister, every member of staff is on high alert. Inhaling, I regain my composure.
Dharlah’s panicked voice echoes down the hall, but I don’t stop to listen as I rush toward the door, grabbing my mustard-yellow cloak from its designated hook and throwing it over my shoulders. My mouth is as dry as a desert, but I swallow anyway. There’s no turning back.
“Make haste. You cannot be seen.”
“Why don’t you tell me something I don’t already know?” I bite back.
The moonlight rushes in when I open the door and look for the sandbags that are usually to my right. What if I have to come back?
“Tie your ribbon around the latch so it won’t lock.” I remove it from my braid as I step through the door.
Footsteps sound through the passage, and every muscle in my body twitches. My fingers fumble with the knot. “They’re going to see me!”
“No, they won’t. Just hurry up!”
Light spreads across the wall before me, and instinctively, I step out of sight and close the door behind me, effectively locking myself out. White spots flash behind my eyelids when I realise what I’ve done. There’s no way to retrace my steps, no way back inside except through the front door.
My hands tremble. Bloody hell.
Looking up, I see the windows glowing with light.
Someone only needs to look outside to find me.
Only needs to call for me to know I’m no longer there.
I run along the stone wall toward the stables, praying that I’ll go unnoticed.
Hooves clatter as I round the corner and startle the horses in their stables.
“Shhhhhh… It’s alright,” I whisper, leaning over the door to see the young palomino stallion spinning in circles in the far corner.
He stops, legs planted wide. “There you are.” I reach out my hand, inviting him closer.
His muzzle is as soft as silk, his breath as warm as the tea I’d sipped earlier.
“That’s my good boy. I’m going to miss you most of all.
” I smile at him before I walk on, careful not to scare the rest of them.
Leaping over the puddle I’d crossed only the night before, I head toward Declan’s window.
Their small stone home is separate from the servants’ quarters.
Being my father’s most decorated soldier and personal guard, their family receives privileges others don’t.
They don’t sleep in the main building or share communal areas like the rest.
Through his bedroom window, I see him fast asleep. The moonlight traces his outline, his blanket reaching below his chest. Guilt tightens its hold on my heart, knowing what I’ll be asking of him.
Tap, tap, tap. I knock on his window, but he doesn’t move. Dammit Declan!
Tap, tap, tap. He only stirs, turning onto his side. The door to the servants’ quarters opens, and light floods the courtyard next to me.
Tap, tap, tap, tap, tap, tap! This time I don’t look through the window. I fix my eyes on the door and the figures casting shadows behind it, my heart racing at a ferocious speed.
Reaching up to tap on his window once more, I feel warmth instead of cold. Soft skin instead of a glass pane. I look up to see him looking down at me. His hair is a tousled mess, and his chest is bare.
“Bryn?” His voice is still thick with sleep. “What are you doing here?”
“I…”
He looks past me. “Dammit, Bryn, you’ll get us caught!” he exclaims in a whisper. “Come in quickly.” He opens his window wider, and dread washes the colour from my face. This is going to hurt a shitload. I reach up, grab hold of his arms, and wince.
He studies my expression for a brief moment. “Wait right there.” Then he disappears back into his room.