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Iskid around the corner and keep running down the hall, the guards heavy on my heels. I hear them calling my name over the shuffle of feet and clank of armor, but I speed deeper into the palace, clutching the parcel in my hand.
Metal doors bar my path. I could spend hours admiring the flowers etched into their surface, but with a prayer to Evanae that they aren’t locked, I press forward.
“Stop right there, princess,” orders a voice ravaged by years of smoking.
I dare to glance over my shoulder.
Dozens of guards—all clad in golden armor with sharp swords and glinting guns on their belts—spill into the hall with me. The one with a sash of green around his arm comes to a stop. The others mirror their captain.
We glare at each other for a breath. Just long enough for me to dash the last few steps toward the door and for him to draw the pistol from his belt.
“I said, ‘Stop’.”
The soldiers of my father’s army are all fine shooters, but his hand still trembles as he lifts the heavy barrel toward me.
“You wouldn’t dare,” I say with a smirk.
I don’t stay to test my theory but push the door open and slip out into the garden. My heart thumps in my chest to the rhythm of the guards’ boots drawing closer. The metal doors shut behind me with the silent click and drown out any sound with it. I twist the lock before the guards can join me even if it’ll only slow their pursuit for a few moments.
I close my eyes, desperately trying to catch my breath. Of all the nights to wander through the palace, I chose the one when there were patrols on every corner.
Another deep breath, and my heart seems to calm a little. The dizzying smell of flowers tickles my nose, making power surge in my veins, and I don’t even have to open my eyes to know the branches are swaying with the night breeze. Yet I do. Just to drown out the call of ethera. It begs me to dig my hands into the trimmed grass, to let the green blades wrap around my fingers.
I tear my gaze away, searching for a thick bush or the lush foliage of an apricot tree, but the full moon in the inky sky renders any attempt at taking cover futile.
The first bang comes, and my heart skips a beat. The guards will break the lock with the sheer power of their muscles. Give it enough time, and even hardened metal will eventually yield to their effort.
The desperation kicks in as I give the garden another glance.
The truth is so painfully obvious. There is no place to hide.
As another bang comes, I ditch my boots, slide the parcel into the waist of my pants, and sprint to the stone wall. My fingers find the first handhold as the doors swell after another blow from the guards. I’ve climbed this wall a dozen times, but the scorching sun had warmed the stones for the whole day, and they burn the skin of my fingertips and toes hours after sunset.
It’s easy to ignore the pain when I know the consequences I’ll face if the guards catch up, and I press upward, searching for any stones that jut out from the wall just enough to push me higher. If only I could reach the balcony on the second floor before the soldiers arrive, they’ll have no proof they actually saw me.
Creaking and groaning, the doors finally burst open, and the guards spill into the garden with me.
I press my body against the stones, blending with the stones. Trying is more like it, I think to myself.
Scraping my skin, blood oozing from my fingertips, gripping the burning stones with the last strength I have left, I blend with the wall as well as a sleek black train might in the endless sands.
With the pistol still hanging loosely in his hand, the captain looks around until his gaze falls on my boots. Another second, and he has seen me. “Get down here,” he says, sliding his pistol back in the holster. “Right now.”
“I don’t think so,” I huff in an answer and dry the sweat from my brow on my shoulder, the fabric of my shirt scratching my skin.
A fissure runs through the wall, and I follow it to the edge of an impossible leap toward the balcony.
Impossible is right up my alley.
Shifting the weight of my body to the leg hitched in between the stones, I push myself away from the wall and leap into the air. I land with my feet on the railing, but my body’s momentum doesn’t carry me all the way across and I lose my balance.
A shout from somewhere too far below confirms what I already know for sure. I’m going to fall.
My arms flail, searching for something to grip onto long enough so I can regain my balance. Anything would do. There is only air and, soon, ground, which won’t make for a very soft landing.
Someone yanks me up onto the balcony by the waist of my trousers, and I land on the flagstones, face first. A grunt comes from somewhere deep in my throat.
