We’re running out of time.
I hiss at the clutch of bells, half tempted to toss them out the window and see how fast they fall.
Actually ...screw it.
I roll off the bed and swing the door open, sweeping onto the balcony in a swish of red. Stepping close to the balustrade, I take in the castle grounds littered with people dressed in pops of color, decorating the grass like a field of wild blooms.
There are carriages parked about, hooked up to horses chewing on piles of straw. A line of torches leads to the front entrance, ready to light a path for the guests whose chatter comes to me on the still twilight air.
My isolation from such a crowd would usually thrill me to the bone, but I’m not that girl tonight. All I see are potential victims of a future raid I could have prevented.
It’s not good enough.
I suspend the bag of blooms over the edge, gaze diving to the long, metal support beam that runs from the base of Stony Stem by the fifth floor, crosses a courtyard, and anchors itself to a sturdier wing of Castle Noir.
My heart flip flops. “Of course.”
I dash inside and set the velvet pouch on my pillow, though not before I give it a sniff. I’m not searching for the bluebell’s fragrance, but savoring the scent of leather and a crisp, icy lake.
Rhordyn handled this bag. Picked these buds. Somehow knew I needed them. Then went to the effort to remove the stems required to make more Exothryl, leaving only the goods to make more paint.
The bastard.
I stain my lips with another layer of rouge before grabbing my shoes and making a dash for the stairs. They’re full of the murky light of sundown, the sconces not yet lit. They probably won’t be, considering the door’s locked and I’m supposed to be hiding in my tower. But again, I’m not that girl tonight.
I’m strong. Composed. Resilient. Someone who doesn’t cower from the slice of a stare or the hack of a word.
Someone who wears her skin withpride.
I lean against the concave wall, one hand gripping the base of a tall, oblong window. My heart sits high in my throat as I glance across the canyon of empty space, tracing the thin, metallic beam that roots from just below the window, stretching toward a stout part of the castle.
A safe, sturdy destination, which is a lot more than I can say about the beam.
I cast my stare on the stone courtyard five stories below ...
That fall looks terribly unforgiving, but the way I see it, I either tiptoe across this lengthy plank and make it to that damn ball or more innocent people suffer.
There is no option.
I lift my leg, causing my dress to split from knee to hip along the side seam, leaving a gaping hole. I groan, rip it to the hem so it comes across as a risqué fashion choice, then clamber onto the window ledge and shift my grip to better support myself.
If I don’t die now, I will when Rhordyn sees I’m flashing half my ass cheek in-front of the entire congregation.
Praying nobody looks up, I stare at the ground.
“Shit ...”
My one saving grace is my experience walking The Plank, something I hope will aid me to keep my feet firmly planted.
That’s the theory, anyway.
Drawing a deep breath, I secure the train of my dress and cast my gaze toward the opposite window. I settle my first foot on the beam barely wide enough to support the full width of it and relinquish my grip on the sill, transferring a single shoe to my other hand to balance myself.
I push my arms out like I’m flying, my other foot moving on its own, sailing me away from the port of Stony Stem. The chasm of doom yawns beneath me as I settle into that corner of my mind that’s quiet, calm, and entirely naïve.
My heart slows as I walk—paces long and delicate, body light as a feather.
I’m not five stories in the air with my life balancing on a shift of wind. I’m strong, steady, and there’snothingin this world that can stop me.
