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Even conveniences bought or bartered from another house, like the Iblis door locks, sent up small flares of magic when activated. If the Convocation proctor or sentry wizards were paying attention—as the former might be and the latter certainly should be—then they’d notice unusual activity. And anything beyond the baseline level of ongoing vigilance from the fire elementals that heated the sprawling castle or the fiercer spirits that warded Elal from attack counted as unusual.
That meant servant’s clothing for Nic, and not just for the disguise they provided. Servant’s clothing didn’t have magical fastenings like the gowns Nic had always worn. That made the rougher pants and layers of tunics ideal for a stealthy escape, but Nic was soon chagrined by her clumsy fumbling with something as simple as buttons. It reminded her of Gabriel’s confusion in the face of magical fastenings, a thought she had to banish along with the remembered shiver of his finger tracing her spine.
“It will be easier in the light, when you can see,” Tasha whispered as Nic cursed at the length of sash. Tasha took the sash, her fingers brushing Nic’s to guide them. “Thread the purse and dagger sheath on first, like this, then tie it on.”
Of course. What an idiot she was, not to have thought through such a simple, logical order. It didn’t help that her heart was pounding, cold sweat running down her spine. Part of her expected Gabriel to burst through the door, roaring at her betrayal.
Don’t think about him.
She tapped the copper bracelet she’d found in her jewelry box, a simple twining serpent with onyx eyes—nothing too valuable for a servant to own—and that had sharp metallic fangs. She pressed them painfully into the sensitive skin on the underside of her wrist, punishing herself for allowing the thought.
It was a self-discipline technique they’d learned at Convocation Academy, to train mental discipline and willpower. Maybe if she did it enough times, she’d train herself to keephimout of her head.
Tasha finished winding the thick sash around her waist, tying it off in a knot to one side. “When you undress, pay attention to the knot,” she whispered, “so you can do it yourself.”
“I wish I’d practiced this,” Nic grumbled. Tasha didn’t comment. With the proctor popping into Nic’s rooms unexpectedly, that had been too great of a risk.
“You’ll be fine. Follow me.”
They slipped out the thankfully now unguarded chamber doors, then around a corner to take the back servants’ stairs. At least there, small elementals burned constantly at every other step, lighting the way—if gloomily—for hapless servants summoned to tend their betters in the night. Or day, Nic supposed, as there were no windows that she could see to let in natural light. Probably the dim staircase was this dark all the time.
Tasha moved with the quiet grace of someone accustomed to being unobtrusive until summoned. Nic tried to imitate her, but suspected she was hopeless at that, also. It was sinking in that she’d trained for one purpose only—and with this escape she’d be running headlong into a life where none of those skills would be useful. Tasha led them down past numerous doors to various levels, down below the ground floor, into the cellars, where a few elementals glowed here and there, but lay mostly in darkness. A cobweb brushed over Nic’s face, and she stifled a scream, heart tripping even faster.
“I hate the spiders, too,” Tasha said quietly, reaching back for Nic’s hand. “I keep asking to have the anti-pest spells renewed, but Housekeeper says they’re low priority.”
Nic stifled a sigh of guilt over that. Probably anything that bothered only the servants was low priority, and House Ariel bargained fiercely for their services controlling animals. Clutching Tasha’s hand, she followed closely in her wake, not even trying to see, trusting in Tasha’s familiarity with the winding aisle between barrels of wine, crates of various supplies, and shelves full of who knew what. Finally they reached some steps that led up, a bitter draft billowing down. Tasha had braided Nic’s hair tightly, but stubborn wisps escaped to blow around Nic’s face. She shivered, that wind cutting right through her clothes, and she thought miserably of her fur-lined, sapphire-velvet cloak, so warm and the envy of all at school, even many of the wizard students.
“We have outer gear for you in the stables,” Tasha murmured. “Just hold on.”
She led Nic up through a slanting door set into the foundation and into one of the inner courts. Open to the winter sky—not black but gray with overcast—the courtyard swirled with snowflakes sharp as knives. They didn’t take the fast way across to the stables, even though the walkway that Nic had followed so many times was temptingly direct and clear, the beautiful tiles inlaid with elementals that burned them clear and dry. No, Tasha kept them to the shadows along the walls, where they struggled through the snow, powdery new over crunchy old, piled knee deep in places. At least Nic’s high boots were good, but she chafed at the cold and the struggle.
She was so not cut out for this kind of thing.You could go back, a voice whispered in her mind.Back to your magically warmed bed and pretty clothes, where you don’t have to make any decisions for yourself. You don’t have to be miserable. You can marry Gab—She hastily stabbed the serpent bracelet’s copper fangs into her wrist, gasping at the sharp sting. A slick of warmth against her fingers indicated she’d drawn blood, but at least she’d woken herself out of that dragging self-pity. And the fantasy of a life she couldn’t afford to want.
She would not take the easy way out and doom herself.I will not.
Finally they made it into the stables, the quiet warmth as sweet as the scent of hay and horses. Tasha quickly wrapped Nic in a heavy cloak—not her fancy one, of course, but a peasant’s thick wool, roughly spun by nonmagical hands—and drew the deep cowl around her face. She handed Nic mittens, assisting when her numb fingers failed to grasp them. They were thick and clumsy, with no articulation for Nic’s fingers, and she sighed for her matching fur muff. She’d have to pull the mittens off to do anything.
Tasha wound a long scarf around Nic’s hood, knotting it loosely and securing the folds of the cowl to hide her face. “I wish you could come with me,” Nic said, hoping she’d say yes.
Tasha smiled sympathetically. “They’d find you through me.” Holding up her hand, she let her sleeve slide back to display the Elal crest of intertwined spirits tattooed on her forearm, tiny elementals bound to the ink. “Remember?”
Oh, right. The mark gave their people the protection of House Elal—and safe passage back to their lands through the guardian barrier, should they have difficulty returning home—but that marking also identified them. Even the most minor Elal wizard could read information from the elementals, and anyone with eyes could see the crest. “Will you be all right?” it occurred to Nic to ask. “After helping me?”
“Lady Elal will make sure of it,” Tasha whispered. “But thank you for your kind thoughts. This way.”
Nic followed, lumbering like an overstuffed mattress on feet, and somehow still not warm. In the carriage barn, a sled waited, piled high with crates stamped with the House Elal crest. A shipment of conveniences powered by bound elementals, one of House Elal’s main exports, which would be sold at market to anyone with coin enough to pay to make their lives a little easier. A dark tunnel gaped in the middle, just big enough for a body lying down. Bending her knees to see better, she examined the narrow space with resignation.
“The sled is scheduled to leave soon,” Tasha explained, “so it should seem like business as usual. Try to sleep. When you wake in a few hours, you’ll be met and transferred to something else.”
Nodding—and figuring this was only the beginning of the uncomfortable life she’d be embracing—Nic crawled into the tight space. Tasha helped to stuff the cloak around her, and Nic reflected that she’d become yet another carefully crafted export of House Elal.
Tasha whispered a goodbye and best wishes, then lifted and latched the sled’s gate, closing out even the meager light of the barn. With the crates stacked around her, and the thickness of the cloak taking up the available space, Nic could barely move. She might as well be packed in a crate herself.
As the wagon lurched into motion, she let her eyes close. Nothing to do but sleep, and trust that, wherever Maman had sent her, she’d open her eyes again to a brighter future.
~7~
“Where. Is. She?”Gabriel parsed the words slowly, attempting to keep the demand to a low growl instead of a roar.
