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I gasped softly, remembering his earlier words. Had someone reported to the sultan that his oldest son had disappeared into the gardens with me? Rek had warned me the moment we stepped outside, but I hadn’t been listening. Angrily I stuffed the rebellious part of me back down where it belonged.
But Rek gave me an apologetic smile, not seeming to share my concern. “Father probably wants me to meet some dull dignitary. He’ll have to let me free at some point. I assume you still love dancing as much as you always did?”
His eyes invited me to laugh with him, diving into the happier memories. Whatever confusion he’d been feeling earlier, he seemed firmly in control now, remembering me as a friend of his youth. Had I dreamed anything else?
I gave a non-committal answer as he pulled me back onto the main path and into the disapproving gaze of Captain Jerome. I didn’t meet his eyes, and his focus quickly shifted to Rek. He spoke rapidly, giving a string of names I didn’t recognize, and within moments he had swept Rek away. The prince had time for only a single look over his shoulder in my direction, his eyes sending another apology.
I stayed in place, not moving back toward the ballroom myself. In there I would see Rek again and maybe Iola. Adara and Navid might come looking for me, expecting me to be ready to laugh and dance and joke. Perhaps the twins might come back, ready for further reminiscences.
I couldn’t face any of it. For me the night was over.
A server walked the path nearest the windows, a tray of drinks in hand, and I hurried over to her. It only took a moment to leave a message for Navid, asking the servant to inform him I was leaving early. As soon as I had her agreement, I headed for the side of the palace and the front courtyard, fleeing into the night.
CHAPTER17
The guards at the gate were reluctant to allow a young ball guest out onto the streets alone. But after some persuasion, I managed to escape with just the addition of a small lantern. As I hurried through the streets toward home, I was glad for its light.
The limited moonlight was almost entirely obscured by clouds, making the streets seem dark and menacing. I tried to shake off the feeling, reminding myself the city was my home, and I was more than familiar with this section of it. Still, I moved more cautiously than usual, jumping at any sound.
When I turned onto my street, relief swept through me, the strange dread draining away. The gates ahead of me stood for more than immediate safety. They represented my familiar, stable life, far removed from the palace and the dangerous emotions that swirled around me whenever I was in Rek’s presence.
I had to put the lantern down to unlatch the heavy gate, my fingers fumbling in their haste. When I reached down to scoop it back up, however, my eyes caught on something.
My emotions told me to ignore it and hurry inside to the haven of my bed, but my mind wouldn’t let me. Already my thoughts were whirring, my eye catching on the details.
Someone had drawn a mark just to the side of the gate in chalk. It was a strange mark—almost like a roughly etched seal or signature. I wanted to dismiss it as the work of local children, but my sense of dread was back in full force. I didn’t understand what the mark meant, but in my years here, there had never been any chalk on our gate before.
Now wasn’t the time to ignore oddities or strange coincidences.
Determination filled me, driving out both the primordial dread of the night and the confusing emotions left from my encounter with Rek. My mind—usually so sharp and clear—was restored to me, and I no longer felt the least longing for bed.
I didn’t immediately move, however, my eyes locked on the chalk mark as I tried to work out its origin and purpose. If I rejected the possibility of childish mischief, the most logical remaining explanation was that someone wished to distinguish our house from all others.
That idea was highly concerning, of course. I could think of one group who had a keen interest in identifying our household, but how would they have known which house to mark? And why mark it at all? If they’d found us, why not act immediately?
I stood back, holding up my lantern and peering down the street. Its light didn’t stretch far, but I could call up the whole street from memory easily enough. Our house itself was distinctive, easy to remember when once you’d seen it, but from the outside, the external wall of the property looked almost identical to all the others on the street. Even the gate was made from the same wood as the next four or five, only the fine details of the latch distinguishing it. Perhaps it would be confusing to someone who didn’t know the area well?
The answer came immediately on the back of that thought. Someone wanted to mark our house out from the surrounding properties because they all looked too similar. I could wash away the chalk, and even probably succeed in making sure the wall didn’t look too clean afterward. But that would do nothing to tell me who had left the mark. I needed the person who had marked us to find this street, but not our house. That meant I needed to make sure the houses were similar in all respects.
Pulling open the gate, I slipped inside, not bothering to latch it behind me. I would only be gone for a moment. My feet flew across the courtyard, my mind moving even faster, the tang of potential danger mixing with the joy of finding a distraction.
Thankfully I knew where to find chalk since I had seen it recently in the cabinet housing the silverware. Everyone swore it was the best way to keep rust away, and I had noticed the packet of it when I returned the polished items after my unnecessary labor.
Inside the house, I moved more slowly, not wanting to wake anyone. It took me only moments to reach the right cabinet, pulling open both doors and dropping to my knees to find the wrapped package in the bottom.
Unwinding the cheesecloth that kept the chalk from marking the silver, I selected one of the sticks. Within seconds, the rest of the package was rewrapped and put back in its place.
Back out in the street, I eased the gate closed again and stood back examining the mark. For my plan to work, I had to be able to reproduce it exactly. A search along the street produced a slim stick that I used to trace the shape of the mark in the dust. It took me at least twenty tries, but I kept at it until I was sure it looked as close as possible to the original.
Smearing the dust with my foot, I gripped the chalk hard as I walked down to the next closest gate. But the more I thought about keeping my hand still, the more it shook. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, letting my tension drain out. This wasn’t a time for nerves.
Calmed, I used the chalk just like I had the stick, reproducing the mark with strong swirls and confident lines in the wood beside this gate. When I reached the next one, I was ready. By the end of the street, however, my hand had started to ache from clutching the chalk so hard, and the stick was almost too short to be of use.
Retracing my steps, I considered the next part of my plan. There was no point in reproducing the mark if I didn’t have a way to watch for who came looking for it. This might be my only opportunity to discover their identity, and I couldn’t squander it.
The most obvious course of action was to hide somewhere nearby. But a hiding place was less obvious. The smooth walls of the houses on our street gave little opportunity for concealment.
I turned onto the small alley that ran between our house and the next. Its purpose was to allow direct side access to the stables of both properties, but over the years it had been used as a dumping ground for various items. The issue was an ongoing source of contention between Nyla and our neighbor, and they had recently ramped up the offensive by leaving an entire broken wagon, half blocking the alley.
