A few more feet, and she’ll be gone.
I have no more time to waste. I hoist myself up onto the sill, fighting in the small space with the cloak that hides my wingsfrom view. I have no doubt I’ll stick out regardless, thanks to their shape bulking my figure. Lowering my legs, I twist and grip the sill tightly, feeling for one of those small holes in the wall.
There.
One, and then another. I push my feet into them, the stone biting into my bare toes with sharp slices that I ignore as I carefully follow Tieren. The stone is warm beneath my grip, a remnant of the heat left behind from the sun.
“Faster.” A quiet hiss in the night.
She hasn’t left yet. I glance over my shoulder, spotting her on the ground. It’s closer than I realized, and relief is a full breath as I let myself drop. My knees take the brunt of the fall as I land heavily with a choked gasp, but Tieren is already hauling me up with a hard grip.
We face each other, and I force my chest to steady. “Where will you go?”
She glances over her shoulder. Our rooms look out onto an alleyway that runs behind the Murenger, filled tonight with the trash and leftovers that will be collected by filth covered inritus before dawn and tossed over the territory walls to rot, the stink barely covered with scented oils that hang in the air. “My home is in Ustus—beyond the seventh territory. I’ll find a traveling band going in the right direction. I can dance. They’ll take me, and I can pay my way. You?”
Over her shoulder, the entrance to the alley faces the harbor. I lift my chin. “Home.”
Tieren follows my gaze as she turns on her heel. “Good luck, then, my friend. May your goddess guide you to better fortune than you found here.”
She’s gone before I can respond, only the edge of her cloak visible as she darts around the corner. Glancing up, I listen for shouts, but only silence meets me.
Time to go.
Disbelief lightens my head as I follow Tieren’s lead. I keep my steps steadier, pushing a swagger into my hips as I reach the end and flip the hood of the cloak over my head. With my height and the wings at my back, maybe I could pass for a broad male—the sort one would avoid rather than challenge.
As long as nobody looks down at my feet.
The street is quiet. I move as quickly as I dare, striding out in the middle of the cobbles, pretending that I belong here as I head for the dock. Only one ship sits in the harbor tonight – although one is unusual enough to draw attention. A male and female inritus walk past me, hands entwined and their curious eyes on the ship instead of on me.
Deserted. The men who work the dock are nowhere to be seen, only the dark silhouette of the ship greeting me as I walk up to it, glancing over my shoulder. Even the harbormaster’s office is locked up.
And it’s quiet. My footsteps make no sound as my bare feet press against the stone, and I stifle a grimace as something wet squishes beneath my foot. The only noise comes from the water, and my muscles stiffen at the sound of waves gently rolling against the wood.
Strength of will means nothing against the memories that churn my stomach. They force their way in, dizzying my mind with fractured images. Even the salt that fills my nose burns my throat in remembered pain.
But I have to get on. The gangplank is barely wider than me, a single rope strung alongside, and I glance around for any witnesses before slowly stepping onto the wood.
It shifts, my stomach dropping into my feet at the sensation, at the thought of the water below me. Ready and waiting to drag me down, to finish what it started—
My feet hit the deck with a thump louder than I’d like, and I suck in a tight breath around constricted lungs. Waiting.
Nobody comes.
I look across the deck at the mountains of crates, securely strapped in place with rope. It’s far more than I’ve seen a boat carry, and there’s a groan from the ship beneath me as if she agrees.
But all the better for me.
I ease my way through, identifying a passage that leads me to a small door that sits between this main level and the upper deck. Beside it, a set of wooden steps leads up to an area where a rudder stands, alone and unmoving.
I need a space to hide until we’re well at sea—
The footsteps behind me sound just a moment too late. As I twist, my cloak tangles around me, material covers my face.
Not material. A weight, heavy and unexpected, presses over my mouth, cutting off my air. I push back in desperation, attempting to toss my head, but the desperate breath I take brings the scent of feverfew with it.
An Asterian scent.
Caught off guard, I hesitate, and whoever has caught me presses their advantage. The cloth grows tighter as my fingers claw at the leather-wrapped hands bearing it, even as my eyes grow heavy.
