“Why?”
“I don’t know.”
Philippa studies me closely by thescintillight, reading possibly more in my face than I care to reveal. I make a valiant attempt to mimic her own serene countenance but doubt it’s enough to fool her. At last, however, she says only “You must be careful.”
I blink, surprised. “You…will let me go?”
She shrugs. “Well, I don’t think a lovers’ tryst can hurt anything. Youaresupposed to marry one of them by the end of all this, aren’t you?”
“But aren’t the gods meant to determine which one?” I counter, choosing not to debate the nature of this impending meeting.
“Who’s to say they won’t pay attention to your preferences?”
“What if I have no preferences?”
Philippa sniffs delicately and indicates the note with a jut of her chin. “If that were the case, why did reading those lines bring such color to your cheeks?”
Another rush of telltale blushes floods my face. I turn away from thescintillight, too late I suspect. “Has anyone ever told you that you are an impertinent busybody?”
“Yes, but so long as I amyourimpertinent busybody, what’s the harm?”
I shouldn’t trust her. I know where her true loyalties lie. And yet…“There’s a whole slew of guards just outside the door,” I point out tentatively.
Philippa considers this for a moment. Then: “Is it true what they say? That you can see in the dark?”
“Very nearly.”
“So, if I were to venture out on some errand,” she continues, “and if, while on said errand, I were to accidentally knock over the nearestscintil…and if that were to cause a chain reaction among all thescintilsup and down this passage…and if the guardsmen and I were temporarily distracted trying to fetch them and get them lit once more, leaving your door unwatched…”
My lips part in a short huff of surprised laughter. I shake my head. “My dear Philippa, I never realized just how devious you are.”
“There are many things you don’t know about me, Princess.”
It’s a simplematter to avoid the palace guard once I escape the passages close to my own chambers. The farther out I go from that central point, the less security is posted for the long, quietstretch of the night watch. I’m still not entirely convinced Philippa’s plan worked as well as it seemed to—part of me suspects I’m being followed even now. But if so, no one makes his presence known, and the echoing passages of Stromin Palace feel empty and vast as I make my way on silent feet through the shadows, avoidingscintilswhere I can, dousing them when I must.
Every now and then the gremler in its globe squeaks. Its tiny voice seems to echo in the huge dark, but in reality it’s quite a small sound. I’m jumpy, however, and nearly drop the globe each time. “Hush, please!” I whisper. My heart thuds in my ears, and I cannot decide if it’s due to fear of meeting another bat demon in the winding passages or the prospect of once more being in Valtar’s presence. Alone.
Why did he ask to meet me? There must be some purpose behind it; Valtar does not strike me as the kind of man to act on impulse. He must have known it would be risky for me to attempt slipping away from my guards. Is it possible…I bite my lip, reluctant to let myself hope. But is it possible he found a way out?
The thought no sooner pushes its way to the forefront of my mind than I discover I’ve arrived at the pulley lifts. So, my mental map of the palace was accurate after all. Pleased at my own success, I search the shadows for some sign of Valtar. He isn’t here. I frown. Is he late? Or was it never Valtar to begin with, and this is all some diabolical trap?
I’m just turning to retrace my steps and hasten back to the safety of my chamber, when my eye is caught by a glimmer of eerie heatless light.Phosphorescence—the word appears in my head. A few small strips of lichen, gleaming faintly, lie on the floor close to the wall. Carefully arranged in an arrow, they point to the nearest lift. The message is clear enough: I’m to enter the lift, go where it takes me. And will Valtar be waiting for me there?
I set my jaw. No point in dithering, waiting for someone to find me and drag me back where I came from. I’ve made it this far; best to see this little adventure through to the end.
Adjusting my grip on the gremler’s globe, I step into the lift and pull the lever, which the guard had pointed out to me yesterday. The door slides shut. I bite back a scream as gears clank and clunk, and the floor underneath me begins to rise, leaving my stomach somewhere below. It seems faster than it was yesterday, and the journey lasts far longer. Am I not returning to the waterfall overlook then? Perhaps I was too quick to trust that message, too eager to escape the confines of my chamber and my ever-present guard.
The journey lasts so long, I have ample time to regret every decision I’ve ever made that led me to this point. Tired of standing, I sit in the middle of the small, boxlike space, the gremler’s globe cradled in my lap. My burnt hand troubles me, and with nothing to distract from the pain, I find it nearly intolerable. Tears threaten, and I try to pray—but it’s been so long since those years of my early childhood when Mother sent me to chapel regularly to learn my prayers. Mistress Iliyani did not think much of human modes of worship and practiced her own form of devotion to the gods. A practice which she did not see fit to teach me. I was left to muddle through on my own, attending services now and then, dredging up the occasional memory of Durona’s stern piety.
Here in this dark, tiny box, whirring and clanking on a rapid ascent to some unknown destination, I can’t help feeling that a little godliness would go a long way.
At last, the chains creak, and the lift grinds to a halt. I wait for a count of ten shivering breaths. Then the door slides open. All is very dark; there’s nothing but a single, smallscintilhangingfrom the ceiling to illuminate the space in which I sit, and it cannot penetrate whatever lies beyond that door. I get to my feet, still clutching the globe to my stomach.
That’s when I see it: a sliver of silvery glow in the distance. Notscintilglow. No, this is brighter, purer, sweeter. Only one source can generate such luminousness.
A glad cry on my lips, I leap from the box into a narrow tunnel and race forward, chasing that slip of moonlight. I’m desperate for it, ravenous, unable to be cautious in this sudden need to revel in that glow and the vast expanse in which it dances. This is freedom.Freedom.This is open air and escape and hope and everything I’ve been dreaming of since the day I found myself buried underneath this awful mountain. I feel as though I could spread my arms, sprout wings, and simply fly out into the beckoning night sky.
I burst from the mouth of the tunnel and stagger to a halt. Some small part of me is aware of a flat space, smooth and paved, maybe forty feet broad, and ending in an abrupt edge. But I cannot pay any heed to what lies under my feet. I can only tilt my head back and breathe in the absolute glory of sky and stars and sweet, sweet moonlight. I drag great gulping gasps of fresh air into my lungs, weeping shamelessly out of sheer relief. A half-moon gleams above me, and I smile up at her like a long-lost sister. I’m sure I’ve never seen a face more beautiful than hers.
