Slotting my fingers into the grate, I twist, pull, and ease it up from its frame. Bracing my arms, I put my head down and look around the hall below. Still no sign of anyone. There’s nothing but ascintillight illuminating a lonely pair of stone chairs, one on each side of the hall. Seating for pages-in-waiting, no doubt, but currently unoccupied.
Lowering myself to the floor is easier said than done, but I manage it in the end with just a slight sting to my ankles when I land. I glare up at the opening. I’ll just have to hope one of these chairs will prove tall enough for me to use as a stepping stool when I’m on my way back. But that’s a worry for future me. For now, I have a rendezvous to make.
My hand moves to the little sheath and knife strapped to my thigh. It had taken some creativity to keep it hidden from Philippa. I don’t doubt she would confiscate it in a heartbeat themoment she knows I have it on me. I can’t very well fish it out from under my skirts on the mountaintop, so I hastily slip it off my leg and fasten the sheathe to my belt instead. Then, fairly confident I know where I’m going, I set off at a trot for the pulley lifts. In a matter of minutes, I’ve found them, stepped into the same box I used last night, and pulled the lever.
The door slides shut by some mechanism or magic I cannot fathom, and the box begins to rise. I won’t deny the little flutter in my belly, not so much from the ascent as from the prospect of seeing Valtar again. Am I eager? Or angry? Hard to say…possibly a combination of the two. All I know is my palms are sweaty, my breath tight, and by the time the lift finally,finallycreaks to a halt, and the door slides open once more, my knees are rather unsteady.
I stare out into the dark tunnel, breathing in the scent of fresh air. Moonlight beckons me once again, but this time I don’t rush out to meet it. Some instinct tells me it would pay to be cautious. So I slip my knife from its sheath, step from the lift, and creep softly on the tips of my toes down the tunnel, taking care to peer into shadows as I go. There is no one here; no sign of Valtar. I peer out on the old stone platform bathed in moonglow. Empty.
Heaving a sigh of not quite relief, I step into the open air and walk to the middle of the platform. Forest spreads before me, wild and dark and seemingly endless. I let my gaze run over it, searching for any sign of a break. Is that a glimpse of open country on my left, just at the horizon? Perhaps.
A prickling sensation ripples down my spine. I tense, thoughts yanked away from contemplation of the mountain to more immediate surroundings.Valtar.He’s here.
“Lovely evening for a moonlit stroll,” I say, pitching my voice high and bright.
No answer. But I feel him—that sensation for which I have no name is stronger than ever, almost painful. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think my unconscious was trying to warn me of danger.
“By the way,” I continue, subtly adjusting my grip on my knife, “was it you who left that rose in my chambers three nights ago? Rather rude if you ask me, sneaking into a lady’s room uninvited. But the flower was a pretty gesture, despite all the creeping and looming.”
Still no answer. Suddenly, I’m convinced to the very marrow of my bones that he is standing directly behind me. I whip around, assuming the stance he taught me last night, knife at the ready, blade angled out. And I smile. “I suppose loomers like you cannot help but loom when opportunity arises, now can you?”
Valtar looks down at me. Moonlight slants across his tall figure but cannot break the deep shadow cast by his black hood, which obscures his eyes from my sight, revealing only the hard line of his mouth and the edge of his jaw. Something about his very soul feels shadowed, enabling him to blend into his surroundings even now, even when he stands right in front of me, making him difficult to discern.
I lower my guard, tipping my head to one side. “How now, Prince Valtar? Are you going to admit it? I’ve had a closer look at your little air-vent highways. A clever means of getting around undetected, I’m sure! Or are you going to play the innocent and pretend you don’t know what I’m talking about?”
He moves like lightning. One moment, he stands before me, solid and still—the next he’s taken hold of my wrist, squeezing so hard I gasp and drop the knife. It hits the ground with a metallic ring, but when I bend to retrieve it, he twists my arm, and I find myself on my knees.
The cold edge of steel rests against my throat.
I stare up at him. His momentum knocked his hood partially back, revealing more of his face. His eyes, like two chips of night sky, gaze into mine. They are utterly cold, devoid of all feeling. My heart lurches painfully, and I blink five times before I can bear to draw breath.
Then I curse: “Damn it, Valtar! If I’d known you were going to dothat, I would have given a good jab at your kidneys before you got this far!”
For a moment, he does not answer. His expression remains fixed, unreadable. Then his nostrils flare. “Were I an assassin bent on your destruction,” he says, his voice a threatening growl, “you would be dead right now.”
“All right, all right,” I huff, flexing my fingers, which are starting to go numb in his grip. “I’m hopeless, I know. But considering I’ve only had one night of these exercises, you can’t expect much better, can you?”
Another long silence. Finally, he seems to come to some decision, shakes his head slightly, and lets go. Turning away from me, he utters a hissing sound that might be a curse, but it’s too soft for me to say for certain. That odd, unnamed sensation of mine picks up something from him, however: an aura, a vibration of soul. A stink. It’s like…guilt? But that doesn’t make any sense. What does Valtar have to feel guilty over? Unless it’s spying on my rooms while I sleep and stalking me while I enjoy a private moment with Lord Elis.
I pluck up my fallen knife, get to my feet, and jab the air once, twice. “You’ve proven your point,” I say. “I need more practice before I’m going to be anywhere near ready to defend myself. Shall we get on with it then?” I resume first position, legs braced, knife gripped at the angle he showed me.
Valtar finally turns, looks at me again. He’s so huge, a hulking figure even with bowed shoulders and bent head. His face is turned sideways, half-covered in shadows, while the other half is illuminated by moonlight. All over I am struck by the severity of his features—the ridge of his cheekbone, the plane of his cheek, the harsh hook of his nose. And yet his lips remain as soft, full, and sensitive as ever, even in this unforgiving light.
“Tell me, Princess,” he says, a strange spark gleaming in the depths of his eye, “are you still intending to escape?”
I lower my guard, surprised at the question. “Of course. Why wouldn’t I be? Nothing’s changed since last night.”
“Hasn’t it?”
Suddenly he’s in motion again. I yelp and am obliged to move my feet quickly to avoid his blow. I suspect he merely allows me to parry his stroke, that he could easily have slid his blade between my ribs if he wanted to. He’s letting me build my confidence, that’s all. The strength of his arm as I move to deflect it is undeniable, but nowhere near as strong as I would expect were he in earnest.
He goes in for another attack, and I attempt the deflection and thrust he taught me last night, aiming for the tendons of his arm. I hold back, however, unwilling to truly harm him, though I suspect I couldn’t, willing or otherwise. He snarls at me, “Go for blood!” and lunges again. My feet move in the pattern he taught me last night, and my arm lashes in the counterstroke. I almost hit him, but he avoids me at the last moment, stepping back several paces. He begins to circle me, panting hard, though the exertion he expended was negligible at best.
“Lord Elis returned to the men’s quarters with your colors in hand,” he says, hooded eyes fixed on me.
“So?” I toss hair back from my face. “You did too after our interlude. It doesn’t mean anything.”
“Doesn’t it?”
