I grip the Celestial Chain tight, so the diamond chain bites my palm. ‘How—’
‘There’s no time to explain.’
‘But—’
He raises a cool hand to my cheek. ‘I need you to trust me.’
But staring into his eyes, all I remember is the crack of his whip, Briar’s forlorn nickering. How can I trust him after that? Before I can use my second-sight to read him, he’s slipping from my chamber, locking the door once more from the outside.
Dazed, I dress, then pace the room, clutching the pack. Aside from the furs the Arx Magnum gifted me on arrival and some fresh smallclothes, there’s precious little to take. I run my hand down the breeches Astrophel bade me wear. They cling to my legs, liberating yet oddly restrictive.
I slip the Celestial Chain over my head, sighing deeply as the starstone nestles against my chest. It’s heavy about my neck, but there’s a sense of rightness, of completion, as its rhythmic thrum chimes over my heart, keeping pace with my own pulse. And yes, a thrill of something like power as well.
How did Astrophel get it back? There was no time to ask.
My attention moves to the stack of bedsheets he left. I pause between rips, holding my breath. But there’s no sound on the other side of the door. Are guards still stationed there? Perhaps Astrophel drugged them. Killed them. How else did he get the key? Open my door? Why lock me in again? Why not take me with him? And what of the others – are they alive? Are they escaping with us?
Astrophel explained nothing. Just left me with an endless stream of questions and those three final commands: rip the bedsheets to strips; knot them together; await his signal.
What could possibly go wrong? And where’s Orthriel when I need them?
I search the bridge between our minds. I can feel my Guardian dimly, but it’s as if they’ve turned their back. Refusing to communicate. At least, I hope that’s what it is. The alternative is they’re so weak theycan’tcommunicate.
I join the last strips. There’ll be a bit of a drop, but it ought to work, so long as the knots bear my weight. I tighten each one, before tying one end of the skein to the bedpost, ready to sling the other from the window on Astrophel’s signal. I open the window wide and wrap the fur cloak closer about my shoulders as the night air rifles my chamber.
I sink to the floor and wait.
*
THREELOWWHISTLES.
I leap to my feet and glance over the parapet. No guards beneath the window. I try not to focus on the drop – how sheer it is – as I fling the rope over the sill, and clamber after it.
I swing my legs out first. Snowflakes dance, nipping my nose and cheeks, the tips of my ears. Its crisp mineral tang swirls the air. I settle my pack on my back and take up the rope. My knuckles blanch as I grip it, testing its strength. I twist my body till I’m facing Viklari’s stone wall, anchoring myself with one hand on the sill. A deep breath in, and without giving myself a chance to overthink it, I take my leap of faith.
The knotted fabric stretches as my heart kicks wildly and my hands grow slick against the straining linen.
I bend my knees, bringing my feet to rest on the wall in front of me. I inch down the rope, focus on the cracks and missing mortar in the wall, try to remember the climbing techniques we were taught at the palace in preparation for our journey.
Don’t look down.
My knuckles ache from clinging to the rope, and my palms burn from the friction. When I finally reach the end, I dare a quick glance over my shoulder. A drop of perhaps six feet. I lock my jaw, brace, let go. The snow-shrouded ground meets me, hard and unyielding, sending a jolt through my ankles and knees. I scan the dark streets, searching for Astrophel.
Something flickers in the narrow passageway opposite. It’s him. He beckons and I dash across the cobbles, boots scrunching the light smattering of snow underfoot.
‘Stay here.’ Astrophel tugs my sleeve, towing me to an alcove where I’ll be better concealed. His breathing’s laboured and his eyes dart wildly, checking the perimeter. ‘When I whistle again, run to the city gates. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.’
‘What about the others?’
‘There’s no time.’
‘But—’
‘Can you trust me?’ Astrophel’s eyes flash. Moonsblushed, they’re almost the same lavender as mine.
I swallow. Up until an hour ago, he’d given me every reason in the four realms not to. His aura’s still slippery, amorphous, slinking out of reach of my second-sight. I can’t read him. The memories of Briar suffering at his hands are still raw. And yet…
‘Yes,’ I whisper. And, for all that I shouldn’t, it’s true.
