A twinge of guilt went through me as I walked past the food to the bath. Wasting food in this world was a terrible thing to do, but I was only doing what I had to in order to gain back some control. The food was a sacrifice.
I bathed and changed into another set of trousers and a tunic,though this one was lavender. Nightgowns had been left in the dresser, but I’d never worn one to bed, and I certainly wouldn’t start now. They were the most useless, impractical piece of clothing ever invented. They didn’t keep you warm, they didn’t protect you from insects, and they were almost always white, which required endless washing.
As the sky darkened and the untouched food went cold, I sat at the window, scanning for guards. Chances were I’d be escorted by a guard whenever I left the room, which left this window as my primary escape option. It was only three stories from the ground with a small balcony right below, and there was enough fabric lying around this room to help me make the drop from there.
But I would need to time it perfectly.
So I sat until it was well past midnight, marking when the guard by the garden and the one on the wall walk above moved or switched with others.
My sleep was restless, plagued by memories of my time with Koerlyn, and I dragged myself out of bed only when Felda and Frannie entered with breakfast, restarted the fire, and collected last night’s fly-covered food.
This time, I brought the platter of bread and chicken eggs to the door.
“Stefano!” I called through the heavy wood. It opened a moment later, and I held the plate toward him. “You might as well eat it so it doesn’t go to waste.”
He stared at the food with clear distress. “You really should eat, or at least drink, Lady—I mean, Etarla.”
“I should, but I won’t. You should take this plate, though, because I’m about to drop it.”
“Harthon will be upset—”
Those big eyes widened as I removed one hand frombeneath the dish. I wiggled my fingers. “The other hand is leaving in about two seconds.”
That jerked him into action, and he grabbed the plate just before it fell.
I grinned. “Thanks, Stefano. Is Harthon coming by today?”
“He hasn’t informed me of when he’s coming.”
“Are you able to take me for a tour?”
At my question, he straightened, his face turning serious. He almost looked like a real guard. “No. You aren’t to leave.”
Irritation rose, even though I’d expected his answers. Without another word, I closed the door in his face.
Harthon didn’t come that day, so again, I didn’t eat or drink, even as my stomach growled and my head ached when Felda brought dinner. It was hard to focus on studying the guards, my mind foggy from dehydration and hunger, but I knew there was no other way to encourage Harthon to speed up his efforts.
When I woke the next day, it was to a throbbing skull. Throat drier than I thought possible, my tongue was sandpaper in my mouth, and my arms shook as I pushed myself to sit. I dropped my head into my hands, debating for the first time whether it was worth it.
That was how Felda and Frannie found me when they delivered breakfast and a pitcher of water again.
I simply laid back down, but not before catching Stefano’s worried gaze in the door frame. It struck me for the first time that this may very well be a stupid idea. But Harthon had to be testing me. He probably thought I couldn’t outlast him, that my threats were empty. I would not give him the satisfaction of being correct.
So I shuffled around my room in a daze, not bothering to braid my hair before propping myself against the window and watching the guards again.
The past two days had revealed a pattern. The guard on the wallwalk above would watch the garden for a short while before turning around to watch the other side. Then he would repeat the process. The guard in the garden was more vigilant, but last night, the man on duty had gone so still at one point that I was sure he was asleep. From so high up, it was difficult to really know, but it was something I could test in the coming nights.
Not thirty minutes later, the pounding in my head almost too much to endure, my eyes drifted shut as I slouched on a lounge chair.
Without warning, the door to my room slammed open. Sluggishly, I opened my eyes to see a blood-covered Harthon.
Truly. It was as if he’d bathed in the stuff.
Dark crimson coated most of his tan leathers and matted his hair that, for once, looked wildly tangled. His face was no cleaner, a stripe of blood crusting one side, while the other was a canvas of droplets. It made the furious expression on his face far more terrifying than its normal amount of terrifying.
I suppose I should have flinched. Or screamed. Or backed away from the ferocious anger emanating from the doorway. But I was too tired and my head hurt too much to do anything beyond keeping my eyes open.
“Hi,” I mumbled.
