Lucilla stuck to the darkness under the trees until she was near enough to dash across the courtyard to the low eaves of the stables.
It was late, and the horses would have been settled in their stalls ready for the night… but was the stable boy with them? Or the groom? Or were they both sitting in the kitchen, flirting with the maids? Or getting drunk with the guards?
Lucilla crept closer. No light spilled around the stable door.
She tiptoed up to the door and pressed her ear against the heavy wood. She couldn’t hear anything.
Did that mean anything? Probably not. But she either had to open the door or leave Penelope behind.
She pulled open the door and crept inside.
It was pitch-black as she leaned against the door, listening to the shuffling of hooves on straw, a soft horse’s sigh from deeper in the building. Nothing else moved. No one called out in greeting or warning. If the stable boy was there, he was already asleep. Hopefully.
Holding her hand against the wall for guidance, she felt her way to the first stall on the left. A search of the wall with her hands led her to the hook holding Penelope’s halter—she didn’t have time to try and find, let alone fit, Penelope’s bridle and saddle in the total dark, so the halter would have to do—and she snagged it before quickly letting herself into the stall.
Penelope whickered softly and nudged her shoulder. Lucilla wrapped her arms around the mare’s neck and leaned her forehead against the warm solidity as the reassuring scent of horse and hay surrounded her. Gods, she’d needed that comfort so badly.
“I’m sorry, Penny, I know you’re warm and happy,” Lucilla whispered as she slipped the halter over her head. “We’re going on an adventure. Just you and me.”
She fumbled in her satchel for the rags and then knelt in the straw, lifting Penelope’s legs one at a time to wrap her hooves. It wasn’t perfect, but it was the best she could do.
As soon as she was done, she led the mare out of her stall, letting her hand drift along the wall to guide them. Penelope followed her trustingly through the darkness and out the stables.
Even with their bindings, Penelope’s hooves seemed to ring against the cobbles, and Lucilla winced at the noise as she guided the mare slowly out of the courtyard and into the formal gardens that fronted the large manor house.
Her mother had planted them years ago, and her father had insisted they be maintained, even though he never saw them. Ballanor had simply ignored them. Now they were bare and bleak, flowers faded, roses trimmed, ready for winter. The symbol of the parents who had both abandoned her on the day she was born.
As soon as they reached the grass, she knelt to tug the bindings off Penelope’s hooves and then shoved them back into her satchel. Gripping the halter, she pulled the mare past the formal beds and down to the iron gate set into a looming stone wall, just visible in the dim light.
Then she waited, running her fingers over Penelope’s velvety cheek and through her mane until, finally, she heard it. The thud of boots on the path.
She shrank back, pushing herself into the wall and rubbing Penelope’s muzzle gently, praying that the gentle horse would stay silent. And then, as some dark, spiked plant scratched the side of her face, praying that there were no venomous spiders living between the stones.
Her imagination supplied her with images of fat bodies and hairy legs skittering over her shoulders and into her hair, and she shivered silently, chewing her lip.
The guard whistled and was quickly answered by another whistle from further ahead, and a less distinct reply from behind. The footsteps stopped, and she imagined him doing a slow turn, eyes raking over the dark fields and woods in the distance as she held her breath, her fingers clenched tight in the rough hair of Penelope’s mane.
And then he started to walk once more. She counted to sixty under her breath and then let herself and Penelope out through the gate, closing it quietly behind them.
She used a stone flanking the path to help her scramble onto Penelope’s back before leaning down to pat her flank and whisper encouragement.
She pushed Penelope into a trot as they cleared the manor’s grounds and made their way along a sandy path and into the forest. She had ridden it hundreds of times. First with tutors, and later with… the sergeant. But she’d never been past the first stream before.
There was a sudden commotion behind her. A bell started clanging loudly. Shouts and whistles echoed in the distance. Gods. Did they already know she was missing? She’d hoped to have hours.
Penelope could see better than her in the thick darkness under the trees, and Lucilla let her take the lead, using the halter as best she could and guiding her to keep up a steady trot.
They splashed through the shallow stream and out the other side. Then, thinking better of it, Lucilla guided Penelope back into the stream and followed it south, staying in the water. The sounds of alarm faded behind them, but it wouldn’t be long before someone realized she had Penelope. And then the true hunt would start.
Lucilla had never been outside the manor’s farmlands before. She had never seen a map of the area, and she had no idea where she was. She had no food. She had no friends or family she could turn to. She had nowhere to go and no idea of what to do when she got there. And she had a house full of guards, and her brother, the king, with all his wealth and power, arrayed against her.
But for the first time in her entire life, she was free.
She chuckled, slightly hysterically, and pushed Penelope on as fast as she could go, into the night.
Chapter Two
“We should goand see her now.” Tor thumped his tankard down on the dirty table with a belligerent scowl.
