The Runner (Part I of the Runner Series)

Chapter 15

Vitrola stands rigidly, clearly anxious to get on with her day. "All set?" she asks.

I nod, resisting the urge to glance at Will. "I'm ready."

"Fabulous! Welcome aboard. You can get started right away. We can send for your things, but don't worry about bringing too many clothes—the ladies are supplied with the services of the Palace maids and dressmakers."

My head is already spinning.

"If you'll follow me, I will escort you to your room," she says.

"I have some patients to visit at the infirmary, so I will excuse myself." Will inclines his head toward us and makes to leave. He grabs my hand on the way by, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

I watch him exit, fighting to keep my confidence from wavering. Without him here, the room suddenly appears incredibly grand and I am acutely aware of just how big a fraud I am.

Fortunately, Vitrola doesn't seem to have noticed the shift. She stoops down to shuffle her papers together, gathering them to her chest, then indicates that I follow her. "This way."

I fall into step behind her as she leads me through the door, backtracking down the sloped outer hallway toward the main staircase. As we ascend I lag a little behind Vitrola, chancing a look down the third-floor hallway. I catch a glimpse of several servants hurrying between rooms, their arms laden with linens and trays. By their casual demeanour I determine that the third floor is made up of servants' quarters and closets; possibly the kitchen as well.

I follow Vitrola up to the fourth floor, craning my neck upward, distracted by the way the staircase continues to spiral up, twisting high against the glass walls and disappearing into infinity. My concentration is broken by the sound of someone politely clearing their throat. Vitrola offers me a tight smile and gestures me down the fourth-floor hallway.

This floor is bright and open, revealing a vast, open sitting area to our left, decorated in girlish hues of pink, blue and yellow. Natural light pours into the parlour from the floor above. Several girls mill about, their tinkling voices ringing through the space as they talk animatedly to one another. I pull my shoulders back and focus on Vitrola's slim figure walking determinedly in front of me; I'm suddenly self-conscious. My eyes dart sideways as we pass the parlour, feeling a heat rush to my cheeks when the ladies pause in their conversation and resume again in hushed whispers.

The parlour disappears and the hallway sweeps inward, curtaining us from the glass outer walls. Individual rooms now dot the walls on our right. We pass several of the doors before Vitrola draws to a halt. I nearly crash into her, so caught up in looking around.

"Right, then. Here we are!" She opens the door with a flourish, ushering me inside.

I step through the doorway, blinking at the sudden brightness spotting my vision. As the room swims into focus, I realize I am standing in a spacious bedroom, one solid wall being a glass window overlooking the City.

I take a couple of steps forward, spinning in place, trying to take in everything at once. There is a polished desk stocked with writing instruments, a vanity with a plush bench and a large bookcase stretching from floor to ceiling. On the opposite wall there sits a wide, cushy bed draped in what looks like the softest fabric imaginable. Bathed in the glow of the afternoon light, everything appears comfortable and welcoming.

I am daydreaming of running my fingers over the book titles and curling up on the bed when I am immediately drawn back to the present by a crushing feeling of guilt.

"This is all...for me?" I turn back to Vitrola, my stomach flipping uncomfortably as I struggle to maintain the illusion of someone accustomed to such grandeur.