Aurelia is a Courtesan, not an Assassin. Her world is turned upside down, however, when she kills a high-ranking Senator in self defense. Given his status, and the political power his family wields, Aurelia knows she will be executed without a trial...
Rất tiếc! Hình ảnh này không tuân theo hướng dẫn nội dung. Để tiếp tục đăng tải, vui lòng xóa hoặc tải lên một hình ảnh khác.
She pants as she sprints up the stairs, her heart thumping wildly in her chest. Almost there, almost there. She repeats the words in her head like a mantra, pounding in time with the movement of her feet. Her thighs burn as she reaches the top of the staircase.
Almost...
Her scalp is on fire, strands of hair yanking and popping free of their roots as her head is wrenched backwards and her neck is exposed to the ceiling.
She wakes, choking on a strangled scream.
The sound of thudding footsteps continues, unbroken by her waking.
Aurelia lurches upwards in bed, the material of a fluffy quilt twisted around her legs and bunched between her white-knuckled fists. Her heart is hammering, her body slick with a cold sweat. Her mouth is dry as cotton, her breath sour as spoiled milk. She winces, and then groans as she shifts, her sore muscles screaming in protest.
"You can't be here!" She hears a voice cry out, muffled by the door. There is the sound of heavy footsteps pounding up stairs. "The Councilmember will not stand for this!" she hears the voice shout again, closer, this time.
There is the muffled sound of doors in the hallway outside opening and slamming.
Aurelia scrambles out of bed, and bites back a yelp of pain. Every muscle, every ligament, every tendon is stiff and sore. It hurts to put weight on her feet, to curl her toes, to roll her shoulders. She does not have the luxury of resting her muscles. She can taste danger in the air, feel its prickle along the back of her neck.
"The Prima isn't above the law," a voice booms, too close for comfort.
Aurelia frantically glances around, searching for an escape. It takes a moment for her surroundings to register- the whitewashed stone walls, marble floors, and soft teal bamboo furnishings as familiar as the freckles dotting her nose or the lines on her palms. She stands still with shock for half a moment, but then adrenaline takes over.
The window she had escaped through so many times as an adolescent opens just as easily as it always had; her master must have never followed through with her plans to lock it from the outside, after all.
Aurelia slips through the opening, slams it shut behind her, and then crawls on all fours out onto the eaves of the roof beside the small terrace landing meant for a window-box garden. She scrabbles up the concrete roof tiles, panic making her clumsy, wincing as their heat-baked surface burns her fingertips.
She hears the window slide open, and immediately freezes and presses herself as closely as she can against the roof, its heat searing through her lightweight nightgown into her belly and thighs. Her hair whips in the wind, tangling around her face, obscuring her vision.
"Why was the bed slept in, then?" a voice booms, carried by the ocean-borne breeze from the bedroom and up to Aurelia's hiding place.
"I told you already. The Councilmember had a guest the other night; Lettie will have her wages docked for not cleaning the room on time, I promise you that," the voice from the hallway replies.
