I sprint down the hallway. Shocked arguments sound from the healer's room, but I don't dare look back. I just put my head down and run, my heart beating wildly against my chest.
The warden's dead, the warden's dead. It's a mantra that marks every step, and I can't seem to think of anything else.
I slow down at the stairs and throw my hood up around my head, bring the hem low over my eyes. I try to imbue dignity into my walk as I step closer to the dungeon entrance.
The guards posted on either side of the archway look up.
"I am Dynami," I say, grabbing the first name I can think of, "and I have paid good coin to enter this dungeon and examine my contender."
The guards narrow their eyes. They look at one another for the briefest of moments, and I move. I rip the poleaxe from the right guard's hands and smack the wooden shaft against his skull. He drops to the ground, instantly. I turn to the other guard, my muscles screaming. He strikes with his poleaxe, but I parry, my eyes intensely focused on the twists of his wrists. He opens his mouth to shout, but I throw my full weight into the poleaxe and shove its wooden end into the guard's gut, knocking the wind out of him. He falls back against the wall, and his head collides with the stone. He slumps onto his knees.
Silence rings out in the hall, followed by the soft echo of footsteps somewhere far back near the healer's room. I drop the poleaxe. It clatters against the stone and I rush inside the dungeon, skittering to a stop outside my unlocked cell. Binks is gone, and the thought pangs.
Startled voices sound from around the dungeon. I keep the hood low over my face and throw my aching shoulders back. All the patrons who've walked in here have impeccable posture. None of the Ill-Fated are allowed to address patrons other than their own, and if I can look like a noble and potential patron, then hopefully no one will recognize me. Otherwise, what has this all been for?
I slip into my own cell, Binks's absence like a stain I can't wash out, and I hear Camden stir to my right. He doesn't say anything, and it pains me to turn away from him. I want to see how he's doing, but I can't risk him recognizing my face.
I move to stand directly under the skylight. The waning moon is above me, bathing me in a warm, yellow light. I don't know what I'm waiting for. Alani had said a rope, but what if the rope never comes? What if I've just trapped myself back in the same place I've been so desperate to escape?
Voices sound from down the hall and my heartbeat quickens with anxiety. The door of my cell is still open. If the rope doesn't come, I can still slip out of the cell and hide amongst the shadows. I can still escape.
But as the voices grow louder, I have the distinct feeling that I'm running out of time. A cold sweat breaks out against the back of my neck.
A bell shrieks out across the entire prison complex. I jam my hands against my ears, the hood of the robe shifting back against my hairline.
"The warden has been murdered!" The shout echoes through the halls. "The warden has been murdered!"
Alani must have ordered a search party to look for the healer. She's trying to buy me time by stealing his. My eyes snap to the skylight but nothing's come through yet. Unless...unless the healer's already been found.
Please, I silently beg the goddess. Please let him be there.
The sound of boots clatters against the hall outside the dungeon. It seems like hundreds of feet must be running toward the dungeon.
The moonlight disappears from the skylight as dark, rumbling clouds move across the sky. Without the Goddess watching over the prison, I feel lost.
My fingers tap against my thighs in an agitated beat. There's still nothing coming down from the skylight. Groans sound from just outside the archway and I whip my head around. I can see the guards' silhouettes moving against the walls. They're waking up.
I look frantically around my cell for something—anything—that might be a clue. Was there something I missed? Something Alani said that I didn't catch? I wrack my brain to try and piece together every part of our conversation, but all I can think about is the way she sold out the healer to save me.
Rain begins to pour through the open skylight. It's as if the clouds have suddenly turned on taps, the water coursing through the skylight at a thunderous rate.
Something wet thwaps against stone, and I tear my eyes away from the hallway and the guards' boots coming closer.
A rope hangs down from the skylight. It wavers in the rain. I gasp.
I move toward it, feeling as if I'm wading through water. I've dreamt of this moment for so long, it feels impossible that it's here, that escape is just a rope climb away.
I have to reach up to grab the end of the rope, but when I do, my hand holds fast. Rain pelts my face, and I want to close my eyes, but I don't want to risk opening them and having the rope disappear like a half-remembered ghost.
The healer's gown is soaked through by the time I place my other hand above my first and pull myself up, my body now hanging from the rope. I haven't trained in days, and my chest aches with every motion, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins makes me feel strong. I let go with my left hand, momentarily hanging just by my right, and grab on again with my left, pulling myself just a little higher.
I can't see who waits above me, but with the shine of the moon leaking through the inky clouds, I can almost imagine I'm climbing all the way up to the Evernight.
"Who the shadowmare are you?" Camden asks.
I jerk my head forward, and the hood falls back over my brow. My arms are tired and my muscles are straining, but if I can climb just a few more feet, I'll get to a point where the ceiling ends and the rough, stony tube of the skylight begins. There I can use my feet to help support my weight.
Boots and poleaxes crash into the dungeon. Heavy breaths pant from spit-flecked lips.
I'm not high enough. The guards could still grab me and pull me down. My hand slips on the wet rope and I whimper, the thick cord chafing my fragile palm.
"What the?" a guard says.
"Get him! Maybe it's the healer!" another one shouts.
Gods be damned, why didn't I shut the cell door? Why didn't I lash it shut with the blankets tumbled together in a heap?
Tears blind my eyes as I keep grabbing at the rope, pulling myself up inch by inch and knowing that it's not enough.
Sweet, clean air wafts down through the skylight and I suck it in, deeply, the guards' footsteps combing closer. They're slower now. They know they have me. They know I can't get away.
An arrow whizzes past my head. I hear it, rather than see it. It's a wet sound of wood and sodden fletch zinging through pouring rain.
The arrow lands with a meaty thunk. I look over my shoulder as I reach another hand up to grip a higher spot on the rope.
A guard gags, the shaft of an arrow marking her chest. Thick, red blood smears over her black coat, staining the plumed feathers that mark her as a captain.
Another guard comes forward to grab at my flailing ankles, but his fingers barely brush my heels before he catches an arrow in the arm.
I peer up into the skylight, my heart in my throat. Is that a tuft of blue way up above?
"Binks," I whisper.
I climb, my arms burning as I move faster and faster. The guards have stopped coming near. I'm almost at the tiny hole in the ceiling. My shoulders are brushing through, the rough, wet stone cutting my bare skin. I bring up my leg too quickly and jam my knee against the ceiling, biting my lip until I taste iron blood on my tongue.
Shouts come from below as the guards realize the arrows can't pierce their bodies with mine in the way. But the ceiling is too high. They can't reach me now that I've cleared the hole. I press my feet against the walls, the rock digging deep gashes into the soft arches and relax my arms, letting my feet bear the brunt of my weight.
"Send Marik to the top!" a guard shouts. "We'll cut him off there!" Boots tramp against the flagstones and disappear from the dungeon. It won't be long before they meet me at the top of the skylight.
I shimmy up, my feet hot with my own blood as I leave splotches of it on the walls, using every uneven bit of rock as a foothold. My arms want to cleave from my body as I pull myself higher and higher. The rain is cold against my face, but it feels like pure joy as that smell of earth and grass grows stronger and stronger. I'd forgotten what wet grass feels like. I'd forgotten what anything but stone and gravel can feel like beneath leather soles.
The skylight widens as I get closer. Shapes lean in, heads I don't recognize. But that shimmer of blue is still there, and I focus on it.
I don't care that you betrayed me. I just care that you're here. You're here, Binks, and we're going to be okay.
I stare at that blue until the rain lets up to a sprinkle, the moonlight breaking through the clouds, and I see that it's not fur. It's not a tuft between pointed ears. It's a blue cloak, the hood bunched up around a strange archer's neck.
My hands falter on the rope. An arm snakes over the skylight's edge and fingers grip my wrist. I stare at the arm. A single word is tattooed on the left forearm: Savior.
The arm pulls me up and over the skylight's edge, the rock catching and tearing the fabric of my healer's gown, and I can feel the grass.
It's softer than I could have ever imagined. The blades brush against my exposed skin and I don't know if I cough, laugh, or cry.
Shouts come from a distance. They sound dull and muddied to me. I don't pay attention. I don't need to. I can feel the grass, and that's all that matters.
"How is Alani?" A voice, sharp and close, breaks the spell. I turn to look at the person, the hand of his pale, Fated arm still gripping mine.
It's the healer. His blonde hair is wet and plastered against his head. His nearly translucent eyes are wide and afraid, his bloodless lips parted.
The moonlight shines against his head, dousing it in a circle of silver light and I think of the crown atop Alani's head, the warden's blood dribbling down her hair.
She betrayed you.
The healer's hand tightens on mine and I wonder if I've spoken aloud.
"How is Alani?" he asks again, more insistent. He glances over my shoulder and I can hear the rustle of heavy boots coming closer. The strange archer shifts beside us, repositioning his drawn bow.
"The warden's dead," I say.
The healer gasps. "And Alani?"
"She's not, but she—"
"Gregor," the archer says, looking toward the sound of the coming guard.
The Healer's eyes snap open. He thrusts a burlap knapsack in my arms.
"Run until you can't. Then hide. There's alcohol and medicine and a suture kit inside. Clean your feet with alcohol. Sew the gashes. Wrap them with linens. Take the medicine. Don't ever come back. Don't ever be found." The Healer stands. He doesn't offer me a hand.
I pull myself to my feet. The grass that had been soft now bites at the open wounds on my heels.
Shadowed guards come running toward us. There's a half-mile between the skylight and the illuminated wall of the arena. I've only seen the arena from the outside once, when I first came to the prison, and that was in the daylight when it was parched, pale limestone. In the dark, with torches dotting the stadium like stars and colored streamers strung between archways, it's strangely beautiful, like a half-forgotten dream.
"I have to tell you—"
"Go," the Healer says. And he runs, the archer following fast in his footsteps.
"—about Alani. She betrayed you," I say to no one.
I clutch the knapsack to my chest, and sprint.
There's a lake beyond the prison. I saw it once when Alani brought me to the top of the arena wall. I know there's a thick ring of trees around the lake, and if I can just make it there, I might be able to hide until morning.
The ground claws at my feet with every step and I want to stop. But I have to keep moving. I have to escape.
The noble's tent village is off to the right. I can the flickering lights and hear their rich laughter. I keep myself to the shadows, pushing myself with every step.
I reach into the knapsack and pull out a small glass vial. I unstopper it. Anything to dull the pain. Anything to keep me going.
"Please don't be poison," I whisper. But there's no one here to save me if it is. I swallow a mouthful, and it burns through my chest with rampant fire.
Tears leak from my eyes and I stumble. I throw out my left arm to stop my fall, and it shatters, the bones tearing themselves apart.
I can't help the scream that escapes my throat. It bellows out into the night, and I know the guard must have heard it.
Great, a small voice says in my head. Let them hear it. Let them bring you back to the prison. Let Alani take care of you.
My tears turn the dirt beneath me to mud. The lake is so close. I can see the trees thickening around it, safe darkness beneath their boughs.
"Mira." It's my father. I can see him. He's standing before the forest, beckoning to me, a broad smile stretching his sun-stained face.
"Father?" I ask, but no. It can't be him. Not here. He's just a hallucination, a mirage from whatever medicine is lancing through my veins.
"You're not real," I say, swallowing a sob.
"Mira, come home," he says, though his lips don't move.
"I can't," I whisper into the grass. "I can't do it."
"Yes, Mira, you can." It's my mother this time. She stands beside my father, her shoulders tucked beneath his arm. She looks healthier than I remember her, her features soft and smooth. And even though I know they aren't real, I still feel myself pushing up my body with my right arm.
I scream with the pain of it. I shout into the rain, into the night. I shout against the wind, and I stand. I manage to stand. My left arm hangs limp by my side. I tuck it between my chest and the knapsack, and I run, sheer adrenaline marking every step.
Hallucinations flare up and flicker, making strange apparitions walk toward me from the mist. I keep my focus at my feet, taking one step and then another, trying desperately to ignore the sound of boots coming ever closer.
No has ever escaped from the prison. They were shot on sight, no questions asked. I don't know what made me think that I would be any different. I don't even have a weapon to protect me if the guards step too close. But if they do, I might let them take the shot. Anything to stop the fire charring my bones.
Water burbles nearby. A bird cooes to another.
The lake.
My footsteps quicken. I am so close. I can almost taste the rush of cool spring water, feel the chill on my—
"Oof!"
I splash forward into the water, the healer's gown billowing up to my neck.
Torchlight swings over to me. I duck my head under the water and kick with my feet, forcing my overtaxed muscles to move, move, move.
My right arm pulls through the water. I let instinct take over, propelling me forward with every stroke.
There's a splash behind me. I stop, instantly. The sounds of me floundering about will carry across the surface of the lake. The guards will know exactly where I am. I need to stay still. Very, very still.
The guards call to one another, swiping their torches out over the lake. I dip my head beneath the surface, praying that this will be enough. I wait until my lungs ache, and then I surface, taking in a big gulp of air.
The guards have moved left. With a sinking feeling, I realize that they will methodically search the circumference of the lake. I won't be able to claw my way up the other side and rest, as I'd hoped.
Unless I hide where they've already looked.
I reverse direction and swim back to shore, feeling my stitches popping with each stretch of my arm.
There must be a cluster of bushes near the edge of the lake. If I can hunker down there for the night, I might be able to wait out their search until morning. Even if the healer's been found by the guard, they still know someone escaped through the skylight. They still know to look for me here. And they will continue to do so until they bring back my head on a spike. But if I can just have one night, one night to rest and form a plan, I will be alright.
I have to be.
Twigs tear at my gown as I pull myself up on shore. The guards have moved even further away, and they are splashing so much it disguises any noises I make. I crawl forward, dragging my spent body over roots and thorns, until I spot it, the perfect place.
A bramble of bushes and vines sits nestled between the trunks of two trees. The coverage is thick and heavy enough to hide my ravaged body, and a little hovel has formed at the base of one tree. I fold myself into the space against the tree, and brush out the vines and leaves, hoping it looks natural enough to cover my tracks.
My body shakes with cold and something else. It rattles my teeth, and I clamp my mouth shut, afraid it's loud enough to alert the guards.
Everything hurts. I feel as if I'm burning from the inside out and my arm is throbbing, daggers of pain shooting up and back, up and back. I won't be able to set this on my own, not if I want it to heal right. I'm going to have to find a healer who doesn't know me, and is willing to fix me for cheap.
But one night's sleep won't do it harm, I think. My eyelids begin to droop. My body's still shaking as I lean my head back and stare up through a gap in the leaves. I gasp.
The clouds have lifted, showing an inky black sky unfurling above me. A million speckled stars shine forth, and I can't believe that these are the same stars I've watched every night for the past three years.