Page 16 of This Vicious Dream

Gasping, I sit up, my entire body shuddering. My teeth chatter, my hands clamped to my chest as my heart thrashes against my ribs.

I can move. I’m free.

A war. There was a war. I refuse to believe Kyldare’s words. Daharak and her people are alive. They have to be.

But what is it that I’m protecting?

A thud sounds, followed by a loud bang. I jolt, staring at the wall. Did Calysian fall out of bed?

A scuffle, followed by a grunt.

Calysian was right to make us switch rooms. Those men are here for me.

I’m on my feet in an instant, grabbing the soldier’s jacket and wrapping it around my shoulders, ensuring the heavy chains won’t fall. I strap the sword onto my back over the jacket. With a deep breath, I open the window.

My head swims. Three floors. I might not die in my attempt to get to the roof, but if I broke an ankle, I’d be defenseless.

A shout sounds, followed by a clash of metal.

I hesitate. Should I…help? I may not trust the man, but he did escort me here.

A feeling of doom slides over me, turning my palms slick. I didn’t suffer for three years just to hand back my first taste of freedom.

I have to run. Have to protect. Have to movenow.

Wiping my damp palms on my leggings, I haul myself onto the narrow windowsill. I have moments. Moments before whoever sold us out tells Kyldare’s men to check this room.

I stretch one hand up, my fingers sliding against rough stone. My fingertips find a crack, a brick jutting out just enough for my purposes.

My muscles are weak, and I have a sudden vision of my body falling backward, my head cracking like an egg on the stone below.

A man screams. Not Calysian. But the sound is enough to drive me into action and I pull myself up, my arms immediately trembling from the strain.

Rough stone scrapes my fingertips, and my boots slide as I struggle to find a grip. I dangle for one terrifying moment, my whole weight hanging by my fingertips. My right foot finds a narrow ledge and I push.

My relieved breath sounds like a sob.

Go. Go now.

The roof is just a footspan above my head. I reach for the ledge, pulling myself up. My chest scrapes against the edge as I hoist myself onto the roof and collapse, my mouth dry.

Don’t stop.

I stick to the side of the roof, not daring to step onto the thatched center. The stables are on the west side of the inn, attached to the main building, but the roof slopes sharply downward. One wrong step and I’ll tumble from the edge.

I have to get to my horse.

Crouching, I shuffle along the side of the roof. My foot slips, sending my heart lurching into my throat. But I throw myself to the side, wobbling uneasily.

The stable roof is much lower, and I peer down into the darkness. The sound of horses lures me closer—a soft nicker, the scrape of a hoof, a loud sigh. I turn my back, crouching at the edge, and lean onto the roof, sliding until I’m hanging above the stables.

I drop. My feet slam into the stable roof, and I stumble, dropping to my knees as pain explodes through my legs.

Gingerly, I test my limbs. Nothing broken.

Still, I crawl across the roof until I reach the edge.

The ground below is a manageable drop, and I swing my legs over the side once more. The impact is jarring, but I’m instantly moving, sliding past a sleeping stablehand.

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