Page 2 of A Court of Masks and Roses
Curses and agitated neighs sound from inside. A moment later, the barn’s back wall vibrates from the impact of kicking hooves. Good enough. Changing direction midstride, I sprint for the tree line.
“There he is,” a voice calls behind me.
My legs burn as I press into a faster run. The thud of pursuing boots echoes through my bones, but I’m smaller thanthe men. Faster. My breaths come in short, rapid bursts. Two dozen yards will see me into the blind blackness of the forest. They have to. One dozen.
A hand slams the back of my tunic, shoving me to the ground.
I twist as I fall, landing on my back. The impact takes my breath, but my legs are up and ready to kick. Burying my boots in my attacker’s hips, I lift the man into the air. The momentum of his weight rolls us, and with the next heartbeat I’m the one on top, straddling the man’s chest. I slam my fist down on his jaw and scramble away.
Another man grabs me from behind, his arms wrapping around my torso.
I stomp my heel onto his foot and twist free.
Something slams into my ribs. A fist or a boot. Maybe an elbow.
I move through the shock, loosening the throwing blades strapped to my forearms. Someone grabs my arms and wrenches them behind my back. My shoulders scream. I do too. Until a blow to the gut cuts my air.
“What are you doing here, boy?” Mustache demands.
“Nothing, sir,” I gasp, my voice catching. “A jest. I’m sorry. I’ll... I’ll settle the horses back for you. It was a stupid jest to wake up the hostlers. Lazy, drunken buggers. Just a bit of amusement.” The pressure on my shoulders tightens and I scream again. The Viva Sylthia aren’t buying my lie.
“Ahoy, there!” the slightly drunk voice of an actual guard bellows through the darkness. A lantern appears near the barn and starts moving toward us. “Identify yourselves to the king’s men!”
Thank the stars.
Behind me, Mustache draws a sharp breath. I seize my chance, thin as it is. Slamming my head back, I smash it intoMustache’s nose. There’s a cracking sound and the man’s hold loosens enough for me to break for the woods.
I dive into the darkness, forcing my limbs to move fast and blind. I see nothing beyond my fingertips but each step between me and Viva Sylthia is a gift. Fifty paces later, my lucky footing ends. I swallow a gasp as I crash to the ground, shins hitting stones. My body aches and I bury my face in the soggy dirt, not daring to make a sound. It’s a struggle to keep from staring into the moving shadows, but people feel when they are being watched. I close my eyes, stay deathly still, and listen.
I wait an hour before I dare move. My heart hammers against my ribs, pain shooting through me with every breath. I sit up slowly. A stick snaps beneath me, the sound deafening in the still of night. But the forest gives no sign of other intruders. Mustache and his Viva Sylthia cronies are gone.
Reaching beneath my shirt, I pull out the living crystal hanging around my neck. It is a light crystal; its magic glows. Unlike the trinkets that the Children of the Goddess peddle, which glow aimlessly for a while before dimming, my crystal is tuned to light up only when I touch it. A tool rather than a toy. I wrap my hand around the crystal, a familiar unpleasant tingle spreading through my hand and arm. Within a heartbeat, the crystal comes alight with a reddish glow that gives me a fighting chance of making it home tonight without breaking my neck.
Though tomorrow, Lord Gapral might do that for me.
2
KALI
To the outside world, Lord Gapral is a cranky hermit who takes in the occasional orphan to live on his far-off, understaffed estate. The grounds are chronically overgrown with weeds and brush; the servants are scarce, unfriendly, and silent; visitors are nonexistent. To those of us who’ve grown up here, the estate is our womb. Not because it’s warm or kind—the estate is neither—but because our identities are safe here. On the estate, I can be Kali, the seventeen-year-old girl that I am. Outside, I’m always someone else.
Despite the late hour of my return, a scout on sentry duty appears beside me the moment I cross the invisible line marking the estate’s perimeter. I freeze as the knife blade presses into my side, and I allow the sentry to examine my face. His own is hooded and stays that way, though I catch a glimpse of his features, thanks to my light crystal. A boy of fifteen who has been at Gapral’s estate for seven years now. I don’t know his name or his specialty. There is a lonely look inthe boy’s eyes, but I know better than to ask after his welfare, nor will he ask after mine. Scouts are Lord Gapral’s commodities, and sharing our identities and personal details with each other is forbidden.
The boy nods and removes the blade.
“Leaf?” I ask. My sister is Lord Gapral’s one exception—everyone knows both her name and her specialty. She is a whisperer, a person born with the ability to tune living crystals.
“Training room.”
I nod my thanks and the sentry melts back into the shadows. For a few moments, I deliberate the merits of interrupting Leaf, but my burning ribs make the decision for me. Navigating the weeds and plants cultivated to conceal movement, I make my way to a small structure designed to look like a toolshed, where the scouts gifted with some hint of whispering can practice. Having no such gift myself, I’d usually be forbidden from coming near the training room, but with Leaf being my sister, Lord Gapral is willing to look the other way—unless I create problems.
“No, no, no.” My sister’s exasperated voice escapes the door. “Alight crystalcan only makelight. It can’t heal flesh or heat up or remember a song.”
“Can I change a light crystal into a healing crystal?” asks a young boy.
“No.” Leaf’s voice turns stern. “And don’t play with healing crystals; they are dangerous. Now concentrate, please. Why is the light crystal in your hands flickering and dim instead of steady and bright?”
“It’s out of tune—the magic inside the crystal is scattered. I need to focus the magic to make it glow.”
