Page 17 of Veiled Flames
Closing my eyes, I draw a long breath, hoping to slow the galloping thoughts in my mind for a moment. I can’t be impulsive. I could write a note to my brother to tell him I’ve left. Or perhaps I could ask for his help. My brothers likely have more coin stashed away.
But everything in my gut tells me not to ask for their help, nor even leave a note. No one can see me slip away from the castle.Leaving clues will only help the leagues of knyghts and soldiers my father and King Vyktor will surely send to hunt me.
Exiting this room through the door no longer seems a smart choice.
I cross the room to an open window and look down. My bedchamber’s windows don’t even open to let in fresh air, and a hint of envy jabs at my heart. But I have no time to lament the many ways my brothers’ lives are more valued, how they are more trusted than I am.
The ground is a good distance away from the window—too far to jump—but icy pink moonlight glints off stones protruding from the wall, revealing a possible path. I’m a good climber. I’ve done this before—which is why my father ordered my own windows sealed shut.
Securing the rucksack on my back, I climb out the window and start my descent.
Seven
Rosomon
The moment I land on the rocks below Olifer’s room, I see a flaw in my plan. If I’d stayed inside the castle, I may have found a route that would take me out of the grounds through the servants’ quarters. Now I’m stuck in the outer courtyards, surrounded by high walls. But my decision has been made. I can’t give up now.
The gates to the castle are well-secured this time of night. During daylight, I can always enter through the gates—sometimes even without getting marched straight to Nurse—but going out is another matter. Every time I return, it sparks arguments between the guards, as each lays blame on the others as to which one of them let me exit.
What they don’t understand is that none of them everletsme exit.
Escape is easy in the daylight. I time my exits to follow alongside a farmer’s or merchant’s cart, or even better, during the chaos when a shepherd or swineherd leads their animals towardthe royal slaughterhouse. It’s somewhat more difficult to pass unnoticed when I’m on horseback, but as long as I make my escape while the gates are raised and the moat bridge is down, the guards can do little to stop me. Sky Stallion and I can easily outrun all the guards’ mounts.
But based on the moon’s angle and near silver color—not yet showing the deeper pinks and purples that will signal the impending dawn—deliveries won’t start for at least an hour.
I can’t wait that long.
Scaling the walls isn’t an option. My hands are raw and aching from the climb down from the window, and the walls surrounding the grounds are not only high, but smooth and well-guarded. There must be another way.
A memory fills me with hope, and I turn toward the chapel. When I had but nine years, I discovered a subterranean passage, leading away from the crypts. I didn’t traverse it far, there were too many rats for my taste, and the shadow of a much bigger creature made me retreat. But I’m older now. Braver. More desperate.
That passage must lead somewhere.
The thought of going into the crypts at night gives me pause, but I don’t believe in specters. And even if they exist, the souls buried in those crypts are my ancestors. Surely, they would do me no harm.
King Vyktor definitely means me harm, so I’ll take my chances with the spirits.
The heavy chapel door groans on its hinges.
Touching the forehead of Othrix carved into the door, I pause for a moment, praying that no souls are nearby. A mouse scurries through a beam of moonlight on the chapel floor, but that small creature seems to be the only one disturbed by my entry.
High above the main altar, moonlight shines through the symbol of Othrix depicted there in stained glass. Beams of golden light encircle our god’s watchful face, and wings spread out to the sides. The moon is shining directly behind the symbol, brightening the rays of sunlight around His fierce but benevolent face. Taking that as an omen, I pause to genuflect.
I’m not certain I even believe in Othrix any more than I believe in specters, but I can use all the help I can get. If Othrix exists, I want Him on my side.
The door leading to the crypt is locked, but I’ve seen where the klericks store their keys. Under the shrine to those lost to the Darkness, I find the correct one. It’s forged from silver, and a skull is carved on the key’s bow, inlaid with pieces of oyster shell that flicker in the moonlight.
I open the door and then pause again. There are no lights in the crypt, and no chance of moonlight down there. Returning to the sanctuary, I quickly retrieve several candles, a lighting stick and a small container of striking powder. Then I return the key to its hiding place. Let the klericks think the door was accidentally left unlocked.
Using the lighting stick and a few specks of powder, I light the largest candle and stash the rest in a side pouch of my stolen breeches. Then I start down the narrow stone stairway, closing the door behind me.
The descent is long and winding, so it’s difficult to perceive how far the crypt lies below the chapel. And even more difficult to keep my sense of direction. This is by design, I expect, but it’s not my first time down these stairs. In the crypts, I’ll be farther under the castle grounds than all but the highest turret rises above.
When I reach the bottom, the effigies to the dead come to life in the flickering light of my candle, and I fight against an impending tremble.
A gust blows out my light, casting me into utter darkness.
For a moment, the tremble wins my battle of wills against it, but I calm myself and consider my options. Feeling around me, I set down the large pillar candle, dig out a smaller one, and then use the lighting stick, praying I won’t spark all the powder at once and cause an explosion.
