The Dragon Mistress: Book 1 (The Eburosi Chronicles 8) Page 7

  Beshaam still appeared deeply worried on my behalf. “You can’t cause trouble, Lady Frella. The prince will be coming in the next day or two to claim you as his and decide if he wishes to keep you. If he hears that you’ve been making problems for the guards, it will go worse for you.” Her voice grew quieter on the last sentence, as though the words physically pained her.

  “Claim me,” I echoed, my voice flat. “As in…?”

  Her eyes slid down and to the side. “To… take your maidenhead. It is his right, as a noble.”

  I continued to stare. “Beshaam. I’m twenty-two years old. Why in the gods’ names would you expect me to still be a virgin?”

  Her eyes flew to mine, appalled. In fact, she was openly gaping at me, her jaw going slack for a moment before she caught herself and snapped it shut.

  “You’re… not…?” She swallowed and tried again. “Lady Frella—if you don’t bleed… if the prince suspects you of not being pure…”

  I frowned. “What does bleeding during sex have to do with being pure? What does ‘pure’ even mean in this context?”

  “If he suspects you are not a virgin, he will send you to live with the women that the lesser nobles and palace soldiers amuse themselves with!” The words came out in a rush.

  “Lovely,” I said, my voice gone flat again.

  Tears pooled in Beshaam’s eyes, and a flash of bitter anger flitted across her face. It was the first hint of spirit I’d seen from her.

  “My younger sister ended up in such a place,” she whispered. “She killed herself not long after.”

  That stopped me cold. “Beshaam,” I said. “What are you even doing here? Are you a prisoner?”

  Her expression wavered as though it might crumple, but she controlled it. “I am… and I am not. I could leave the palace, but this is a far better life than anything I could aspire to beyond its walls. I have no father, and my mother was a prostitute. The old queen granted me a place as a servant. Since she was executed, I have few friends here. There is very little standing between me and my sister’s fate.”

  My voice and face softened. “You could leave and travel to a different city, Beshaam. Start over somewhere new.”

  She met my eyes and quirked an eyebrow. “Really? With no money and no horse? How would I go about doing that, Lady Frella?”

  There was no mistaking the irony lacing her tone, and I felt shame well up. How easy it was to forget that not everyone was as lucky as I had been in this life. Not everyone had status and wealth. Not everyone had jewels woven into their hair. I made a sudden decision. It might well turn out to be a foolish one, but I was going to do it anyway.

  I reached under my honey-colored curls and untangled a chain. It was difficult after bathing and letting my hair dry into messy ringlets. In a few moments, though, I was able to extract one of the gems.

  “Take this,” I said. “Help me figure out a way to get out of here, and then you do the same.”

  Her eyes grew wide. “That’s why you wouldn’t let me wash your hair!”

  “Got it in one,” I said wryly. “So, do we have a deal?”

  Beshaam’s mouth opened and closed a few times as she tried to come to terms with this new development. I guess it was kind of a big thing to drop on her out of the blue. Had she honestly considered herself lucky to be stuck in a life of bathing and clothing other people, accepting abuse from those in power? Maybe she didn’t want to leave, I realized.

  “We have a deal,” she said in a tiny voice, and I relaxed.

  She accepted the green gemstone set in its gold clasp on the short chain. For a moment, she stood frozen, staring at the glinting thing in her palm, but then she quickly transferred it to an inner pocket in her plain dress. I could only imagine what would befall her if she were caught with such a thing before she escaped the palace. No doubt Lesimba would take utter glee in accusing her of theft.

  “Now,” I said. “How do I get out?”

  Beshaam pursed her lips, thinking. “The doors are always guarded, day and night. The guards are loyal; only the most trusted men are assigned to the women’s quarters, for obvious reasons.”

  “I’m surprised they don’t use eunuchs,” I muttered.

  Beshaam wrinkled her nose. “Eunuchs are weak. And no soldier would agree to such a thing.”

  “My brother is a eunuch,” I said tiredly. “And so is one of my adoptive fathers.”

  Beshaam gave me another one of those looks—the ‘what the hell kind of crazy place do you come from’ look—and I sighed, letting it go.

  “Never mind,” I said. “So, the door is guarded. Windows?”

  She winced, but then looked thoughtful. “They are small, and high off the ground. But… maybe you could figure out a way to climb up to one?” Her expression wavered back towards doubt. “We’re on the side of a mountain, though. The windows are all on the side facing the cliff. You would also have to climb down the mountain somehow. It would be very dangerous. I don’t know that you could do it.”

  “Aren’t there any other doors?” I asked bleakly.

  “None. The prince takes the security of the women’s quarters very seriously.”

  My mouth twisted. “Window it is, then. What’s the best one to try?”

  Her expression turned unhappy. “Probably in the communal room. You should wait until late at night, when the women are asleep.”

  And hope that Oblisii doesn’t decide to stop by and take my non-existent maidenhead before them, I thought bitterly.

  “Sure,” I said. “Thanks for your help. You should get out of here before then, so you’re not around to get in trouble when they find out I’ve scarpered. Can you do that?”

  She nodded slowly. “My duties will be done by nightfall.” She hesitated. “I… could… wait for you?”

  I smiled, though it was grim. “Best not. I seem to have become a lodestone for trouble these past few days. I’m guessing the prince will be far more interested in finding me once he figures out what happened than he will be in finding you.”

  Her eyebrows drew together, and she nodded. “It may be days before anyone thinks to wonder about my whereabouts. Here, I am not Beshaam to most people. I am only a girl, like all the other girls who serve.”

  I reached out and cupped her cheek. “Well, you’ll always be Beshaam to me. Stay safe, and thank you for helping.”

  She drew her full lower lip between her teeth, staring up at me with large brown eyes. “Thank you for buying my freedom. But I fear I’ve only pointed you toward danger.”

  I forced a too-broad smile. “Nonsense. You’ve pointed me toward adventure. I’m all about adventure—just ask anyone who knows me.” I glanced down at my fancy dress. “Though I sort of wish I’d worn breeches under this thing now. Anyway, go do whatever you’re supposed to be doing. I’m going to try to stay out of everybody’s way until they go to bed. Especially bitch-face—I mean, Lesimba.”

  “She’s dangerous,” Beshaam said. “Don’t cross her again.”

  I thought of Lesimba’s slender arms and legs… her lack of muscle definition. The bandits on the road might’ve bested me. Fucking Rayth might’ve bested me. But if it came down to it, I could take Lesimba. The thought made a grim smile slide over my lips.

  Still, after watching her cold eyes running over me, you wouldn’t catch me eating or drinking anything in this place before I left. I could picture her slipping poison into a cup a lot more easily than I could picture her attacking me in an open fight.

  “Don’t you worry about me, Beshaam,” I said. “I intend to get out of here safely. I’ve got places to go and people to see.”

  * * *

  I spent the rest of the day hiding in the storage area, until a different servant girl wandered in and gave a squeak of surprise when she found me sitting on a table in the corner with my ankles crossed, dozing while I waited for night to come. I gave her a friendly smile and wandered out, poking my head into the bathing chamber as I passed it.

  It w
as empty, so I slaked my thirst with the cool mountain spring water. Figuring that the girl must have come to ready a bath for one of the others, I didn’t linger. I’d been avoiding my room in hopes of also avoiding Lesimba that way, but I went there now. I guessed that the others were probably eating at this time of day. When I heard the sounds of people entering the hallway full of bedchambers, I got in bed, doused the lamp, and pulled the covers over me, pretending to already be asleep.

  Some time later, I saw the drape across the doorway swish to one side, a figure silhouetted against the flickering light from the hall. I was certain it was Lesimba, but I remained still and silent as I feigned slumber. My skin crawled with disquiet as she stood there for long moments. Eventually, to my relief, she let the drape fall and continued to her own room.

  Time crawled. I wasn’t sure exactly how late I should let it get before making my move. I ended up waiting until everything was quiet and still except for the occasional snore or rustle from one of the other rooms… and then waited some more. I thought it must be well after midnight when I finally sat up in bed and took stock.

  There was barely any light. They must have put out most of the lamps and candles when the last people went to bed. I could make out gray shapes in the unfamiliar room, but no details. My fingers ran over the woven sheets I was lying on. They felt too delicate to work safely as rope, while the single blanket was too thick and coarse to be useful that way. I didn’t want to make noise by trying to tear them, so I left them behind with a sigh and crept toward the door.

  The cloth hanging across it was the same flimsy weave as the sheets—no use there. It looked like I was doomed to do whatever I was going to do without a rope. Lucky me.

  A single lamp flickered wildly on the large table in the communal area, the flame guttering as the oil ran out. I grabbed another unlit lamp from nearby and topped it off, looking around as the flame grew stronger. I hadn’t taken as much heed of the room as I should have on the two occasions I’d been in here, but as my eyes slid over the chairs, tables, and divans, an idea took shape.

  I just hoped that the other women turned out to be heavy sleepers.

  There were three windows on the side of the room to the right of the big double doors. Fortunately, those doors were heavy as well as tall and wide, or else I’d probably need to worry more about rousing the guards than rousing the sleeping wives and concubines. The bottom ledges of the windows were perhaps twice my height from the ground, or a bit more.

  I chose the middle window, because why not, and looked around for the sturdiest table that I thought I could move on my own. When it was in place under the window with a bare minimum of screeching legs and unladylike grunting, I found two identical chairs with heavy frames. A third, lighter chair, straddled the seats of the first two after I lifted them onto the table, facing each other. Finally, I balanced a stool precariously on the seat of the third chair and stepped back to inspect the small mountain of furniture.

  Yeah, this was either going to work brilliantly, or I was going to break my neck. But, on the bright side, if I couldn’t climb up a rickety tower of tables and chairs and haul myself through the tiny window above… well, that probably meant I didn’t have any business trying to climb down the sheer palace wall and the cliff face that lay beyond.

  Chapter 7: A Rock and a Hard Place

  I DIDN’T HAVE ANY business trying to climb down the wall and the cliff face. How terribly surprising. Though, to be honest, I was a bit proud of my upper body strength after successfully hauling myself through the narrow window. It had still been a little way above shoulder height when I balanced precariously on the stool at the top of the furniture pile. I was pretty sure that stupid Lesimba couldn’t have managed it with her twiggy arms, anyway.

  So, now I was perched on the sill with my upper body outside and my legs dangling inside, taking stock in the weak moonlight. Ever since I’d tumbled down a rocky cliff-side in the hills beyond Draebard when I was a little girl, I was… less than sanguine about heights. I’d escaped that time with nothing more than a sprained ankle and some scrapes, but I didn’t think I’d be so lucky if I were stupid enough to trying going down the smooth wall below me. Far from it.

  Smooth might be a bit of a misnomer, but there was a huge difference between pockmarks in stone and actual hand- and footholds that you could, y’know, hold. The palace wall definitely had more of the former than the latter. I let my gaze sweep wider, taking in all of my surroundings. I needed to do something, unless I wanted to be found sitting up here like a fool by the first person to come wandering into the common room.

  If down wasn’t going to be an option, that left up.

  The high windows were set right beneath the room’s ceiling. If I reached up, I could grasp the edge of the roof with my fingertips. I got the best grip I could and used it to keep from plunging to my death as I scrambled up to stand on the sill, instead of sitting on it. Now I had a great view of the exterior of one of the domed ceilings I’d so admired earlier. But, more importantly, there was a flat area extending all the way around the edge—and it was wide enough to walk on.

  My arms were going to be really, really sore tomorrow, I could tell. I gritted my teeth and pulled myself up to the flat area, wincing as I heard the material of my pretty dress tear. My heart was pounding by the time I belly-flopped onto the gritty stone, and I stared at a pile of bird droppings I’d nearly face-planted into. Eww.

  So. Now I was on the roof. That constituted progress, right?

  It was kind of interesting from an architectural standpoint, the way the domes meshed together like a giant honeycomb. Unfortunately, the steep surfaces of the interlocking domes meant I was restricted to the narrow ledge winding around the outside of the roof. I thought the flat area must have been designed so that the builders would have something solid to stand on while they were working. They probably hadn’t added it with future runaway concubines in mind, but at this point, I would take what I could get.

  In the absence of whatever system of ladders and platforms had allowed those long-ago builders access to the roof, it was likely that my only way down would be another conveniently placed window. I needed someplace that was on the other side of the locked door leading to the women’s quarters. That part was easy enough, since the only windows I’d seen while I was inside were the three in the common room.

  However, I also needed to be someplace where people came and went frequently. Wriggling into a locked storeroom—or a locked anything—wouldn’t help me very much. I peered cautiously over the edge of the walkway, trying to see what sorts of window options were available along this stretch. Then I remembered how much I didn’t like heights, and decided I would be better served by lying on my stomach in the dried bird droppings while I looked for windows. That way, I could inch my head over the edge and look down without feeling like I was going to topple off.

  It took four such attempts at window reconnaissance before the smell of bread and lingering smoke from the previous day’s cooking fires let me know I’d found the kitchens. Kitchens were good. People and things went in and out of kitchens all the time, but not usually in the dark hours between midnight and dawn.

  Perfect.

  Now I just had to get through that window without dying. But I’d gotten out of the last window successfully… so, how hard could it be?

  * * *

  Some considerable time later, I sat on the floor of the kitchen nursing a shallow cut on my ankle and maybe, just maybe, trembling a tiny bit. For future reference, asking how hard something could be was apparently a good way to rouse the gods’ ire. Do not, under any circumstances, ask how hard something could possibly be before attempting to do it.

  Also, don’t wear expensive, gauzy dresses while attempting to gain clandestine access to or from a roof. They’re completely impractical. The floofy parts get in your way when you’re climbing, and they tear easily. Less than four full days spent in Utrea, and I was already getting very tired of wearing torn c
lothing.

  Fortunately, there had been a convenient wooden countertop beneath the window, so I didn’t have to drop all the way to the floor. Unfortunately, it was a kitchen, so there had been several knives lying on the aforementioned countertop. I’d avoided most of them. In fact, I’d avoided all of them except the one that had flipped up and cut my ankle when my foot landed on the handle.

  Boots and breeches for rooftop escapes, not gauzy dresses—just saying.

  Anyway, the cut didn’t look bad enough to warrant anything more than tying a strip of my torn skirt around it to keep from bleeding on the king’s nice, clean kitchen floor. Once I was done sitting on the aforementioned floor and shaking for a few minutes, I tied off the makeshift bandage around my hurt ankle and got up to explore. By that time, my eyes had adjusted to the darkness enough to find a candle and flint striker sitting on a worktable.

  The flickering illumination showed a truly vast space—probably necessary when you were trying to feed an entire castle full of people three times a day. The doors didn’t appear to be guarded, but I wanted a more concrete plan before I ventured into unknown territory. I was still inside the palace complex, which seemed almost like its own little city inside the city.

  I needed to be outside of the walls. There, I’d be free to return to my rented room and get my belongings. I’d be free to go to the Purple Cloak and try to get help.

  My eyes fell on the cart of towels and linens parked in one corner of the large room. It was quite possible there was a laundry inside the palace as well. Still, it gave me an idea. There was one place where carts of goods would enter and leave the palace grounds on a regular basis. The stables. That was where I needed to be. I would sneak into the stables and find an outbound wagon to hide in.

  Plan in place, I extinguished the candle and waited for my eyes to adjust again. The kitchen had an exterior set of double doors where produce and other supplies were presumably delivered. Those doors were barred on the inside, but no one had worried about people trying to break out of the kitchen—only trying to break into it. I unbarred them and crept outside, where the moon was starting to slide low in the west.