My whole life, I've been taught that my people were created to serve the Anou. On my 18th birthday, I'm taken from my village and brought to the Stye, the Anou's stronghold, to begin my servitude. Little did I know what that entails. The Anou are cr...
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I curl into a corner behind an armoire, holding my breath. Crippling desperation grows with every clack of the guard's boots on the cobblestone.
What if they find me?
A prospect too dire to imagine.
He passes by my hiding place in such close proximity that the air drift from his sheath leaves a cold tingle on my skin. As his steps fade, I scurry along the corridor. Glancing to my right and left, I pass the open double-doors to a salon. Murmured voices, carefree laughter, and the clinking of cups on saucers fill the air. These Anous live a comfortable life. From what I've seen, they have food in abundance, luxurious living spaces, and few worries. Quite different from the way I was raised. Arriving at a staircase, I begin a rapid descent. Every second counts. The hem of the long underskirt hits against my ankles and my toes curl from the coldness below my bare feet. I rush so much that I almost trip.
Did Jaslynn notice that I'm gone?
She only left me alone for a quick detour to the kitchen to fetch us a jug of sweet tea.
Will she sound the alarm?
A question that sends icy chills down my spine. With as good as zero planning, so many things could go wrong. I could be dead in the next five minutes.
By a miracle, the staircase ends in the same courtyard where our carriage arrived earlier. I take cover behind a wooden trough right across from the main gate. For a few minutes, I watch the armed guards patrol their paths, trying to find just the tiniest spider hole to get out. There's nothing. No diverting of those sharp eyes from the entrance, no slowing of steps for even a beat to take a short break, no yawn behind a raised hand that could prove distracting. Those soldiers are like machines who don't swerve once from their course.
Tears prick at the corners of my eyes.
What am I gonna do?
I don't know the grounds enough to find another escape route and time is running out.
Squeaking of wheels has me turning my head. A low cart is swaying toward the gate. It's a freight wagon pulled by only one horse, the bed covered with a tarp. The guards jump out of its way, a few moving the collars of their tunics over their noses. Swinging arms signal the driver to hurry up. In the approaching darkness, the soldiers might not notice if I jump quickly enough into the back.
Inhaling deeply for some courage, I leap for the wagon. As I peel the tarp back, the stench is overpowering. I gag.
By Genessa, it's a manure cart.
I only hesitate for a beat before flinging myself into the dung. Pulling the tarp over my head to seal off the opening I created, I bury my nose into the sleeve of my shirt. My stomach cramps, but any disgust is drowned out by the seething fear.
