Page 5 of The Shadow of Polaris

I slammed my door shut, locking it behind me. Leaning against the entryway for support, my legs quaked. I scrambled for the key and my nephew’s note, tucking both away within the internal pocket of my shift. In attempts to hide from whatever invisible force blew out those torches, I shrouded my head beneath the throw and plopped into the rocking chair.

Sliding down the back of the chair, I looked out at the lazy afternoon light. The tower was tall enough to see the skyline of my city’s uniform stone buildings encircling the snowy peak of our sacred mountain. Not a single cloud floated in the piercing blue sky and sunshine beamed down on the barren white flatlands that separated the tower from the city. A faint shiver ran through me. I inhaled and closed my eyes. I had to be dreaming. This wasn’t real. I had to be dreaming. Clamping my eyes shut and focusing on my breath, I counted down from fifty. At some point, around thirty-eight, a restless, unforgiving sleep found me.

Chapter 4

Aclock chimed from the floor below, jerking me awake. Sweat soaked through my shift, dampness clinging to my skin. A burnt orange glow illuminated the window. Dusk had arrived and still Hela had not returned. The air was too quiet, too thick.

Maybe this was the fresh air Vikar was talking about.

Maybe he had sent the guards away and somehow distracted Hela from her duties as my chambermaid.

Maybe this was my chance.

All I had to do was sneak down the stairwell, find the entrance of the tower, make it through the front courtyard undetected, and slip out of the gate. If this feeling I had was real, there’d be no one there to catch me.

If they caught me outside of my chamber, however, I’m not sure what the Elders would do. My sentence forbade them from ending my life and the ward around the tower prison healed any physical wounds I received fairly rapidly, but would I risk the wellbeing of my nephew? I swallowed hard at the thought of Hela beaming one of her sickening smiles as she cracked her leather belt against his exposed back.

Surely she wouldn’t dare touch him. He was the King of Ursae, after all. Pushing myself up from the chair, I stepped to my armoire. I already had a cloak and a pair of leather boots. A few years ago when I was still plotting my escape, I persuaded a guard to find me a pair during one of his trips into the city. Of course, the pair he returned with were a size and a half too big and already discolored from years of wear. Until now they had sat in the back of my armoire, hidden beneath old scraps of fabric and pelts, waiting for their perfect moment.

This might be my only chance to steal back my freedom. What awaited me in the flatlands was worth the risk, and Vikar’s title meant he was untouchable. Besides, with no evidence they couldn’t pin my escape on him. This taste of freedom shrank the surrounding walls. Inhaling deeply, I felt the stifling air fill my lungs to their limit. I’d sneak into the flatlands and disappear. My entire life had been spent in the shadows. Slipping away unnoticed would be easy.

Maybe I’d return to my city, maybe I’d travel to the southern coast. The taste of salty, tropical air was sharp on my tongue. The crashing of waves against bleached white sands roared in my ears. I’d travel to my city, then when the time was right, I’d disappear to the south. For good.

I made my decision as I grabbed the cloak off of its hook. With quaking hands, I slipped on the old boots and laced them tightly up to my ankles. Checking once more that the key and scroll were safely tucked away within my shift, I wrapped the cloak tightly around myself and silently pulled the bedchamber door open.

The only sound in the dim hallway was the squeak of leather against the balls of my feet. I lit a sconce and unhooked the torch, extending it in front of me. My shadow, illuminated by the dim glow, flickered as I snuck down the hallway to the winding stone steps the guard had frantically disappeared down earlier. Peering around the corner into the bleak darkness, I confirmed I hadn’t been seen.

As noiselessly as possible, I crept down the marble stairway and plunged into its forbidden depths. The winding, cavernous staircase amplified the sound of my shallow breathing as I descended, my destination below shrouded in darkness. I plunged deeper and deeper into the heart of the tower, the flame casting shadows with each winding curve of the stairwell.

The last step led me to a pointed door. The aged wooden panels, fastened by sturdy cast iron bolts, were knotted and withered. Warm light snuck through the cracks between each slat, projecting streams of crimson across my face. The rusted iron handle and small keyhole glared at me.

With shaking hands, I wrapped my fingers around the metal, hesitating before turning the handle.

I could feel my knees buckling beneath me, as if they were warning me of my stupidity. Maybe I should retreat to the safety of my chamber. Maybe this was a mistake. The warmth of seaside sunshine licked against my forehead. A salty breeze draped around me. I was so close to my freedom. So close to a life beyond these foreboding walls.

I clenched my fists. There was no turning back. I made it down the steps without being detected. I could do this. Digging within the folds of my shift, I pulled the key out and inserted it into the door.

Heavy footsteps from the top step echoed through the chamber. My heart fluttered so fast I thought I may have had a heart attack. Peering back up the winding steps, I could see the faint glow of a lantern filling the hallway with candle light. If I stayed here any longer I would be seen, and then Gods know what would happen to me.

“Who’s down there?” a female voice at the top of the staircase called. Hela. Acting out of sheer terror alone, I gulped down the bile that was now rising in my throat and turned the key. The lock clicked and the sound of metal grinding against itself echoed through the small chamber as I turned the handle and faintly pulled the door open.

“Answer me. Now! Who’s down there?” the chambermaid repeated. Hurried footsteps descending the staircase broke the silence.

Without checking behind the door, I stepped inside and clicked the handle locked. Leaning against the rickety old door, my knees buckled as my back slid down the wooden frame. The air was warmer than in the stairwell. A fire blazed brightly to my left, filling what looked to be a kitchen with honey colored light. A wooden butcher’s table took up most of the floor space, where pots and pans of all shapes and sizes dangled from iron hooks mounted on the low ceiling. Across from the hearth, crisp moonlight beamed through three dust covered windows made from honeycomb glass plates. Bunches of thyme, rosemary, and sage hung to dry above the windows, and baskets of garlic and onion bulbs sat next to the hearth.

I didn’t dare move, let alone breathe, as Hela reached the bottom step. The scuff of her boots paused and the swing of a lantern scanned the stairwell. Time seemed to stop as the door handle rotated. This was it. Frozen with fear, the punishment for leaving my chamber flashed before my eyes. Searching the room frantically, I pleaded for somewhere to hide. The light from the hearth illuminated every crack and crevice of the kitchen. There was nowhere to go. I was stuck.

Just as I tiptoed to the butcher’s block and swiped the small dinner knife from the surface, I heard the door handle click. Locked. Hela shoved against the door, assuring herself that the lock held in place, and continued back up the stairwell. The only sound was her ragged breathing as she struggled to push her large thighs up the hundreds of steps.

I pressed myself into the butcher’s table as temporary relief fell over me. I was safe for now. The guards would be alerted and the tower would go on lockdown the second she discovered my absence upstairs. It was only a matter of time.

An ember popped in the hearth as I glanced out the moonlit windows. The kitchen overlooked a frozen courtyard flooded by pale moonlight below. Snow fell in silent flakes and gathered on the outer sill of the glass panes. A layer of ice covered the barren ground of the courtyard and whittled brown vines of clustered wisteria whipped against the brick outer walls. A single arched gate marked the exit of the tower yard.

Tucking the dinner knife into the fold of my cloak, I started towards my escape. The window slid open with a gentle push. Dead vines wrapped around the exterior just to the left of the sill. If I could reach the thickest one, I’d be able to propel down the wall to the ground below.

Pulling my cloak tighter around my body, I hooked a leg out the small window and shimmied my way onto the outer ledge. Outstretching my palm, my fingers brushed the frozen wisteria. I took a small, hesitant step further off the ledge until I could comfortably grasp the full width of the vine. Praying to the Gods, I gathered the hem of my shift and leapt, clinging to the wisteria in desperation.

The vines groaned under my weight and I squeezed my eyelids shut, preparing to be ripped from the wall and to fall to my death. Miraculously, I remained where I was. I counted to three, then kicked my boot into the next vine down and let gravity take my weight.

---