Page 55 of The Ruin of Eros

It is a mad sort of plan, I realize. But here is what I know:

That I cannot wait another day to free myself from this place.

That Aletheia will be making her way down these corridors any moment now.

That she will be carrying the key I need to escape.

The demon said she had some fear of birds, and this wild cloud of beaks and talons would frighten anyone, I think.

But as we race along them, the corridors are all empty. Aletheia is late. Why is she late?

When I reach the door of the great-room I fling it open, and the birds flood in. I watch, mouth agape. For how enormous the room is, I can’t believe how they fill it. Feathers that were shed in skirmishes flutter to the ground everywhere, all the colors of the rainbow; suddenly there are droppings, too, on the rugs and the divans. And the noise…

I don’t know if it’s the noise that summons her, but it seems only moments before the door across the room opens. I’m afraid she’ll retreat then, but it’s too late: the birds have crowded her already, and the door has closed behind her. I hear her shriek and see her crouch, covering her head. I hold my breath, watching from the doorway, although in this vortex of color andnoise she’ll never see me.

She’s carrying my morning bread-and-water, and it’s the bread that interests the birds: they duck and dive, squawking louder, their calls vying with Aletheia’s screams. Though they’re not attacking her, I suppose it feels like they are.

The bread and water are not all that have tumbled to the ground: I heard the clang of the key fall from her grip. My mad escape plan just might work. I dart as silently as I can across the room—Aletheia is shielding her head, shouting, and does not see me—and in a moment I’m grasping the cold metal in my hand.

There’ll be little enough time. Aletheia’s shrieking will alert him soon. No doubt he’ll quiet the birds with a word or two of enchantment, and they’ll notice the key is gone, and come for me.

I run back through the corridors, on and on until I reach the yard, my chest pumping in the cool dawn air. I find the lock, jiggle the key. It takes a few tries, but then I feel the release of the bolt and the gate clanks ajar. I swallow hard. I want to push it back, all the way back, and see whatever’s out there. But I need one more thing first.

I hurry across the yard and into the stables. This part may be madder than the last—but my escape has been noisy and unsubtle, not the stealthy kind I had earlier hoped to devise. I have a head-start of a few minutes at best: if I leave on foot, he will catch me.

All or nothing. I must try.

I take a breath, and push open the door to the first stall. There he is, the black stallion, the one I heard the demon name as Ajax. He is taller, even, than I remembered. For a moment I almost lose my nerve. Then I glance back toward the palace door, and remind myself that any moment now, he will be coming for me.

And that my family needs me.

“Hush, it’s all right.”

I try to fit the bridle over the stallion’s ears; he whinnies, shying back away from me, his enormous hooves stamping the ground. Perhaps he reads my own anxiety. I pat his side, hoping to convince him.

“It’s all right. We’re going to get out of here, you and I.”

I stroke his mane and then bury my hand in it, trying to secure a good grip—there are no stirrups to hoist me up, so I’ll have to throw myself onto him.Dimitra could do this, I tell myself.

But the attempt takes me only halfway. I land with just my arm splayed across the stallion’s back, the rest of me dangling. He grunts, steps back quickly, dislodging me with a thump to the ground.

“Come on, boy. Come on,” I murmur. This time I take a running leap. I hold my breath, I am determined—and somehow I make it onto his back. I scramble for purchase, burying my hands in the mane, tugging myself toward a sitting position.

But now he’s spooked. He bumps the walls of the stall, whinnying, and then while I’m still struggling for my grip, he rears up. I feel my neck snap back, my body sailing through the air.

The ground is hard as slate. The breath is gone from my body. The stallion’s whinnying, stomping. Then he’s rearing again, his great hind legs much too near me. I need to move my leg but my mind can’t seem to command my limbs. He’s going to trample me. He’s going to trample me, and then it will all be over.

The great hind legs come down.

I hear someone scream, and the world goes white.

Chapter Twenty-One

There’s movement beside me, and light in the darkness, and someone moves the cool rag from across my eyes. I gasp, the light is so bright.

“Psyche.”

Hisvoice. And it comes back to me then: the rearing horse, that moment of blinding pain. A shudder goes through my body.

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