Page 64 of The Faceless Mage

“You can do this. I’m so very proud of you.”

“Zander,” she whispered.

“Go.”

She went.

* * *

She didn’t dare return to her room, but there was nothing in her room that she needed. Nothing that would help her. Leisa used her tiny mirror to change her face, then pulled up her hood and considered her options.

They were bleak indeed.

No matter what exit route she chose, eventually King Melger would send his men to hunt her down.

Hisman. The Raven. He could find her even without the gem, and she had no doubt he would move like the wind on a hunt.

She would have to outrun him. That meant stealing a horse—a horse and supplies, so she wouldn’t have to stop any more often than necessary.

The stables.

It was late enough that few servants lurked in the palace halls. A few guards patrolled, but Leisa’s sensitive hearing kept her well away from any danger of being discovered. Once outside, she blended into the night and raced across the palace lawns on her way towards the stables.

A feeling of complete unreality surrounded her. The night, the silence, the sound of her own footfalls—all of them seemed far away. She’d wanted so badly to be free, to go home, but not like this.

And yet, there was a fierce satisfaction in finally being allowed to fight this battle on her terms. No more dresses, no more pretending. She was herself now, in a world she understood. Running for her life was somehow less terrifying than facing the prospect of a waltz with a smirking Prince Vaniell.

If only she weren’t leaving people behind. If only their fates would not haunt her with every step she took, every mile she put between herself and Hanselm.

But as Zander said, she had no choice. She’d been given none. Farhall had to know the truth, and there was no one else to tell them.

The stables finally loomed before her, a stone building with gleaming lanterns and wide, well-swept aisles. She took a single step inside and was instantly spotted by a tall, silent guard.

“Halt!” he called, and Leisa halted, annoyed with herself for taking that incautious step.

“Who sent you?” the guard asked, striding over to confront her. The moment he came within arm’s length, she whirled to the side, taking his back in a single, silent turn. Her arm went around his neck, elbow towards the floor, and she squeezed.

He lost consciousness and crumpled to the floor, and Leisa moved on.

She heard low voices and moved towards them. She needed a horse, and tack, with minimal delays, so if she could steal someone else’s…

For the first time since crossing the border into Garimore, luck seemed to be with her.

A horse stood in the next aisle, tied to a ring in the wall with a casual loop. She was saddled and loaded down with gear, while her rider seemed to be involved in a conversation inside a nearby room.

Too easy?

Yes.

It was almost as if they were begging her to steal it.

Begging her to flee on a horse that probably bore a royal mark and would draw attention wherever she went.

Cursing herself for not thinking of that sooner, Leisa retraced her steps and left the stables, racing instead towards the gates. She waited in the shadows nearby until the gates opened to permit a slop wagon to exit, then she hitched a ride, clinging to the side of the putrid conveyance until it was a block past the gates.

Once it was well into the dark warren of the city streets, she dropped silently to the ground and trotted off between the buildings.

She was free. Free of the palace, free of her masquerade.

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