Page 181 of Flame and Sparrow

My vision remained mostly clear, and I couldn’t seem to get my eyelids to close, so I saw—with horrible clarity—the window slipping farther and farther out of my reach as my legs crumpled and I tumbled backward onto the floor.

Chapter48

The hours tickedby in a haze of fear and desperation.

Though I remained awake and aware, my senses were duller than normal, only growing more useless as time went by and delirium sank in. Bodies came and went and voices rose and fell in the hallway outside, but I couldn’t tell who the sounds belonged to.

Every time the poison in my veins started to wear off, another bomb slid underneath the door, the room was eclipsed in shimmering powder once more, and the nightmare began anew.

The first rays of early morning light washed over me. I couldn’t feel their warmth, but I could see the shadows shifting, retreating at the approach of a new day. I summoned all the strength I had to push through the numbness encasing me, rolling over so I could see the window and the sky beyond it, the swirls of orange and red painting the hazy blue canvas and setting the fluffy clouds alight.

The colors reminded me of fire.

I closed my eyes, squeezing out a few tears that had welled up within them.

I had to find clean air, somehow.

I forced my eyes open again and locked them on the window. I’d considered climbing out of it before, and I knew this would be an impossible feat in my current state, but if I could just gettothe window, and breathe the air outside…

I quickly made up my mind that I was going to try, even though I would likely fail.

Every few minutes, I tested myself, trying to see if I could wiggle my fingers and toes.

The instant I felt something like control returning to my extremities, I started trying to move other parts of me. One arm, then the other, and then I twisted my torso and managed to wiggle a short distance across the rough floor. Though I still couldn’t truly feel much of what I was doing, I pulled myself to the window inch by inch, dragging my upper body on to the sill that was wide enough to partially sit on before bending awkwardly forward and trying to balance there. As more feeling came back to my body, I found the position I’d twisted it into painfully uncomfortable, but I could press my mouth to the glass—and that was all that mattered.

I fumbled for the knife sheathed at my ankle. I dropped it several times, unable to get my fingers to close properly around its hilt. By the fourth drop I was in tears, but still determined, and finally I managed to clamp my fingers around it. I closed my other hand over it as well, and used both to lift the blade, slowly and shakily, to a corner of the window.

The blade was the same one I’d used the night I’d broken into the temple in Cauldra. It cut as easily now as it did then, slicing away the glass with little effort required on my part. I kept the opening much smaller this time—small enough to be unnoticeable if someone happened to walk into the room. I only needed it to be big enough to breathe through.

I pressed closer and inhaled deeply of the early morning air, greedily swallowing up the taste of grass and trees and what smelled like an approaching storm. I closed my eyes and imagined that storm falling over me, washing me clean of poison and past alike.

More hours passed.

More poison was slipped into the room, right on schedule, but I kept my face to the sunlight and kept breathing in the promise of cleansing rain on the horizon.

It was mid-afternoon, judging by the sun, before the dark clouds arrived in earnest. Thunder rolled in the distance. I jumped at the sound—

And Ifeltit.

I was aware of my muscles tensing and releasing, of the hairs on my arms standing on end.

Little by little, my body was becoming mine once more.

I heard voices in the hall. Whispers that sounded as though they were right outside the door, perhaps debating coming inside to check on me. Or torment me. I turned away from the opening I’d cut, not wanting to draw attention to it if anyone did happen to join me.

The latest dose of poison had nearly dissipated—it had been slipped under the door no less than four hours ago—but the room remained covered in a faint haze. The thickest of it had settled along the floor, however, so as long as I clung to the window and kept my head lifted, I could avoid breathing in too much of the nefarious air. Staying upright proved much easier than I could have hoped for. Proof that my plan was working, my strength and control returning.

Even so, the voices in the hallway made my stomach twist, the impossibility of my situation settling fully now that I was no longer numb to my surroundings. My strength and clarity might have been returning, but my way out of this disaster was hardly clear.

Trembling, I bowed my head, trying to keep my composure.

And I realized then that the mark on my wrist was glowing.

Its light was so faint I wondered if I was imagining it—or if perhaps it was a trick of the storm-scattered sunlight. But no matter how I moved or twisted my hand, the flame upon my skin did not go out.

More tears leaked from the corners of my eyes as I pressed fingers to the mark, which felt faintly warm.

I’d wanted to dig my claws into it the first time I’d seen it.

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