Page 5 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
Locked, of course.
Fine.
All right.
I scanned the room for anything I could use as a weapon or tool.
Though there was a fireplace, no poker or fire tongs rested anywhere close. The chair legs were too sturdy even when I smacked one against the wall. The bed legs were solid blocks. I pushed and tugged, but none would move even a little. And there was nothing under the bed at all.
The washroom had square soap and a small brush and comb. Nothing sharp enough to stab. The desk drawers held charcoal and parchment. Not even a quill. I slammed the drawer shut.
Not even a hairpin.
Wonderful.
Just wonderful.
With my luck, the only way out was through the window. My insides tightened at the mere thought, but dying was worse than heights.
I tore down the curtains and stripped off the coverlet. Though the fabric twisted in my hands, I ripped the pieces into strips. Bits of dust flew in the air. Within minutes, I had a large pile. From there, I knotted the ends together. Breaths tight, I worked quickly, fingers trembling.
If there was one thing I was good at other than plant magic, it was knots, stitching, and weaving my own ropes and cords. That and figuring out solutions. Over, under, pull tight, test thehold. The makeshift rope grew firm and solid in my lap, swiftly growing in length.
Once it was long enough, I coiled the thick rope and knelt beside the bed. The carved leg was thick and unyielding, perfect for anchoring. I looped the rope around the base, securing it with a hitch I could release with a sharp pull when the time came. It held fast, the fabric creaking under the strain but not loosening. Good. Now I just needed my luck to hold a little longer.
I dashed to the window and looked outside. The wall dropped sheer toward a stone courtyard. Another wall rose beyond that, and from there the land opened up. Maybe a few hundred feet of coarse, uneven ground continued toward the chasm. My stomach twisted, and my head spun.
Oh, that was a long way down.
Maker, save me. I prayed I didn’t throw up on my way down. But dealing with heights was far better than marrying the Hollow King. My stomach flipflopped again as I thought about climbing out there.
It’ll be fine,I told myself.Just deep breaths and one step at a time.
I tested the rope with my weight. The knots held firm, and my pulse thundered. Gripping the first knot in both hands, I swung one leg over the sill. The cold bit at my skin, but the rope held strong in my grasp.
The stone scraped cold against my legs as I eased myself over the sill, rope biting into my palms and eyes sealing shut. I clenched my hands around the knots one by one, lowering myself slowly and praying no one noticed me.
Keep it slow and steady. Slow and steady!
The rope swayed with each movement, brushing against the rough stone, and the fabric strained. I swallowed hard, my breaths sharp and shallow. Already my heart was in my throat.
If I fell, it was a straight drop onto granite or marable. There wouldn’t be surviving or at least walking away without shattered bones. Black dots scattered across my vision as my mouth went dry as the silk I wore.
Inch by inch. That’s all.
I can do this.
It was just like climbing the garden wall.
Except my brain didn't believe me.
My breaths quickened as I slid farther down. The air reeked of ash and damp earth, heavy as a grave. I lowered myself again, gritting my teeth.
Don’t focus on the whole thing.Just take it one grip and one foot at a time.
Tears leaked from the corners of my eyes.
Just one grip and one foot at a time.
