“So there is your choice. Combine our two houses and take down your enemies with all the might Delmar has to offer…or stay blindly loyal to my nephew and risk your life and those of your friends.”
Maybe this is the better choice. If what the emperor said is true, then the rebellion already failed. Rayce’s scarred face flashes through my mind, a direct result of his uncle’s anger at being disappointed. And with his face, I remember the heat of his body just inches from mine, the way he held me without reservation when I broke down, and yet he still trusted me. The rebellion might be smaller, but they care about each other. That’s more than this man in front of me could say, damaging his own nephew’s face for trying to present a new way of thinking.
Sensing my indecision, the emperor leans over his desk so we’re eye level with each other. “So what will it be, Princess?”
Now. It’s time.
I don’t give him a second more to elaborate, don’t even think about what a life with him would be like. I’m up before he can blink. My fingers wrap around the bumpy cover of Oren’s book resting on the corner of the desk.
Emperor Sun’s eyes widen just a fraction as my hand swings out. The weight of the heavy book comes down on his right temple, slamming the left side of his face into his desk with a loud thwack. One second our noses almost touch, and the next I’m crouching on top of his desk, the cool breeze from outside flowing through my hair. With the book still in my hand, I jump onto the high back of his chair and ride it like a wave as it crashes to the ground.
I don’t know if he’s reaching for me or if my blow knocked him out. All I can see is the sky beyond the balcony beckoning me toward freedom—and I run for it.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
The spongy carpet turns to warm marble under my bare feet. It only takes a second to cross the small space. I run to the balcony ledge, placing my hands on the hot wooden rail that goes up to my hip and think through my options.
We’re at least four stories high, so jumping is out of the question. Even if I angled my body to absorb the damage on a less vital section, I’d probably break something. I look up at the sky. It offers no answers. But the low overhanging roof of the next level does. If I can make myself a few feet taller, I can hoist myself onto the next level and keep climbing to the top.
I tuck Oren’s book into my snug waistband and jump onto the narrow wood railing. Balancing on the edge, I grip the sharp silver tiles of the next story just as an angry cry rips out from the emperor’s office.
A glance over my shoulder reveals a Sun soldier crashing through the office door. Sunlight glints off the metal plates protecting his chest, momentarily blinding me before I pull myself up and pray my tired arms will hold my weight.
My fingers struggle to hold me, but all I can think about is getting back to Zareen. To the people who can help me, if they’re still willing. Did Arlo make it out after he was hit back in the dungeon? And if the mission to liberate my sisters in the Garden went as badly as the emperor implied, is Oren safe? What about Marin? Or Rayce? Just thinking his name sends a wave of panic crashing through me.
I grit my teeth against the pain and pull up, my muscles remembering the familiar movement.
“Hey, you, get back here!” the soldier shouts.
He stretches out his hand in a desperate attempt to catch my ankle, but I lift my feet, sliding onto the hot roof tiles. Flecks of silver paint cover my sweaty palms. Shouts echo from below, but I block out the words.
I’m on the second-highest roof of the palace, and it slants upward. My bare feet slip on the tiles as I crawl toward a thick wooden beam supporting a silver dragon statue that’s longer than I am.
Securing my footing, I head westward, scurrying across the rooftop with light steps. From this high up, the entire city spreads out like a quilt beyond the palace wall. The upper marketplace is easy to locate with its wide-open space and jewel-toned fabric tents, tucked between all four temple towers. The temple peaks shoot into the sky like points on a compass, the spring temple with its green roof, the fall red, the winter white, and the summer blue to match the palace. It’s hard to believe that just this morning I stood down there with my arm linked in Arlo’s, pretending to be a carefree shopper.
Out past the upper marketplace and the Changhe River slicing through the poor part of Imperial City, I can just make out the green tops of the Shulin Forests trees. If I can reach them, I’ll become like a grain of sand in the desert, nearly untraceable. I round the sharp corner of the palace and stop, squatting next to one of the snarling dragon statues. I need to get to the ground.
Far below, soldiers flood the stone courtyard, coming out of three different entrances, like a river of bodies. The thundering of their collective footsteps reminds me of the fireworks Arlo set off in the Garden tent the night of my escape. Packs line the wall behind them, probably in preparation for the mission to the border wall that the emperor mentioned before.
I tuck myself farther into the shadow of the dragon and keep searching for a way down, thankful for my dark clothing.
My gaze catches a thick black cord coming from this dragon’s mouth, sloping all the way over the courtyard to the palace gate. Green paper lanterns dangle from the line, part of the decorations for the recent Spring Ceremony. Maybe the goddess Lin actually did hear my prayer.
I crawl to the roof’s edge and wrap my hands around the cord. As long as it’s secured well on the other side, it should hold my weight. Catching myself will be tough on my hands, but if I can ignore the pain, I should be able to cross.
Sliding on my belly to the ledge, I angle myself so that the left side of my body hangs in the air, knowing that it will lighten the momentum of the initial impact, and reach out both hands to grip the cord.
On three.
“We’re looking for a girl,” shouts one of the soldiers below me.
One.
“She is considered extremely dangerous.”
Two.
“Should you come in contact, maim but do not kill.”
Three.
I tip all my weight to the left, like rolling over during sleep, and fall into the open air. Years of hanging from heights have robbed me of my fear, but as I catch myself, I bite into the side of my mouth to keep from crying out.
The cord snaps in my hands but holds my weight. No shouts from the courtyard, so I don’t think they’ve spotted me…yet.
I hang suspended in the air for a moment and then reach out, putting one hand in front of the other. Over and over. My feet hang awkwardly below me. It’s the first time in a long time they haven’t been able to help.
Sweat drips into my eyes, down my face, flavoring the inside of my mouth salty. I keep my eyes glued to the large gray wall in front of me. Halfway there. I take a deep breath. If I’m caught now, whatever type of twisted mercy the emperor thought he was granting me before will be gone, replaced by anger at my escape. The scar ripping across Rayce’s cheek comes into sharp focus, and my hand loses its grip.
A tiny squeak, no louder than a bird’s tweet, slides out of my mouth.
I squeeze my eyes tight, surprised to find a memory in the dark. Our flour-coated hands kneading dough together, the warmth of him pressing his weight against me, the sweet scent of honey on his breath—I have to get back to him.
“She’s up there!” a voice shouts.
I can almost feel their helmet-clad heads turning toward the sky, gazes homing in on my exposed body. There’s a whizzing sound near my ear, and my eyes snap open. Looking up, I spot an arrow arching into the air above me.
My right hand catches the cord, and I abandon caution in favor of speed. The aches in my arms and head disappear as I race forward, the muscles I haven’t been able to use since leaving the Garden awakening after a long slumber.
Nothing else matters except for reaching the palace gates. I can’t help anyone if I’m stuck here, and I can’t do anything if I fall. Another arrow flies in front of me, and the sound of more at my back kee
ps me scrambling. One hand after the other until the end.
Warmth sinks into my palm as I grasp the stone wall, digging my nails into the other side—then a sharp pain punctures my leg. I suck in air, and my vision blurs, but I manage to pull myself over the edge of the wall and land hard on the walkway below.
Boots pound toward me from both directions, but I can’t move. I try to catch my breath while I study the arrow sticking halfway into the meat of my thigh. Blood spreads around the shaft, coloring my gray pants dark.
I crouch and grip the middle of the shaft. My leg begs for me to rip it out, but I take a deep breath and snap off the end instead. If I remove the arrow now, at worst I’ll bleed out before I make it to the woods, and at best I’ll leave a trail of blood for them to track me.
Turning away from my leg, I see a pair of soldiers blocking either side of the small walkway about fifty yards away. Both sets approach with brightly painted shields held up in front of them. Almost like the walls are closing in on me.
They break into a run, their feet clapping against the ground in time with the hectic rhythm of my heart. As they thunder closer, I jump onto the ledge on the other side of the palace wall and search the landscape.
About four feet away, a square green-tiled roof of a neighboring mansion beckons. A soldier to my left shouts for me to stop. He’s scrambling for me, all reflective surfaces and reaching limbs, but he’s too late. I squat, feeling the muscles tighten in my legs and pain tear through me where the arrow still sits embedded in my flesh, and jump, slipping through the soldier’s grasp like a fox would from a hound.
For one glorious second, I’m flying through the air, the wind kissing my sweaty face and taking the sting from my wound. Just like when Rayce blew on my cut. Everything he’s done, since the moment I met him, has been to help me—how could I have not seen it? The roof appears underneath me, and then my knees and palms collide against the rigid tiles. The impact sends a jolt of fresh pain pulsing through my entire body and rattles my teeth.
Perhaps I just needed a fresh perspective.
I jump up, my head still spinning, and scramble forward, forcing my toes into the grooves of the roof tiles.
The sunbaked surface burns through the fabric covering my knees and sears the skin of my palms and feet, but I keep pushing myself up. I pull a leg over the top point of the roof and twist my body so I’m facing the cityscape. There’s a flat roof next to this one, but trying to climb down a slope like this would get me killed.
I could propel myself. Which could also result in death, but it’s less likely that I’ll slip. I point my toes toward the other roof, lie flat on my back, and push off. The edge comes racing toward me. I slap my palms down hard and stumble onto the next roof.
I turn and smile at the house behind me. My silent dare. Let them come after me now.
Adrenaline got me this far, but it’s starting to wear off, and my leg stings like a nettle. I grit my teeth against the pain and take off at a run.
The rooftops open for me—my path out of the city lighting up like it’s paved in Zarenite instead of shingles and stones. The soldiers swarm below, looking like ants as I weave and bob and jump high above their heads. They assumed I went down. It’s what any rational person would do, but they don’t realize the Garden takes the rationality out of anyone who stays there long enough. By the time I slide down near the river, the sun has sunk into the ground.
Using the shadows as my cloak, I dart across the empty bridge and into the poor part of Delmar without sight of a single soldier. I look over my shoulder and run straight into someone.
“I’m sorry,” I say, keeping my head bowed.
“Watch where you’re going,” the man grumbles. Seeing another person turns my blood cold. I try to peek at his face, but a long straw hat covers most of it.
As I move to let him pass, he grabs my wrist, his fingers digging down to my bone.
“What’s a girl like you doing in this part of town?” His voice reminds me of Shears.
I rip my hand from his grasp and grab his hat off his head. The man’s wide eyes and bearded face are nothing like the wicked face with the sharp, beady eyes I was picturing. Being on my own has made me paranoid again.
I throw the hat on the ground and run before he can catch me again.
“Are you the one all these damn soldiers have been looking for?” the man shouts.
I pick up my pace as I rush for the woods. Almost there. I’m sure the soldiers won’t risk searching the forest. They’re probably expecting me to stay in the city, assuming I won’t be able to get past the gates. Underestimating me.
Emperor Sun’s face comes unbidden in my mind as his thin lips draw into a tight, predatory smile. My skin prickles now that I’m alone to reflect on what he was implying back in his office. The ugly pieces slide into place as I connect exactly how my title can help him. By us joining together. By me giving him everything, including myself.
I shiver into the cool night air and pull Oren’s book from my waistband, replaying the sound it made when it slammed into the emperor’s head.
He’ll never underestimate me again.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
A crescent moon hangs at the highest point in the sky by the time I stumble into the Shulin Forests. The moment I step under the treetops, the frosty white moonlight disappears. Dead leaves crunch under my toes and the earthy smell of dirt mixes with the scent of dried sweat coating my body.
I grip Oren’s book against my chest to distract myself from the throbbing in my leg, but I know I have to take the arrow out soon and dress the wound. The longer I wait, the more likely it’ll become infected.
As I bump my way through the trees, I’m drawn back to a certain cold gray room made a million times warmer by Rayce’s presence as his hands worked to clean the cut on my hand. The feeling of him blowing cool air onto the stinging wound soaks through me. I was so angry he wouldn’t let me take care of it myself. But relying on someone else isn’t so bad every now and then.
Every bone in my body aches from the workout I put it through today, and I want nothing more than to head back into the direction of camp, especially since I still don’t know if everyone made it through their missions safely. The pain of uncertainty hurts almost as much as my leg. But I can’t go back to our camp. Not tonight. Not when there’s a possibility I’m being tracked.
I collect twigs and start to rub two of them together, hoping to catch friction in the dark.
If Piper were here, the friction part wouldn’t be a problem. Her presence can start a fire in any room.
Thinking of her and Zareen brings other, friendlier things to mind—Marin’s curly hair, Oren’s thick black beard, Suki’s dark eyes, Arlo’s wicked smile, and Rayce’s patient hands. I never thought I’d miss them all like this—so much that it physically hurts.
A tiny fire bursts to life, eating away at the darkness.
Now, it’s time for the really painful part. I huddle close to the fire and examine the arrow now covered with dried blood. Fitting my fingers near the arrowhead on the shaft, I take three deep breaths. My mind wanders back to Rayce. To his warm eyes and the patch of stubble coating his chin. Through his wavy black hair. Down to the delicious tilt of his mouth.
I yank hard. The arrow slides out with a spurt of fresh blood cast black by the firelight. The pain will subside, I tell myself. Don’t focus on the stabbing, white-sharp wave pulsing from your thigh or the black spots in your vision.
Taking deep breaths, I use the tip of the arrowhead to cut through my pant leg, starting where it entered. I keep cutting until I get a piece that’s relatively clean and wrap it tight around my thigh, right above the wound.
Ignoring my screaming leg, I scoot back and lean against the scratchy bark of a nearby tree. From this vantage point, the forest floor seems wide and ominous. Why can’t these be the trees near the Zareeni base with their thick, spidery branches? Perfect for climbing and buckling down into for the night.
&nbs
p; I shift to find a better position, and something bites into my back. Reaching behind me, my fingers brush something coarse: Oren’s book. The moment I decide to read it, the crushing weight I’d been carry around pinches off like dead skin, and I can breathe.
The page Oren dog-eared is about halfway through the book. There’s a portrait staring back at me—me, eight years old, with wild blond hair escaping a long braid, a missing front tooth, and an entire future I’ll never have shining in my violet eyes.
Hanging around my neck on a thread of gold is my mother’s ruby. My father used to tell me the story of how he gave it to my mother on their wedding day and how she’d hoped it would be passed along to me. That same necklace hangs around the Gardener’s neck today.
Below the painting of me, of the girl I used to be, a small caption reads:
The heiress to the throne was never accounted for after Varsha changed rulers. Many believe the princess was beheaded—privately, unlike her father—though several historians suggest she may have escaped.
Though I’d known all along that Oren suspected me, to have it confirmed shakes me. Why hasn’t he done anything about it?
I flip to the title page of this article he marked for me.
THE FALL OF THE EASTERN KINGDOM AND RISE OF A NEW VARSHA
By Oren Whitlock
Oren’s known all along. Since before Marin was captured, before he even asked me about my heritage that first night, when he saw the mark on my heel.
I read farther down.
It was upon my first walk through the palace that I overheard a whisper of rebellion from two of the king’s own palace guards. Though it probably was in Delmar’s best interest to keep quiet things that might help the Delmarion crown, I alerted the king of the unrest. Torn between my duties as an honest man and that of the Delmarion ambassador, I ultimately decided to leave the news out of my many letters to His Imperial Majesty, opting instead to assist the Varshan king in preparations against the upcoming rebellion.
Garden of Thorns Page 24
