by Effie Calvin
“I was just offering my condolences—” Vitaliya began.
“Shut up.” Netheia ran her tongue over her teeth. “Don’t think I won’t kill you too. Don’t think I’m afraid of a war with Vesolda. Personally, I’d love a reason to take it back—”
“Is this necessary?” interrupted Ioanna.
“You shut up too!” Netheia jabbed her sword in Ioanna’s direction in the same way a tutor might use a pointer to emphasize a lesson. Ioanna did not flinch. “I don’t want to kill you if I don’t have to. No, that’s not what I mean. I mean, Mother would rather me not kill you. And I don’t want to hear about it for the next thirty years. So, I’m trying it this way first.”
Vitaliya moved further back, further into the enormous room. Her eyes fell, once again, on the open windows. If she could get to one… If she could get through one…
It certainly wouldn’t be the first time Vitaliya had escaped out a window.
“You don’t deserve this.” Netheia advanced on Ioanna at a leisurely pace. The elder princess did not move. Nothing affected her. “Even you know it. The empire is meant for me. You can go join the temple or something. Like you’ve always wanted. I won’t bother you, and you won’t bother me.”
Ioanna still didn’t reply.
“I’m being very generous,” Netheia added. “More generous than you deserve.”
“And what about her?” Ioanna tilted her head in Vitaliya’s direction.
“I haven’t decided yet.” A smile crept across Netheia’s lips. “I wonder how much King Marcius will pay in ransom. Or maybe I’ll execute her. Start a war. Take Vesolda back by force. The world is so full of possibilities, isn’t it?”
Ioanna moved, so lightning fast not even Netheia could respond in time to stop her. She was moving toward the window, having apparently had the same idea as Vitaliya. One arm caught Vitaliya around the waist, pulling her along. When they reached the windowsill, Ioanna did not hesitate. She flung herself, and Vitaliya, over the edge.
Vitaliya screamed. Climbing out a window was one thing; hurling oneself out of it was quite another. And they were high up enough that the landing was not going to be pleasant, unless—
Ioanna stretched her arm out toward the approaching ground. Golden light sprang from her hand, and Vitaliya flinched, expecting it to burn when they inevitably collided with it.
But it did not burn. It was warm, certainly, but nothing resembling the descriptions of righteous celestial fire that featured so prominently in stories. And it was soft, too, like a cushion made of light.
A moment later, the princesses struck the ground. It wasn’t a gentle landing, but Ioanna’s shield took the worst of the shock out of it. Vitaliya turned her face up to the window they’d fallen from. Decima stared down at them, looking about as surprised as Vitaliya felt.
“Are you all right?” asked Ioanna.
“I think so—”
“Come on.” Ioanna grabbed Vitaliya by the arm, nearly dragging her to her feet. Vitaliya had no idea what Netheia was complaining about; Ioanna seemed like a model Xytan woman to her. “Before the guards come after us.”
“But where—” Vitaliya looked over her shoulder at the palace. “I left all my things—”
“That’s not important right now.”
Maybe it wasn’t, but Vitaliya wasn’t sure how far they’d get with only the clothes on their backs and whatever coins happened to be in their pockets. Ioanna continued to pull her along, veering into an area where life-size statues and untrimmed fruit trees shielded them from view.
The Imperial Palace was massive, at least twice the size of her father’s castle at Bergavenna. They hurried deeper and deeper into the gardens, to areas Vitaliya had never seen before. The quality of the gardeners’ work deteriorated the further away they moved from the palace, and Vitaliya found herself stumbling over loose stones and fallen branches while overgrown brambles caught on her sleeves and tore at the fabric.
But Ioanna was still moving, her face pinched and determined. “There’s exits hidden all over the grounds,” she muttered to Vitaliya. “I’ll find us one.”
Noise rose behind them—Netheia’s soldiers were searching for them. They reached the high wall surrounding the palace grounds. The exterior side was kept clean and bright, and Vitaliya had been impressed by it when she’d first entered the city. But inside the wall was discolored and overgrown with an array of different plants, so thick in places that it seemed the wall itself had been shaped from greenery rather than stones.
Somehow, Ioanna found a door in the mess. Vitaliya didn’t spot it at first, not even when Ioanna put her hands on it, for it was so covered in plants. Ioanna struggled to reach the ancient handle without gouging her hand on the sharp thorns wrapped around it.
“Here, let me,” said Vitaliya, calling her own magic to her hands. Green light, Eyvindr’s blessing, flickered at her fingertips.
The brambles were old and stubborn and did not want to move for Vitaliya. No gardener had ever tended them, and so it took some coaxing before they parted, leaving the door exposed. Unfortunately, Vitaliya could now see it was kept sealed by heavy chains and a large lock.
But Ioanna took the lock in her hands and pulled. It was more rust than metal, and after only a moment, it snapped. At the same time, a few of the chain links broke too.
“Lucky you haven’t had any assassins,” observed Vitaliya.
“Assassins come in through the front door,” Ioanna replied.
Outside the wall, thankfully, there was not a bustling street. Instead, they found a quiet alley. Given the amount of refuse piled up, it was almost hard to believe they stood in the shadow of the palace wall. Vitaliya stumbled over a few empty sacks, which had been stacked haphazardly here and there. A few rotted boxes were beginning to collapse on themselves, and quick movement caught her eye for just a moment—mice, or probably rats. Ioanna closed the door behind them, breathing deeply.
“If we’re quick, we might be able to get out of Xyuluthe before Netheia realizes we’re not in the palace anymore.” Ioanna began to undo the complicated braids her hair had been woven into, running her fingers through them so her curls fell free. “Put your jewelry in your pockets. We don’t want to appear too wealthy. And stay near to me—I might need your help.”
“I don’t know the city very well.” Vitaliya hadn’t spent any significant amount of time outside the palace since her arrival. But Ioanna shook her head.
“If I get a headache…if there’s too many people, or if it’s too loud…just grab my arm and get me somewhere quiet. Don’t let me sit down.”
Vitaliya was not sure what to make of this, but she nodded. She had no intention of staying in the city for a moment longer than she had to.
Chapter Three
IOANNA
Xyuluthe was an enormous city, but Ioanna had spent very little time exploring it. Even if she’d been inclined to—which she was not—she was not permitted to go beyond the Great Temples, which were all clustered near the palace.
She’d studied maps of the city, usually in the context of which areas were easiest to defend, and which directions an invading army might want to approach from. She’d been told from an early age there were many secret ways out, but she did not need to know them because someone would guide her there if the time ever came.
Ioanna had detected some of these secret paths without aid over the years. Hidden things tended to draw her attention, though in a softer way than lies and deception did. Most of the paths within the palace went downward into the sewers, and presumably let out near the river. Ioanna had never ventured all the way to the end of one, fearing she’d become lost and not be able to find her way back.
And of course, there were the forgotten doors all over the palace grounds like the one she and Vitaliya had slipped through. A more adventurous princess might have used these to elude her guards and run all over the city. But the city was so loud, and so full of people lying to one another. Ioanna saw no reason t
o subject herself to that.
If they kept to the quiet places, the narrow streets and darker alleys, they would miss the worst of the crowds. Open markets were to be avoided at all costs, for she knew the tiny lies told by the vendors regarding the quality and freshness of their wares would pile on her until she was nearly blind with pain.
Robbers might lurk in the shadowy places, but Ioanna knew her blessing would be enough to frighten them off if they tried a direct approach. Still, Iolar’s magic was rare in Xyuluthe. Once the word got out that Netheia was searching for her, using her blessing would be as good as writing her own name across her forehead.
The road in front of them was quiet, but Ioanna could hear voices from the next street over. She wondered if news of her father’s death had spread beyond the palace yet. Maybe whispers, maybe rumors, but nothing substantiated. Not until her mother made a public address.
“How are we going to get out of here?” asked Vitaliya in a low voice.
“The east gate. It’s nearest to here, I think.”
“And after that, where will we go?”
“Oredia.”
Vitaliya looked confused. “Where is that?”
“North of here. Three days’ travel by carriage.”
“But you have allies there?” Vitaliya persisted.
“I suppose you could call her that,” said Ioanna. “Oredia is the home of my grandmother, Irianthe Isinthi. The former empress. She won’t let Netheia kill me, and I’m sure she’ll be able to get you passage back to Vesolda too.”
“Oh. Yes.” But Vitaliya bit her lower lip. “I was actually thinking I’d go to Ibaia, though.”
“Ibaia? Whatever for?”
“Now I need a reason?” Vitaliya sighed. “Though I suppose since I’ve lost all my things, I might as well go home. Ugh. Maybe I’ll stay in Oredia for a few weeks instead.”
“I imagine your family will be worried once they receive news of what happened.”
“Let them worry! Anyway, you can’t mean to walk all the way to Oredia. We’ll never get there before Netheia finds us.”
“If we ride, we might be able to make it in two days,” said Ioanna. “But I don’t know if we can afford to purchase horses with only our jewelry.”
“Buy a peasant’s dress, and sell the one you’re wearing,” advised Vitaliya. “And I’ll do the same. They might not give us a fair price since we’re in a hurry, but at least we’ll be less conspicuous. And it will get us some coins.”
Ioanna looked down at her dress. She certainly owned nicer ones, but Vitaliya had a point. Anyone who saw her would know she’d come from the palace. “I’d hoped to avoid the merchants.”
“What for?”
Ioanna could not possibly explain. She’d kept her blessing a secret from the world for such a long time; the very idea of telling Vitaliya filled her with panic. She knew Vesoldans lacked the fervent devotion to Reygmadra that had marred Ioanna’s childhood, but she still could not guess how Vitaliya would react. Even if she was not disgusted, she might be frightened and turn her in to Netheia. Or worse, seek to use Ioanna as a pawn in Vesoldan politics.
“I’d just hoped we might leave the city quickly,” Ioanna said weakly. As far as lies went, this one was benign. Nevertheless, uttering the words still made her forehead ache briefly.
“Leaving quickly won’t matter if they catch us before sunset,” asserted Vitaliya. “Trust me, I know all about running away from things. If we leave without supplies or disguises or anything, we’ll be sorry later.”
“We don’t have time to commission dresses.”
“We don’t have to. You can buy them ready-made from shops, you know! That’s what the ordinary people do!” Vitaliya began to look around. “We might have to find a livelier area, though. I think this is residential.”
Ioanna allowed Vitaliya to link their elbows together and pull her along. Vitaliya was already smiling like she considered this more of a silly misadventure than a potential life-and-death matter. Maybe, to her, it was.
As they made their way to the more crowded areas, Ioanna braced herself for pain, the sort that always overcame her whenever she walked into a party or even a too-crowded room. But either the common people of Xyuluthe were feeling particularly pious today, or they were simply less inclined to lie to one another than the nobles were. After a moment, her shoulders relaxed.
Ioanna considered herself fortunate she didn’t leave the palace frequently enough for most citizens to recognize her face. Everyone knew Netheia, for she was always riding about with her friends, sparring publicly, and participating in athletic events. Ioanna was not nearly so sociable. When people did pause to look at them, their eyes lingered on Vitaliya—whether because of her Vesoldan clothing or pretty face, Ioanna did not know.
After a bit of searching, Vitaliya pulled Ioanna into a dressmaker’s shop. As Ioanna stared around at the interior, marveling at how much had been crammed into such a tiny space, Vitaliya shouted happy greetings to the shopkeeper and her assistants, so familiar that for a moment Ioanna wondered if Vitaliya had come here before. But no, she’d said she didn’t know the city.
Ioanna had always envied people like Vitaliya, who could greet strangers like they were old friends and be met with equal enthusiasm. There was a sort of magic in it—though her mother always said anyone could do it, if they put the effort in.
Ioanna couldn’t detect a lie in that statement, but that didn’t necessarily mean it was true. It might only mean Enessa believed it wholeheartedly.
“We’re here to sell our dresses, and buy new ones,” Vitaliya announced to the entire shop. One of her hands wrapped around Ioanna’s waist, and she pulled her close. Ioanna made a sound of surprise, but Vitaliya didn’t appear to notice. “My love and I are running away. Her father has ordered her to be married in a week to a man she hates. To a man we both hate. We need disguises.”
Ioanna closed her eyes. The lie was silly and didn’t pain her as badly as the ones she heard so frequently at home.
“We’re going to run away to the south and become—” Vitaliya paused, though Ioanna wasn’t sure if this was for dramatic effect, or simply because she hadn’t yet thought of an occupation. “—fishermen. Fisherwomen. We’ll build a little hut from driftwood and trade with the mer for sunken treasure.”
Ioanna did not know if the seamstresses truly believed Vitaliya’s tale, or if they were simply indulging the wealthy noblewomen that had entered their humble shop. Ioanna supposed it did not really matter. The assistants began to select dresses from the racks, and Ioanna could see they were very nearly finished, with only the hems in the sleeves and skirts left unsewn, so they might be fitted to whoever purchased them.
At the same time, the head seamstress took the heavy fabric of Ioanna’s skirt in her hands, feeling its weight and quality. Her face grew dark with concern. “I cannot buy this from you. There is not enough money in this shop.”
It was not a lie. Ioanna, who had been fully prepared for the shopkeepers to attempt to cheat them, found herself so taken aback she could not think of a reply.
“That’s all right. I expected that,” interrupted Vitaliya brightly. “Just give us what you can.”
Ioanna knew she was thin by Xytan standards. She had neither muscle like Netheia, nor curves like Vitaliya. Servants were always leaving dishes beside her while she read, or worked, as though they were afraid she might starve to death unless they took an active role in things. Whenever she had to visit the palace dressmaker, they tutted and fretted and poked and mumbled.
But these women did not comment on Ioanna’s shape, or lack thereof. They brought out dresses of varying lengths, including the ankle-length ones worn by richer women or those who worked indoors, and the knee-length garments soldiers and workers wore. Ioanna instinctively reached for the more familiar design, but Vitaliya said, “You might want the shorter kind if we’re going to be riding.”
Ioanna didn’t particularly want to show her knees to the entire
world, but Vitaliya seemed to know what she was talking about, so she picked a shorter garment, simple and without any ornamentation, save that it had been dyed sage green. Even the customary belt at her waist was nearer to a piece of rope than a girdle. Paired with her sandals, she thought she looked like a messenger, one of those young people who ran all over the city delivering packages or letters. They were frequently small and skinny too.
Vitaliya’s dress was white, accentuating her deep-olive skin. Her shoes, silk Vesoldan slippers, did not at all match and would be a poor choice for traveling, so one of the assistants went scurrying out to find a pair of boots. Vitaliya also asked for traveling cloaks and rucksacks to carry their things.
The cloaks were made of heavy wool, and while it was probably too warm out to wear them right now, Ioanna knew she’d be grateful for them at night once the sun went down. As they waited for Vitaliya’s boots, Ioanna tried not to appear too tense. But she could not keep her eyes off the door, expecting soldiers to burst in at any moment, swords gleaming, to drag her back to Netheia.
The seamstresses were cheerful, though. Maybe they were already thinking of how rich they’d be once they sold Ioanna’s dress, but it seemed to her they were genuinely untroubled. Clearly, no rumors of her father’s death or Ioanna’s subsequent flight from the palace had managed to reach them yet.
Besides, the shop was a curious sort of place. It was nothing like the beautiful rooms of the palace dressmaker, orderly and pristine. Bolts of fabric were stacked nearly high enough to brush the ceiling, and Ioanna kept well away from these towers for fear they might come crashing down on her head. Countless threads were underfoot, and when the light caught them the right way, dropped pins gleamed.
Finally, the boots were delivered, and Ioanna and Vitaliya emerged into the daylight once more. Ioanna glanced around for soldiers but saw only a single member of the city watch, leaning against a wall and staring off into the middle distance. He’d received no orders from the palace—or if he had, he wasn’t expecting to spot a runaway princess during his shift.
