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.
Now to escape Garimore entirely.
She stole the first horse she found—a staid carriage horse standing in its stall behind an elegant mansion only a few blocks from the palace. She took a bridle, but nothing else, more concerned with distance than comfort. Her hopeful theory was that the Raven had tracked her by smell—given how often he seemed to be sniffing her. If she rode, he would be less likely to catch her scent, and if she changed horses often, it would confuse him further.
That first horse took her to the edge of Hanselm, where she traded it for a courier’s mount while he lounged inside an inn, drinking rather heavily for a man charged with delivering official messages.
She was in luck—the horse was fresh, and still carried the courier’s bags with all of his gear. There was a blanket, an oil-skin slicker, a tinderbox, and several other useful items that might have been packed specifically for her.
So she left him the carriage horse and hoped he would be drunk enough that it would take him till morning to notice that he’d been robbed.
Once mounted, Leisa turned her horse’s head north and carefully set aside every pain, every question, every regret. There was no room for second-guessing, no time to waver in her resolution. She would mourn Zander and the others after she returned to Farhall. After she was safe in the capital city of Arandar.
And she would eventually stop to wonder whether the Raven ever thought of her. Whether he would ever break free of his chains.
But she must not allow him to catch her. Everything depended on her ability to outrun him, and so outrun him she would. She tapped the horse’s side with her heels and urged him into a trot down the road and into the night.
Leisa alternated between walking and trotting until dawn began to lighten the sky, not willing to risk her horse’s legs by going any faster in the dark. But the moment she could make out any small variations in the road, she urged her mount into a ground-eating canter until he’d worked up a considerable sweat.
Then she dismounted, and they walked. Garimore was nearly flat farmland for miles in any direction, so it would not be difficult for any pursuer to spot her. Taking that into consideration, she knew it would be necessary to