Prisoner (The Scarred Mage of Roseward #2) - Sylvia Mercedes Page 0,102

other branches, she rested her head against the stone-like trunk, breathing deeply. When she could bear to look again, the newly grown branch was as thick around as her waist and stretched all the way to the windowsill.

The tree shuddered again. Then it swayed.

Her heart jumping, Nelle looked down and, to her horror, saw the three shadow-beings climbing slowly, ever so slowly, their long, many-jointed limbs reaching and searching for each handhold as they came.

She had to move. Now.

Nelle swung up onto the new branch. She stood, finding her balance, her bare toes clinging to the twisted, knotted contours of that limb. She’d walked many a narrow ridgepole in her day—but ridgepoles weren’t known for swaying so sickeningly. And it was a long way down.

Nelle looked. Just once more. Like Mother had taught her.

Looked and accepted the distance, the bone-crushing drop.

Then, once accepted, she locked the knowledge up in the back of her mind, faced ahead to the windowsill. Stepped out.

One step.

Two steps.

Three.

The shadow-beings were climbing faster now.

Four steps.

Five.

She reached the middle of the branch. Her arms extended to either side, her gaze fixed on her goal.

Six steps.

Seven.

Eight.

The tree uttered a terrible growl. Magic surged through the branch, under Nelle’s soles. The branch swayed dangerously, ready to send her flying.

With a gasping prayer, Nelle bent her knees and sprang for the windowsill just as the branch cracked and gave out beneath her. Just as the tree splintered at its core and collapsed with a horrible, ear-splitting roar, shattering the stone floor below and crushing the shadow-beings beneath it.

The whole hall quaked.

Nelle hung suspended from the windowsill with her upper arms and elbows hooked on the ledge, her body and legs kicking wildly over the drop. With a gasping sob, she heaved herself up onto the sill. It was narrower than she’d thought, but she managed to poise there. Though she didn’t want to, she peered back down at the wreckage of the poor tree-pillar.

The shadow-beings oozed out from broken lumps of stone and pulled themselves upright, shaking back into almost-human shapes.

“Bullspit!” Nelle hissed.

She sidled along the sill until she reached the frame, where she could stand and look out. The roof of a side building sloped not five feet below her. It was steep, but she should be able to scramble to its peak. She reached out, feeling for glass or some sort of resistance, but found only an enchantment of some kind, perhaps intended to keep out the wind. She could get through, no problem.

Crouching on the ledge, Nelle readied and sprang to the roof below. She landed too hard, her bones jarring at the impact. The rough roofing material—tile? stone?—tore at her hands and feet, her knees and elbows. The gash in her side flared with pain. But she didn’t fall. She kept her balance, suppressing the pain behind her clenched jaw.

Moving swiftly, she climbed on hands and knees, momentarily grateful for the huge slits in the skirt which afforded easy range of movement. An ugly chorus of baying filled her ears as she gained the peak of the roof and peered down into the courtyard below.

The pack of skull-dogs was up and milling around, howling their ugly heads off. Disturbed by the crash inside the hall, no doubt. The whole palace had probably heard it.

Great. Just great.

Nelle stood to hasten along the ridgepole, reached a twisted outcropping that might be a chimney of sorts, and took shelter behind it. Breathing hard, she took stock of her surroundings. The building she was currently on stood close to another that appeared to be near the boundary wall. Could she jump from one building to the next, then use the wall to reach the gate? Not without exposing herself to view on many sides.

What other choice did she have?

Edging out from behind the chimney, she eased her way down the steep roof slope to the very edge. No more than five feet of space separated this roof from the next. That wouldn’t be a problem ordinarily. But with this bleeding wound in her side . . .

Nelle grimaced and lowered her chin, trying to glimpse the ground below, but the darkness between the two buildings was too deep even for her magicked eyes. For all she knew, skull-dogs prowled there as well as in the open courtyard. Or more shadow-beings, mute but dogged in their search.

Probably wouldn’t make no difference, she thought grimly. A drop that far’ll kill you.

Nelle pressed a hand to her bleeding side. Then, inching back up