The room was on the second story above a narrow alley, and the ground below was terrifyingly far away. But not as terrifying as what she’d face if she stayed.
Shoving the crusts of bread and scraps of gristle from Killian’s plate into her pocket, she tied the edge of the blanket to the bed frame and dangled the end out the window. It came nowhere near the ground, but it might get her close enough that she wouldn’t break an ankle in the fall. Standing on the bed, she eased herself onto the frame. One hand on the sill and the other gripping the fabric, she lowered herself until she was dangling in the air.
The door handle rattled. “Gods-damn it, girl!”
Heart pounding, Lydia let go of the frame and slid down the blanket, hands burning from the friction. Then the knot holding the blanket to the bed gave way and she was falling.
Her heels slammed against the ground and she toppled onto her bottom, spine shuddering. Wood cracked and splintered, and a second later Killian was looking down at her.
“I’m not a liar!” she shouted at him.
Inexplicably, his face blanched, but then he disappeared back into the room, boot steps thundering against the wooden floor, clearly intent on chasing her down.
Leaping to her feet, Lydia bolted down the alley and out onto the street. It was crowded, and she resisted the urge to push—that would only draw more attention. Turning into another alley, she broke into a sprint, dodging stacked baskets and crates, feet sliding in the slick refuse. She ran through the twisting route, pausing only when crossing a roadway where she would walk sedately and then pick up speed when she was once again out of sight. She ran until she couldn’t breathe; then she collapsed onto an overturned crate, chest heaving, listening for sounds of pursuit. But there was only the hum of people going about their business.
Leaning against the cool stone of a building, Lydia took a deep breath, watching as the fresh abrasions on her feet sealed over, fading from red to pink to white until the only signs they’d been there at all were the still-drying smears of blood. It made her skin crawl, and she turned her face to the sky, trying to maintain control of the panic bubbling up in her veins.
Focus.
Lodging had to be her first priority—after last night, Lydia had no interest in being on the streets when darkness fell. Except that required coin and she had none. Extracting a crust of toast from her pocket, she nibbled on it while considering her options. She could try to steal, but given her nonexistent pickpocketing experience, that was unlikely to go well. With her luck, she’d end up in prison.
“Or you could open your eyes, you idiot,” she said aloud, the solution to her problem glittering in the black diamond on one of her fingers. The ring had been a gift from her father when she’d turned fifteen. It was deeply precious to her, especially now that it was the last link she had to him. Her father who might well already be dead from Vibius’s poison.
The thought stole the breath from her chest, especially knowing that he would’ve died believing she’d fled. Parting with the ring would hurt, but he’d want her to do it. Especially if it meant getting herself home to help those she’d left behind.
“I’m coming, Teriana,” she muttered. “Don’t give up yet.”
21
KILLIAN
Killian shouldered past Bercola, sprinting to the staircase. He grabbed hold of the twin newel-posts, but rather than launching himself downwards, he rested his weight on his arms, letting his legs swing back and forth as he reconsidered the chase. Making a decision, he lowered his feet onto the top step.
“What in the fiery depths of the underworld do you think you’re doing?” Bercola demanded from behind him.
“Did any of the girls see her last night?” Killian asked, ignoring Bercola’s question even as he pondered whether the guards at the gate had gotten a good look at her. Too dark, he decided. Never mind that half of them had cataracts.
“No, so if you don’t catch her now, she’s lost.” Bercola gave him a shove, nearly sending him tumbling down the stairs.
“Better lost than found,” he said, recovering his balance.
“You’re a block-brained idiot!” Bercola’s face was purpling. “There is no way we can keep this quiet. I haven’t any doubt that half the city already knows about your late-night adventure and the mystery healer who saved