since he was just on the other side of the battlements now, she was afraid even switching hands would draw his attention. When she felt like her hand was about to give out, she forced herself to look down at the sixty feet of empty air between her dangling boots and the unforgiving cobblestones beneath. The resulting surge of terror was enough to keep her hand in place until she heard the guard say, “Strange…,” and then make his way back in the other direction. She quickly switched hands, but then waited until she could no longer smell him before hauling herself up onto the battlements.
She allowed herself a moment to regain feeling in her hands, then rolled onto the other side of the battlements, where she crouched among the remaining crates. Such meager concealment wouldn’t be enough to hide her from the guard on his return trip. She would have to figure out her next move quickly.
She scanned the layout of the garrison below. Four buildings in total, all made of wood in the imperial style, although not painted brightly like the buildings inside the city. One building seemed to be a barracks, judging by the soldiers who were beginning to emerge. Local boys for the most part, still shirtless in the cold morning air as they smoked a pipe or splashed some water on their faces from the well. It was strange to see Izmorozian men without beards, but imperial soldiers were required to be clean-shaven.
The second building was likely the mess hall, judging by the chimney that already belched out thick clouds of smoke as the cooks made what was no doubt the massive amount of food required to keep so many soldiers alive.
She guessed the third building to be storage, or perhaps an armory, because of the lack of windows. That left the fourth and largest building. She saw a few officers enter and leave, so she suspected it might serve as officers’ quarters, and perhaps a strategy center for the garrison. But it was also large enough that it could serve other purposes, such as a brig or place to keep valued prisoners. She would check that building first.
A wooden scaffolding with stairs had been lashed to the outside of the eastern wall, no doubt to allow the patrol guards to reach the top more easily. The sides were covered in sheets of leather canvas to keep the snow from building up, but they also allowed Sonya to reach the ground without being spotted. From there, it was a simple matter of slipping between buildings and avoiding the early risers in an army that was only now beginning to wake up around her.
Once she reached the building, she used her knife to pry open a window, then slipped into what appeared to be an officer’s living quarters. It was fairly unadorned, with a wardrobe, a writing desk, and a bed that still had a middle-aged Aureumian man asleep on it. The man’s mouth was open in a snore, and Sonya was tempted to stick something up his nose or draw a silly mustache on his face with a piece of charcoal before she moved on. But she resisted the impulse, feeling certain Mikhail would have called that a sign of maturity.
She crept silently past the sleeping officer and out into the hallway. After checking several other rooms, she determined that the whole wing was probably dedicated to officers’ quarters. She was just about to try her luck in a different part of the building when she glanced into one of the open doors and saw a familiar blond head.
Her brother was not trapped in some horrifying torture chamber or prison, but in a comfortable officer’s quarters without even a locked door. He sat at the desk with his back to the door, examining a piece of parchment.
Why was he just sitting there? Maybe the imperial soldiers had stashed their mother away somewhere to ensure he wouldn’t try to escape. Even so, as she watched her brother carefully examine his parchment, he seemed surprisingly calm. She wondered if he knew their father was dead. If not, she didn’t relish being the one to tell him. He was such a crybaby…
But first things first. Before she told him the bad news and reduced him to a puddle of sobbing goo, she had to get him out of there.
“Don’t worry, I’m here, little brother,” she announced briskly as she entered the room. “Let’s find Mom and get out.”
“Yasha?”