Secrets of the Night Special Edition (59 page)

Stepping down, she nodded to herself. She could do it. She could escape.

Still, descending from her window to the courtyard below solved only one step of her scheme. She must also elude the outside sentries. Here, Radegunda's lessons in herbal treatment provided the answer: she would drug the men.

Hours later, confident the rest of the palace slept, she set out for the storage room, for once grateful she was relegated to the servants' staircase. In total blackness, she descended the three flights of slippery flagstone stairs, feeling her way with each step. By now familiar with the habits of the first floor's only guard, she knew he took several minutes to patrol the entire area. A few steps before reaching the first floor, she waited until she heard the sentry move off to the other end of the main hall. With one hand clutching the iron handrail, she pressed the other hand against the wall, the stone slimy beneath her fingers.

Once she reached the main floor, rushlights in iron sconces enabled her to see. Hugging the wall, she made her way the short length from the stairs to the storage room, and there, she tugged open the heavy oak door, praying she could elude the sentry.

Darkness cloaked the huge storage room, only the dim hall light providing illumination. Leaving the door slightly ajar, she waited a few minutes for her eyes to adjust to the blackness; then the room's multitude of boxes and crates gradually came into focus. She moved about in the semi-darkness, touching crates and sidestepping barrels as she shuffled over to a far corner to retrieve the rope. Rats scuttled across the floor, spider webs draping the corners.

Rope in hand, she prepared to-- Booted footsteps rang on the flagstone floor of the main hall. No! A stab of fear knifed through her, and she ducked behind a large crate. Her heart pounded so loud, she heard each beat in her eardrums.

"Who's there?" the sentry barked by the open door. There's one thing that's gone wrong, she lamented. What if he found her here? Her mind worked frantically, devising a plausible reason.

A ring of steel pealed in the darkness. Sword in hand, he stepped inside the room, shoving boxes and crates aside. His head turned from side to side, his footsteps sounding like thunder in the room's silence.

Keriam crouched behind a crate, every muscle tense, holding her breath until she feared her lungs would burst. Countless moments dragged past, a torture of waiting. After what seemed like hours but was probably only minutes, he left, closing the door behind him.

What could she do now? She didn't dare get up to see if the guard had left, for he might have remained close by. Cramped muscles plagued her, and she changed her position, still fearful to leave. Absolute blackness surrounded her. Nothing but silence enclosed her in the dreary room. A spider crawled across her bare arm, and with a shudder, she flung it away.

Tempted to cry from disappointment, she sensed the passage of time and realized she couldn't escape this night. Too much time had elapsed, and she chided herself for waiting too long before her trip to the storage room. Convinced the guard had left, she unwound from her stiff position, her muscles cramping, her fingers tingling. She dragged the rope from the room, finding it heavier than she had imagined. Midway up the first flight of stairs, she paused to rest, then stopped occasionally until she reached her room, where she shoved the rope under the bed. Already, dawn lightened the sky. Now, she must face the same agony of waiting the next day.

Performing her duties as if her life remained the same--as if she wasn't planning one of the greatest moves in her life--proved a challenge every minute of the following day. Was Kormlada giving her distrustful glances? Keriam agonized while she peeled potatoes. Did the outside guards observe her every movement while she worked in the herb garden, as though they expected her to flee from the grounds any minute?

And the visitors! They spilled out from the Blue Reception Room, filling the main hall, arriving by the back entrance, coming and going at all hours, as Kormlada had predicted. Keriam stayed out of their way, fearful someone would recognize her. Balor and Aradia had spread the rumor that the princess was too disturbed to rule and had to be confined to her room. And now, word was there would be a grand dinner for all the guests tomorrow evening. Keriam had no intention of staying around for that.

That night became a repeat of the previous one, a long trek down the servants' stairs, this time to the kitchen, evading royal guests along the way. Surely with the nights becoming cooler now, the guards would appreciate a mug of hot tea. And if she added a sedative--only enough to put them to sleep for a few hours--she could escape undetected.

Inside the kitchen, darkness greeted her again, but she felt her way past the tables, counters, and stools, familiar with the complete layout of the room. Even from here, she heard the talk and laughter of the guests in the main hall. She stopped by the hearth, where a few embers still burned, and an iron cauldron hung from a hook. She blew on the embers, and wisps of smoke soon curled up from the hearth as a cluster of orange flames blossomed among the logs. Accidentally brushing her hand against the cauldron, she jerked her burnt fingers back. At least it wouldn't take long for the water to boil, she mused as she retrieved nine mugs from a shelf on the other side of the room.

Now for the herbs . . . Since Radegunda had left with only her clothes, not being permitted to take anything else, the herbs and crushed flowers remained on the stillroom shelves, each jar neatly labeled. It took several tries for Keriam to find the jar of crushed poppies, for each time she had to hold a jar by the hearth fire to read the label. Steam rose from the cauldron, heating her face. She strained to lift the pot, then poured the water into the waiting mugs, along with a spicy tea from a kitchen shelf. Now to measure the correct amount of crushed poppies . . . Her hands shook and she knocked a large stirring spoon onto the stone floor, the sound magnified inside the quiet room.

The outside door burst open, and a guard rushed inside. Keriam jumped, but quickly relaxed and fixed a calm expression on her face.

"I heard noise," he said, "something breaking? And pr–madam, may I ask what you are

doing here this late hour of the night?"

She eased in front of the counter where the mugs waited. "Since the weather is turning cooler, and I couldn’t sleep, I decided to make myself a cup of tea. I accidentally knocked something to the floor." She affected a coquettish look. "Would you and the other guards like a cup of tea?"

"Why, that's mighty thoughtful of you." He nodded. "Tea sounds like a good idea."

"Only wait a few minutes outside, and I'll have the tea ready for you and the others."

As he closed the door behind him, Keriam breathed a long sigh of relief. Lips pursed in concentration, she measured out the necessary amount of poppy. She added this to the hot water and spicy tea and waited a few minutes, then grabbed a wooden tray from another shelf. Leaving the door open, she set the heavy mugs on the tray. The mugs started to slip, but she caught the tray in time and stepped out of the warm kitchen.

Outside, a cool wind lifted her hair from her shoulders and molded her dress to her body. Shawlless, she shivered in the cold, the tray shaking, jiggling the mugs. She followed the stone courtyard until she found the back sentries and asked them to fetch the others. Shortly after, the other guards joined them.

"Ah, madam." A sentry reached for a mug. "Just what we need on a night like this."

Another raised the mug to his mouth.

"Drink it slowly," Keriam advised. "I'm afraid it's quite hot."

"Very good, madam. I feel warmer already."

Let's hope you feel sleepy soon.
Bidding them all goodnight, Keriam headed back inside to the kitchen and set the tray on a counter. So much for that part of the plan . . . if it worked.

Taking the three flights of stairs in the dark, she tripped and fell in her haste, bruising her hands and shins. She brushed her hands off and returned to her room, there to wait for an endless time, each minute an hour. A breeze blew through her open window, and she shivered with cold and worry. Had the poppy taken effect already? If given in the right amount, it shouldn't take long for the flower to work. But had she given the guards enough . . . or too much?

Convinced adequate time had elapsed, she pushed the bed against the wall and tied the rope securely around a bed leg, then pulled the rope hard to test its hold. Her heart beat frantically with the passing time, her teeth chattering. With a silent thanks to the Goddess that her bedchamber faced away from the stables, she prayed she'd escape undetected.

She gathered up a small cloth bag she'd filched from the storage room days ago, her few possessions making it light and easy to manage; then she tied its end strips around her neck and stepped onto the bed. A few days ago, she had sewn her amethyst ring in the hem of her dress, something valuable she'd always have with her, to pawn if necessary.

Now comes the tricky part, she fretted, afraid of losing her courage. She thrust one leg out the window and then the other, onto the ledge that extended out from the palace wall, a ledge that provided enough room for her to sit. She held on tight to the windowsill with her left hand, the rope with her right. The wind picked up, swirling her hair, whipping her dress around her body. Gripping the rope with both hands now, she eased off the window ledge and down the rope.

She stared down to the ground below and swallowed hard.
Don't look down.
She'd never make it if she did.

Grasping the rope, she descended, foot by foot. What if someone discovered her? But no, she'd make it. She
would
escape. The rough rope chafed her bruised hands, but she ignored the pain.

What if the rope slipped from her hands and she fell all the way to the bottom? What if the sentries awoke and came after her? I'm not going to make it, she agonized while the wind buffeted her and fears wracked her brain. Despite her vow not to, she looked down again. Such a long drop! She focused on the palace wall, anything to divert her mind from the distance. Her hand and arm muscles ached, the rope slippery in her moist hands.

After an eternity, she reached the ground . . . and found someone waiting for her.

Aradia.

Chapter Nineteen

Agonizing over Princess Keriam, Radegunda could scarcely focus on her customers, especially since her keen intuition hinted that the princess might attempt an escape very soon. Before leaving the palace, Radegunda had snitched a handkerchief the princess had left in the kitchen during one of their herbal lessons. From time to time, she fingered the scrap of linen, thus enabling her to perceive how the princess fared. She found the answer depressing, indeed. Visions of Princess Keriam peeling potatoes in the kitchen or pulling weeds in the garden sent her spirits diving.
Ah, madam, that it should come to this
.

For reasons Radegunda couldn't explain, many details of the princess's life remained hazy, or worse, out of reach, creating an additional worry.

After the store closed, she trod the stairs to her left, then opened the door to her small apartment. There, she eased out a dresser drawer, and reaching under her nightgown and shift, retrieved Keriam's handkerchief. Do you have good news for me, madam? she asked, sitting on the bed.
Have you escaped your prison
? No escape for her yet, she realized after a few despairing moments. A vision of the princess pacing the floor of her solitary room sank into the witch's consciousness. She wondered what that image meant.

Fears about the princess kept her awake for hours, a time of tossing and turning in her narrow bed. In the early hours of the morning, she sighed with exasperation and threw back her covers to rise from the bed. She retrieved the handkerchief from the drawer again and touched its soft fabric.

She closed her eyes as fresh pictures flashed in her brain. Ah! She saw the princess lowering herself on a rope, much time passing before she reached the ground below.

She saw--No! Aradia waited at the bottom, but after a long moment, the sorceress shimmered and disappeared. Frowning, Radegunda opened her eyes. What did the vision mean? Surely Aradia's appearance was a false picture, meaning nothing. But if not? For the first time in years, Radegunda prayed to the Earth-mother Goddess.
Talmora, please keep the princess safe
.

* * *

Keriam landed on the walk and released the rope, the heavy cordage swinging back and forth, bumping against the palace wall. She flexed her sore fingers, hoping Radegunda would have a soothing lotion for her bruised and burned hands. But that was the least of her problems. Drawing a deep breath, she turned . . . and saw Aradia. In a black nightdress, the sorceress stared at her, her eyes cold and calculating, a sly smile on her face. After all she'd been through--all her planning, stealing the rope, drugging the guards, then her dangerous descent from the fourth floor--was this where it all ended?

No! Hatred burned within her, deep and merciless. Keriam clenched her hands, her fingers itching to strangle the woman. A dagger glinting in her hand, the sorceress lunged for her. Stifling a scream, Keriam dashed away. She tripped and fell on the gravel, her breath coming hard and fast, her heart thudding. She jumped to her feet and looked behind her--and Aradia faded away. Weak with relief, Keriam knew she mustn't linger, for fear she'd see Aradia in the flesh. Did the vision of Aradia mean that the sorceress was having one of her own nightly journeys, when her spirit floated free? No, more likely her fears had created this image of the sorceress. Never mind the cause! No time to lose!