The audacity of that man!
Everly is still out there somewhere, and Hector will not help me look for her.
Anger floods through me as I scowl at the door with all my pent-up emotions. “Curse you, door. You are nothing more than dust!”
ChapterFour
Of course, the door doesn’t turn to dust. It doesn’t even creak or groan. After all, I have never actually cursed a non-living thing before.
I sink to the edge of the bed and let out a quick breath. The only way I’m going to leave this room is if I grow wings and fly out of the window. If only I had that ability.
Calm down.
You cannot afford to panic right now.
Find a way out of this predicament.
I take a steadying breath and look around the room until my eyes settle on a small, rusty nail sticking out from the wall above the bed. It’s barely noticeable, but it gives me an idea.
The bed creaks as I stand on it to reach the nail. I’m able to wiggle the rusty thing back and forth enough to loosen it and pull it out of the wall. It isn’t much, but it will do.
I move to the door handle and pick at the lock. It takes time and patience, but eventually it clicks, and I push the door open. Nerves tighten in my throat as I peek out, making sure no one is nearby, before stepping into the hallway.
My heart races as I pull the shawl down, so it covers most of my face and head toward the stairs, but when footsteps approach, I quickly duck into a nearby room and hide behind a wooden chest. Once they fade, I continue down the stairs and into the main room. To my disappointment, I discover Bloodstone warriors stationed at the door.
I bite the inside of my lip and slip into a chair, trying to blend in as I think of a way through those guards.
Think, Sol.
My attention slides to the guards, to their armor and weapons. It would be impossible to take them on by myself, so I will need to outsmart them.
My pulse thunders in my ears as I glance around the room, searching for something to aid me. I find nothing. There is little of use here unless you are eating, drinking, or serving.
“Get you something to drink, love?”
I look over my shoulder at a middle-aged woman wiping her hands on her apron.
“Something to drink?” she repeats.
“No,” I say, knowing I have no coin.
“Suit yourself.” She shrugs, goes to the table near mine, and loads an obscene number of dirty bowls and goblets on a tray. Inwardly, I shake my head. How many times did I try to load up a tray like that when I worked at the alehouse? One time, I dropped the entire thing and lost a week’s worth of wages. After that, I was happy to take smaller trips to and from the kitchen.
The serving woman grunts as she hoists the tray onto her shoulder and walks by me to the back of the room, presumably to the kitchen.
Perfect.
I bolt up and rush to her side, putting a hand on her arm.
“Let me help you,” I offer.
She beams a smile at me. “Well, aren’t you a dear?”
Skillfully, I reach up and grab most of the goblets, expertly arranging them in tall stacks. Stacks that hide my face and part of my torso. “Lead the way.”
The woman weaves through the tables, navigating past a rowdy group, indulging in too much ale. She holds the kitchen door open for me, and as I pass through, I peer between the stacks to ensure I won’t collide with anything.
“Right there will be fine,” she says.
