Chapter Three

“Emilyn, dear! What are you doing up so late?” Iona, the cook, stood on the far side of the room, a candle in one hand and a knife in the other. She hastily replaced the blade in the knife block.

Emilyn dropped her leather bag to the floor behind a counter where Iona couldn't see it, glad she hadn't changed out of her night gown yet.

“Sorry to trouble you, but I woke up hungry. Do you mind if I have a snack?”

“Of course my dear! I remember when I was your age; growing like a weed and always hungry,” Iona smiled at Emilyn, who forced a laugh. “Would you like me to fix something for you darling or would you rather do it yourself?”

“Thank you, Iona. I can manage,” the last thing Emi wanted was the cook hanging over her shoulder while she pilfered dry goods from the kitchen stores.

“Alright dear. Here, I'll light you another candle. Good night,” Iona left the kitchen through the front door and out on to the covered walkway outside. Emi got to work.

The pantry was full of dried foodstuffs, as well as a quarter wheel of smoked cheese. Emilyn filled the remaining empty space in her sack with paper packets of noodles, nori, dried apricots, a few anpan buns, a hunk of cheese wrapped in wax paper, and several mutsu apples. The last thing she threw in was a water skin, filled to the brim. The less she had to buy out in the City, the better.

Emilyn blew out the candle before creeping outside to the moon-lit palace gardens. Her night gown offered little protection from the cold, but it shielded her from prying eyes. It was much easier to believe that a girl wearing a night robe was restless and went out for a stroll than one garbed like a burglar. The palace gardens were empty except for a few Mahru meditating under the cherry trees, but they were too focused on their breath to notice Emi padding across the grass in her sandals. Nonetheless, she kept to the shadows.

Finally she reached the palace gates. She told herself she was looking back to make sure the coast was clear, not because it could be the last time she ever saw of her childhood home. She had to keep moving.

The guards were posted at the gates, as always, but Emilyn wasn't concerned about them. They often dozed off during the night shift, and she knew another way around, anyway. To the left of the gates was a market place where citizens could come to sell their goods. The Mahru used a little-known passage to come in and out of the palace as they pleased, avoiding the queue of villagers coming to the temple in the morning. Glancing over her shoulder to confirm no one was watching, Emi slipped inside.

She took the opportunity to change her clothes. The reinforced zubon pants she had packed were perfect for riding, and hopefully in the dark people would mistake her for a boy. The passage opened up behind a copse of maple trees and shrubs that shielded the entrance from passersby on the road. The stables lay just up ahead.

Emilyn hated riding and she never felt comfortable perched a top a horse, but she had no choice tonight if she wanted to get away quickly. A lone person riding away at top speed in the middle of the night was sure to arouse suspicion, but by the time the stable boys had organized themselves and plucked up the courage to sound the alarm, she would be long gone.

The stable smelled sweet, like hay and oats. Emilyn walked down the aisle, examining the sleeping horses on either side, looking for one that looked calm enough for her to saddle and ride. She had just decided on a sleepy bay mare when she heard her father's voice.

“No, thank you. I'll ride bareback tonight,” his footsteps drew nearer. Emilyn was about to duck into a stall to hide when she saw a ladder leading to the hay loft. She clambered up and nestled herself in among the hay bales. The smell was overpowering, tickling her nose. She dared not breathe in case she sneezed.

“Here, Martyr. I brought an apple for you,” her father cooed to his beloved horse. He never spoke like that to anyone else, not even Willow.

Emilyn could hear the spoiled gelding munching on an apple and the scrape of the curry comb against Martyr's coat in the stall directly beneath her. Of course! Her father always went for a ride after an argument to calm himself down. Emi cursed herself silently for being so forgetful.

Buckles clanked as Master Koril arranged the bridle on his horse's muzzle. Emilyn's muscles were beginning to cramp from crouching there, unmoving, and her head was starting to spin from the lack of oxygen.

“Martyr has no water, boy. Are you going to fill it and keep it filled, or do I have to pound this bucket over your head so you remember?”

“Yes sir, right away sir!” the stable boy tripped over a broom in his rush to obey, not wanting to lose his job. Emilyn's face was turning a startling crimson colour. Hurry up! She willed her father to leave before she collapsed, gasping like a koi out of water. Finally the click of horse shoes on the stone floor signalled they had left. Emi waited a few moments more for the stable boy to finish sloshing water into the bucket and scurry back to his post before she began gulping air. She sat down and stretched, reaching her arms out to the sides.

Her fingers brushed against something warm and soft. If she hadn't been so out of breath she wouldn't have been able to stifle her scream.