Sora's Quest (4 page)

This was it. Now she would have to run away. Nobility be damned! There was no way she could show her face again before the Second Tier.
Bad luck,
she thought.
Worst luck of all.
Forget marrying into city nobility. She would be surprised if she got a suit from the horsemaster's son....

Then she blinked. Was it her imagination, or had she seen something move beyond the distant glass of the skylight? A shooting star, a cloud, or some sign from the Goddess....?

One second later, the world shattered.

Her father's grumbling voice was suddenly cut off by an ear-splitting
crashhhh!
The skylight exploded into a million pieces. Glass shards, some as sharp and heavy as swords, rained down on the ballroom.

Sora's mouth opened. She could scarcely breathe.

There was instant chaos. The guests screamed and dove in every direction, squeezing under tables and dodging the deadly glass rain; servants dashed around, trying to escape. Men collided into each other, women tripped over their hems, screaming at the top of their lungs.

Ironically, the calming potion decided to kick in again, and Sora found herself distant and fuzzy as she looked up at the broken skylight. She felt dreamlike. Part of her wanted to laugh at the outrageous sight.
As though things could get any worse!

And there stood her father at the head of it all, unmoved, a Lord to the very end. He waved his arms around and roared out orders to the servants.
Doesn't the man ever give up?
she thought.
Gods, this is terrible. Just tell everyone to go home and come back next week. This ceremony is over....

Suddenly his words were cut off.

Sora blinked in surprise. She couldn't quite see what had happened; the room was too crowded. Then people started screaming. Suddenly her father was on his knees, scrabbling at the ground, dark red blood staining his shirt.

The room grew dim. Sora heard a dull rushing noise. She stared at the place where her father had stood, her mind replaying the scene again and again within a matter of milliseconds. Was her father injured? Struck down by the falling glass?
No, it's impossible, how....?

What are you doing?
an inner voice screamed at her.
This is your chance—run!

Automatically, clumsily, Sora turned and fled. For the moment, her father was out of commission; it was the perfect time to slip away. She was certain he would be fine; after all, he had more than 100 servants at his beck and call who were far better equipped to handle an injury than she was.

And so, boots crunching on glass, pandemonium ringing in her ears, she dove for the opening to the servants' hall. While the manor was vast with corridors branching out in several directions, she knew every nook and cranny. She sprinted into the hall and down the flagstone corridor.

As she ran, she ripped off what she could of her skirts, freeing up her legs. She used a strip of cloth to wipe off the face paint. This dress was an ugly garment, anyway. She headed down another narrow hallway that was barely lit by a few candles. It would lead her out the back door and into the freedom of the night.

Already Sora could see her travel bag up ahead, stashed in one of the servant alcoves. She had hidden it before the dance, on her way to the Blooming Hall. Her breath heavy in her lungs, she redoubled her pace. She could hear the servants stirring, alarmed by the calamity in the ballroom.
Just what caused the skylight to break like that, anyway?
she thought.
And what did I see before it fell?
It must have been someone on the rooftop. Was it possible her father had been attacked?

Silly, of course not
. Now was not the time to scare herself with vague questions. Her father would be fine; she had to focus on escaping. Sora passed the alcove where her bag was and grabbed it without breaking her stride. She had to leave quickly before someone discovered her absence. The red carpet seemed to lead on forever, though it was only a few rooms away from the back door.
Gods, I'll never make it outside. Come on legs, move!

Without warning, a door burst open ahead of her, and a crowd of servants flooded the hall. Sora barely contained a yelp of surprise. Flinging herself into a broom closet, she slipped deep into the shadows and prayed that nobody had seen her. Breathless, nervous and quivering, she scanned the hallway with wide eyes.

The entire kitchen staff rushed past, hurrying to reach the traumatized guests. Some carried lanterns, illuminating her hair and face momentarily, but no one noticed. No one looked. Sora let out a slow breath, then stripped off what remained of her dress and changed into her traveling clothes, doing her best to wipe off the rest of the face paint, even though she didn't have a mirror.

When the hallways were silent again, she allowed herself a long, slow sigh of relief. She kicked the ruined dress into the far reaches of the closet, shouldered her bag, and walked carefully to the stone corridor, checking in both directions. Nothing.

She launched herself onto the flagstone, gathered herself and turned.

Wham!

An unidentified something-or-other crashed into her, hard enough to send her sprawling to the floor. She hit hard and rolled several feet before slamming into the wall. A body was tangled on top of her. She felt the toe of a boot in her back.

Without thinking, Sora did what any sensible woman would do: she screamed.

Immediately whoever it was jumped off her. A hand grabbed her braid and yanked her to her feet. Sora screeched, but her cry was cut off by a smart slap to the face that stunned her to silence.

She looked at the man holding her—by her standards quite tall, around six feet. She was stunned by green eyes so vibrant that for a moment she thought they glowed.

Then she blinked and brought the rest of the man's features into focus. Black hair darker than a raven's wing swept across his brow in a short cut, exposing two neat ears. His skin was lightly tanned, but she could make out very little of his face. Most of his lower features were hidden behind a black veil. Once again, her eyes were riveted to his gaze, sharper than a knife, his expression terrifying.

Suddenly she felt her throat close.
Dear Goddess....
Was this the man who had destroyed the skylight?
With eyes like that, I wouldn't put it past him!

Before her imagination could run away with her, he whipped out a knife and pressed it against her throat. "Make a noise and it'll be your last," he hissed. His voice was quiet and smooth, like a snake.

With a shudder, Sora thought it must be the voice of Death. She licked her dry lips, shaking with terror, her fingers curling up like dried leaves.

Somehow she found the will to speak. "Who are you?" she asked.

"No questions." The knife bit deeper.

"Please...." she shuddered, and the words slipped out like water. "Don't kill me. I-I won't tell anyone!"

"Tongues talk. I should take yours."

"N-no!" Sora's thoughts spun helplessly, trying to think of a way to stall him. "If you don't trust me, then...t-take me with you!"

Saying that shocked her. Her lips stayed parted, as though expecting more, her breath wheezing out in a hollow gasp. He gazed at her with those calculating serpentine eyes, traveling over her hair, her face, across her shoulders. Then his eyes lingered at her throat, close to where the knife pressed against her skin. Slowly he frowned, staring at the base of her neck. No reply.

At that moment, a commotion broke out down the hall. There was a distant flicker of light. His eyes looked up and focused behind her.

He grabbed her hand, turned and ran.

Sora was so stunned, she couldn't make her legs move. She found herself half-dragged, half-carried down the hallway. Then, with a surge of willpower, she forced her legs to work and launched into a sprint. Despite her fit condition, it was almost impossible to keep up with him.

Dear Goddess, have I gone mad?
Was she actually running next to this man? She had no answer to that. His hand on her wrist was like solid steel, but the rest of him was a shadow, a ghost flickering in and out of the lantern light, existing between two worlds. He could have been a dream, a nightmare, some corporeal spirit...she almost half-believed it.
Who is he?

They burst through a side door, one of the servants' entrances, and plunged into the freezing night. Sora felt that she'd been doused with ice water, suddenly awake. The stables were in the opposite direction and she still had her satchel. She could run for her horse...if this person would only let go of her hand.

"Enough," she grunted. She had joined him willingly, but she didn't intend to travel with him, not at all! When she tried to pull her hand away, his grip tightened.

Her fighting instincts kicked in. With a jerk, she yanked hard, trying to free her arm. His fingers clamped down like iron, shocking her with their strength. She winced.
That's going to bruise.

"Hey! Let go!" she demanded, still pulling away from him, though it wasn't very effective. He moved her along at a rapid pace, half-lifting her from the ground, hardly sparing her a glance. "Where are you taking me?" She dug her feet into the gravel driveway, skidding across the loose shale.

His fingers gripped a little tighter, but other than that, he ignored her. There was no one around; no servants, no lawn workers, no maids. Everyone had gone to the ballroom. She was caught, helpless.

Then she had a terrible thought. Would anyone notice her disappearance? With all of the distraction inside the manor, she highly doubted it. The guests and servants would think she was hiding in her room, shamed by her deplorable performance.
Ha!
The Blooming hardly seemed like much of an ordeal now.

The man in black continued to drag her up the driveway and then into a thick outcropping of bushes.
He's going to take me to the middle of nowhere and kill me,
she thought, something like an icy fist seizing her chest.
I'm such a fool.
She should have died in the manor by letting him slit her throat; at least then her corpse wouldn't be ravaged by animals.

She dug her heels into the ground again, tossing herself to one side, almost yanking her arm out of its socket...but there was no way she could fight his strength. He adjusted easily. With a light tug, she was sent stumbling forward, completely off-balance.

Then, through the murky, leafy darkness, she saw a horse. An ugly, awkward animal by what she could make out; dull gray in color, like the gravel beneath them, and built only for speed. Before she could protest, a powerful arm snaked around her and forcefully threw her into the saddle. A yelp of shock and outrage came from her throat, but quickly stopped when he jumped up behind her, the knife still glinting in his hand.

Now Sora really began to panic. All her nerve disappeared. "Help!" she screamed desperately. "Help me! I'm being kidnapped! Help!" With wild abandon, she tried to throw herself from the horse, but the dark man grabbed her as she started to fall. He jerked her back against him and the knife was at her throat a second time. She winced. Her shoulder ached and throbbed from the struggle.

"Silence!" he growled, pressing the knife hard against her throat, enough to draw blood. "You can die now, if you'd like."

Sora could feel the sting of the blade. A thin, hot trickle of blood crept down her neck. She would have gulped, but she was afraid of splitting her throat.

The man pressed against the horse, which had been pawing the earth impatiently, and the beast leapt into a gallop. Sora couldn't see how fast they were going since she was surrounded by darkness. From the wind in her face and the feel of the steed beneath her, she figured it was a formidable pace. Her suspicions were confirmed when they passed the gates of the estate in under ten minutes.

The night was bitingly cold, sinking through Sora's clothes and into her skin. There was a cloak in her satchel, but no way to pull it out. Her captor was like a furnace behind her, she could feel his heat through the back of her thin shirt.

The man turned off the front drive into a wide, open field, scattered with ferns and small bushes. The ground changed, now soft and muffled beneath the horse's hooves. Sora squeaked in surprise as the horse stumbled over a hidden rock, but the man righted the beast immediately. She clutched her satchel desperately and sent a silent prayer to the Goddess.
How did this happen? I was supposed to be running away!

And who was this intruder? A common thief? More than that—someone deadly. She thought back to Lord Fallcrest, lying wounded in the ballroom. Had the disaster been more than an accident? Had her Lord father been hurt intentionally?

Was he even...alive?

The thought sent her spiraling into panic. She had the sudden, horrible feeling that the birthday party had been sabotaged on purpose. Lord Fallcrest had been gone for quite a while at the City of Crowns. Who knew what enemies he had made...and in what kind of business he had been dabbling?

The knife blade was lowered, though it stayed in her peripheral vision. She swallowed hard, tamping down her fear. No, she was overreacting. Her father was still alive—only slightly injured, like several of the other guests. This man was a thief, a lowly criminal.
That's it. He just wants me for ransom!