?Chapter 70: Ch. 70: Call Houdini
I could hear the girl’s cries still echo in my ears when I awoke before the sun. Sleep was eager to elude , instead the familiar cries of the book Winter haunting the way it used to in the past. Her back was turned from , her white hair in frayed knots tumbling to the ground as she lay crumpled and defeated.
I had spent much of the last knight with Marie and Emma, packing nondescript cloth bags that were easy to carry on our person and full of warm wool dresses, easily stored provisions, and gold coins stealthily sewn into the clothes so they wouldn’t jingle and make a racket. If I were a few years older, I’m certain I would have dark circles that resembled a raccoon. A loud yawn escapes my mouth and I hastily crawl from the bed.
Emma, who was napping on the small sofa near the fireplace perks up instantly from the noise. I nod in greeting, too nervous to even speak loudly.
“When do you think would be a good ti to leave?” I ask Emma in a low voice as we begin to braid my obnoxiously long ice colored locks into twin braids.
“Half past seven.”
My lips twist into a lovely little frown. “So late?” I mutter, looking outside at the cover of darkness that still hangs over the ominous morning.
“Yes, your highness. The guard rotates at the ti and vigilance is at its lowest,” Emma reports.
“You are too good,” I exclaim in appreciation, shaking my head in disbelief and nearly ruining our work.
.....
“Oh, my bad,” I whisper shyly as she catches the braid that went flying out of her hand. “You know Emma, you really are the best. For real. The MVP!”
“MVP?” she inquires softly, the flickering candle making her cheeks look so squeezable that I have to clamp my hands around my french braid to resist the urge.
“Most valuable player! I don’t know what I would do without you,” I say sappily, feeling so oddly touched at this kid’s loyalty to . The children in this world, save for my siblings, are the sole gems in this world.
“You can give money, your highness,” Emma replies without missing a beat, dousing my excitent. How could I forget this girl’s obsession with money? If I weren’t so poor, I would give her heaps of the precious gold stuff, but right now I’m quiet strapped for cash.
“Ahah yes, of course,” I can already feel my ager coin purse crying. Arabella’s is still new and untested in Radovalsk’s elite social circles. According to the webnovel, it is only when the most eligible debutante of the following year’s social season wears a dress from the humble East Bend store that its na becos worshipped amongst the nobility. But for now, my initial investnt and following expenses have only been a drain on my finances.
The braids are soon finished and Emma’s short black bob doesn’t require anything so we just sit tensely in the semi-darkness, trading small jokes as the morning light slowly filters in. The dress I wear is a casual one, the standard navy color nondescript along with tanned leather boots that are good for long-distance walking. Marie brings in bread and jam for breakfast and we all engage in a silent waiting ga. I have already begun to feel unsafe after the emperor and the crown prince’s hasty departure
“Ti?” I ask, chewing on my thumbnail.
“7:15, your highness.”
“Ti?” I ask hurriedly again barely two minutes later.
“7:17, your highness,” Marie answers with the patient of a saint. She pats my head softly as we sit in the room, calming down my heartbeat which is running like a stallion.
“You rember what to say, right Marie? Just play dumb. Pretend you don’t realize that I left,” I remind my loyal nursemaid with a pleading gaze.
It would be much easier for two children who are often overlooked
“I naturally rember, your highness. Don’t worry, I won’t disappoint you,” Marie replies. She begins to help tie on the matching white apron and cap I’m going to wear over my dress for our grand escape, when a knock sounds at the door once more.
“Co in!” I yell, tossing the apron, cap, and bags under my bed at lightning speed and jumping onto the covers in a casual manner. My hands are clenched tight behind my back as the sa maid from last night pops in and drops into a quick curtsey, looking sweet as ever.
“Her Majesty wishes to see you, your highness,” the maid says with a smile adding an open fla to the dry kindling that is my mood.
By so miracle, I manage not to let my expression twitch, maintaining a cheerful grin as I respond, “Yes, I’ll be right down in a mont, just let put on my shoes.”
Emma, Marie, and I share a look at one another as our hastily planned but effective plan goes down the trashcan.
“Ti?” I ask once more, a faint warble in my voice as I slowly lace my boots up.
“7:23, your highness.”
Sweat hangs on my brow, but it’s not from the warm weather outside. I clench my jaw tightly as I run through a thousand and one scenarios in my head, anxiously trying to find one that will bring Emma and I safely out of the palace in the next 10 minutes.
“Think, think, think...” I mutter repetitively. But flashes of the empress’ serene smile before she punishes cut in between my harried thoughts without warning. My palms beco slick and sweaty, causing the laces of my boots to slip from my tiny fingers not once, but twice.
My eyes wander the room to and fro, the way one’s eyes do when their thoughts move faster than a car down a racetrack. The light sumr curtains, recently opened by Marie to let light in, glint off sothing from the ground. It’s a sharp of the teacup I broke last night.
And just like that, I suddenly have a brilliantly stupid, yet nostalgic plan of escape.
“Team huddle,” I call out with open arms, Marie and Emma leaning in close as I whisper a few quick words. I know that if I don’t co out soon, the empress’ spy will get suspicious and be extra vigilant on our way to the palace, or even worse, bring more spies to supervise.
We exit the room in quickly and I send a sharp nod to Marie, tears pricking my eyes as I realize this will be the last ti I’m going to see her for a while. I don’t know how long this war will last or how long my father will be away from the imperial palace. At the mont, I can’t even guarantee I’ll make it to Belhelm in one piece.
“Godspeed, your highness,” she whispers as she pulls in for a surprise hug, her warm Marie sent reminding of the first ti we t when I first ca to the palace. We’ve seen each other almost every day since and not waking up to Marie’s upbeat personality will be jarring for .
“I’ll miss you so much, Marie,” I whisper fiercely into her skirts, my words barely audible to her ears. Then we separate and I walk down the stairs with Emma as Marie goes to a previously discussed location. The maid smiles at us by the door and we obediently follow to Sunrise Palace, a path I’ve taken many tis before and one that has always ends in blood, even including today.
It is just us on the path, the cheery maid almost trots down the path, occasionally looking back to smile at and make sure I’m following. I take a deep breath before I launch into the performance of my career. Gradually, I first let the smile fall from my face. Then, I bite my lip hard enough that I sweat from the effort of holding my tears back and appear pasty and ill. Emma, the soulless, frigid, yet lovable girl that she always is, dies a quick death.
Brown eyes are shoved an inch from my face, running over my whole body frantically.
“Your highness? Your highness? What’s the matter? Please tell !” she half-yells fearfully, clutching my arm so that we both co to a standstill. The location is no accident. According to Emma, it’s the closest path the section of the periter gate that faces the streets. I don’t have a clock nearby, but it must be 7:30 by now. This is our only opportunity to leave.
I hold my stomach and heave slightly as if I’m about to throw up my breakfast. The maid hears Emma cries and doubles back quickly to look over . There is an undisguised urgency that twinkles in her eye, one that she doesn’t cover fast enough as she lays her hand on my other arm.
“Oh?” she exclaims in surprise and false worry, “Your highness, you aren’t feeling well? You must hurry on to Sunrise Palace then, so may lay down and not let her Majesty feel worried.”
We are much closer to my palace than the empress’ palace, but of course a spy would not ntion that delicate little detail.
“Emma...” I whine out, allowing the first tears to well up in my eyes pitifully, “I don’t feel good. I-I don’t feel well at all.”
My acting is so good I can see Emma raise her brows briefly and look over carefully, before carrying on with the ruse.
“You weren’t feeling well in your room, why didn’t you insist on postponing eting with her Majesty?” Emma asks with false concern.
“I-I didn’t want to disappoint my mother,” I answer weakly. Besides, I had faked being sick once to get out of being beaten. It resulted in double to beatings the following encounter. The maid gives a faint tug to my arm, but I double down in the act, pretending to sway right where I’m standing.
“Oh! Your highness, hold onto your consciousness!” Emma yells loudly, making a mountain out of a molehill. I look Emma in the eye and she looks back at mine, ready to wrap up the show.
The previous cheer on the maid’s face is long gone and I can see her wrangle with a decision in her mind, a stony, unforgiving look in her eye. She makes up her mind, I can tell when she does, because she bends over to pick up right where I’m standing.
“Righty then, your highness. I shall carry you over as quickly as possible so an imperial physician can examine you- oh my goodness!”
With the strength I would use to tear into a set of delicious baby back ribs in my past life, my teeth ravage my tongue unforgivingly, fat tears rolling continuously down my face as blood fills my mouth. Then I dramatically lean over and heave the blood from my mouth, allowing it to mix with my saliva for a truly grueso sight.
There’s an illness that has been the bane of the poor and impoverished in the Erudian Empire for a long ti, the bloody flux. An illness that consists of constantly throwing up blood from your decaying organs and has an expensive treatnt plan that not everyone can afford, any average citizen with an ounce of sense avoids those plagued with it like, well the plague.
And this spy of a maid is no exception. Dropping my arm like a hot potato, she jumps away and stares in horror at the never ending blood and spit pouring out of my mouth. Emma just stands beside and periodically yells, “Your highness!” as I follow through with my gross scene. I look up shakily at the maid and wide, terrified eyes stare back at , satisfying sothing dark inside . I wipe at my mouth, allowing the red liquid to generously cover my palm then reach towards her.
“Help !” I wail sorrowfully. I rush in to hug her but the maid leaps onto the manicured lawn beside the pathway as if the floor is lava and bolts. I was expecting a little more resistance, but when Emma hands a handkerchief to wipe away at my hands and face, I realize that the scene was indeed quite ssy for an unsuspecting viewer.
Running while wiping away enough blood for a murder scene is as difficult as it sounds, not to ntion my tongue is on fire.
“Ah, fuck! That really hurts!” I whine, although my words aren’t legible as I stuck the handkerchief in my mouth until my tongue stops bleeding.
“I told you that I could cut my palm for the fake blood, your highness. There was no need for this,” Emma says calmly as we cut away from the path and start foraging through immaculate hedges and bushes.
We pass an exotic flower garden, then another, weaving through sections of the vast imperial palace that I’ve never seen. Yet Emma knows it like the back of her hand. I almost don’t bla her sky high rates, she has been my best friend and companion since I’ve co here.
“Yes, but why should you have to get wounded on my account? And how on earth would I have spit it up? It would look strange if I kissed your palm before spitting out blood. This was they only way. Ack! Accidently bit my goddamn tongue again!” I complain.
Near a certain bush, we both slow down, shoving our arms deep into the plush greenery until our hands et with familiar objects. I smile, despite the pain radiating from my mouth. Marie ca through, hiding our bags at a specific location near the edge of the palace gates. At the post where a guard would normally stand, no one is there. We are on ti. I look left and right, but no one cos running at us with spears or yells.
Emma seems to be in similar disbelief as we speedily army crawl under the fence, the black iron scratching at our backs and nearly tearing our dresses. Emma’s cap and gown have now similarly been left behind and we stand up with shared expressions of shock.
“You did it,” she says, the words seeming to co out involuntarily as we huff for breath in a speedy run through the winding alleys away from the palace.
I hold my bloody, spit covered handkerchief in one hand and take hold of Emma’s with the other.
“No, we did it,” I reply warmly, feeling more kinship with this stony girl than I’ve ever felt with my real family.
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