The two girls sprinted along the parapet, their dark winter cloaks waving in their wake. Mercy jerked to a halt and Allie nearly ran her down. They bumped and both giggled into the cold wind. The sky was as gray as the castle walls they stood on, their cheeks a brilliant red from the cold, but they were oblivious to such things.
Mercy got to her hands and knees, and crawling between the merlons, she peered down. Huge blocks of unevenly colored stone formed a twenty-foot-high wall, the squares seeming to diminish in size the farther away they were. At the bottom lay a street, where dozens of people walked, rode, or pushed carts. The sight made Mercy’s stomach rise, and her hands felt so weak that squeezing anything caused a tickling sensation. Still, it was wonderful to see the world from so high, to see the roofs of houses and the patterns formed by streets. With the snow, almost everything was white, but there were splashes of color: the side of a red barn on a distant hill, the three-story building painted sky blue, the bronze patches of road where snow retreated before the heat of traffic. Mercy had never seen a city before, much less one from this height. Being on the battlements of the palace made her feel as if she were the empress of the world, or at least a flying bird—both of equal delight in her mind.
“He’s not down there!” Allie shouted, her voice buffeted by the wind so that her words came to Mercy as if from miles away. “He doesn’t have wings!”
Mercy crawled back out of the blocks of stone and, bracing her back against the battlement, paused to catch her breath.
Allie was standing before her—grinning madly, her hood off, dark hair flying in the wind. Mercy hardly noticed Allie’s ears, or the odd way her eyes narrowed, anymore. Mercy had been fascinated by her that first day, when they had met in the dining hall. She had wandered away from the Pickerings’ table to get a closer look at the strange elven girl. Allie had been just as interested in Mr. Rings, and from then on the two were inseparable. Allie was her best friend—even better than Mr. Rings, for although Mercy confided all her secrets to each, Allie could understand.
Allie sympathized when Mercy told her how Arcadius had refused to let her roam the forests near the university. She had suffered equally from similar hardships, such as when her father refused to let her roam their home city of Colnora. Both girls spent long nights by candlelight sharing horror stories of their adventure-impoverished childhoods, rendered such by overprotective guardians who refused to see the necessity of finding tadpoles or obtaining the twisted metal the tinsmith threw away.
They tried on each other’s clothes. Allie’s wardrobe consisted of boyish outfits, mostly tunics and trousers, all faded and worn, with holes in the knees and elbows, but Mercy found them marvelous. They were much easier to wear than dresses when climbing trees. Allie had very few clothes compared to the many dresses, gowns, and cloaks Mercy used to have at the university, but of course, now Mercy had only the one outfit Miranda had dressed her in the day they had fled Sheridan. In the end, all they managed to do was trade cloaks. Mercy’s was thicker and warmer, but she liked how Allie’s old tattered wrap made her look dashing, like some wild hero.
Allie let Mercy play with the spare sextant her father had given her, showing her how to determine their position by the stars. In return, Mercy let Allie play with Mr. Rings, but began regretting the decision now that he climbed on Allie’s shoulder more often than her own. Late at night she would scold the raccoon for his disloyalty, but he only chattered back. She was not at all certain he understood the gravity of the problem.
“There!” Allie shouted, pointing farther up the parapet, where Mercy spotted the raccoon’s tiny face peering at them from around the corner. The two bolted after him. The face vanished, a ringed tail flashed and was gone.
The two slid on the snow as they rounded the corner. They were at the front of the palace now, above the great gates. On the outside was a large square, where vendors sold merchandise from carts and barkers shouted about the best leather, the slowest-burning candles, and the bargain price of honey. On the inside lay the castle courtyard and, beyond it, the tall imposing keep, rising as a portly tower with numerous windows.
The raccoon was nowhere to be seen.
“More tracks!” Mercy cried dramatically. “The fool leaves a trail!”
Off they ran once more, following the tiny hand-shaped imprints in the snow.
“He went down the tower stairs, lasses,” the turret guard informed them as they raced by. Mercy only glanced at him. He was huge, as all the guards were, wearing his silver helm and layers of dark wool, and holding a spear. He smiled at her and she smiled back.