She slipped into a pair of lightweight linen pants and a loose top, then pulled on her night robe so that it would look as if she were wearing her bedclothes underneath. She had thought of this all day, the plan forming slowly in her mind, like tiny puzzle pieces snapping together. Willful determination had kept any hallucinations at bay.
She fluffed her hair so that it might look like she’d woken from a deep slumber, turned off the lights, and climbed up onto her bed. The dangling chandelier clipped against her brow and she flinched, stepping back and catching her balance on the thick mattress.
Winter braced herself with a breath full of intentions.
Counted to three.
And screamed.
She screamed like an assassin was driving a knife into her stomach.
She screamed like a thousand birds were pecking at her flesh.
She screamed like the palace was burning down around her.
The guard stationed outside her door burst inside, weapon drawn. Winter went on screaming. Stumbling back over her pillows, she pressed her back against the headboard and clawed at her hair.
“Princess! What is it? What’s wrong?” His eyes darted wildly around the dark room, searching for an intruder, a threat.
Flailing an arm behind her, Winter scratched at the wallpaper, tearing off a shred. It was becoming easier to believe that she was truly horrified. There were phantoms and murderers closing in around her.
“Princess!” A second guard burst into the room. He must have heard her from down the hall. He flipped on the light and Winter ducked away from it. “What’s going on?”
“I don’t know.” The first guard had crossed to the other side of the room and was checking behind the window drapes.
“Monster!” Winter shrieked, bulleting the statement with a sob. “I woke up and he was standing over my bed—one of—one of the queen’s soldiers!”
The guards traded looks, and the silent message was clear, even to Winter.
Nothing’s wrong. She’s just crazy.
“Your Highness—” started the second guard, as a third appeared at the doorway.
Good. There were usually only three guards stationed in this corridor, between her bedroom and the main stairway.
“He went that way!” Cowering behind one arm, Winter pointed toward the chambers that housed her washroom and dressing closet. “Please. Please don’t let him get away. Please find him!”
“What’s happened?” asked the newcomer.
“She thinks she saw one of the mutant soldiers,” grumbled the second guard.
“He was here!” she screamed, so loud she felt the words tearing at her throat, but she pressed on. “Why aren’t you protecting me? Why are you standing there? Go find him!”
The first guard looked sorely annoyed, as if this charade had interrupted something more than just standing in the hallway, staring at a wall. He holstered his gun, but said, with authority, “Of course, Princess. We will find this perpetrator and ensure your safety.” He beckoned the second guard and the two of them stalked off toward the washroom.
Winter turned her pleading eyes on the third guard, falling into a crouch on the bed. “You must go with them,” she urged, her voice fluttery and weak. “He is a monster—enormous—with gaping teeth and claws that will tear them to shreds. They can’t defeat him alone, and if they fail—!” Her words turned into a wail of terror. “He’ll come for me, and there will be no one to stop him. No one will save me!” She pulled at her hair, her entire body quivering.
“All right, all right. Of course, Highness. Just wait here, and … try to calm yourself.” Looking grateful to leave the mad princess behind, he took off after his comrades.
No sooner had he disappeared through the open door did Winter slip off the bed and shrug out of her robe, leaving it draped over a chair.
“The closet is clear!” one of the guards yelled.
“Keep looking!” she yelled back. “I know he’s in there!”
Snatching up the simple hat and shoes she’d left by the door, she fled.
Unlike her personal guards, who would have questioned her endlessly and insisted on escorting her into the city, the guards who were manning the towers outside the palace hardly stirred when she asked that the gate be opened for her departure. Without guards and fine dresses, and with her bushel of hair tucked up and her face tucked down, she could pass for a servant in the shadows.
As soon as she was outside the gate, she started to run again.
There were aristocrats milling around the tiled city streets, laughing and flirting in their fine clothes and glamours. Light spilled from open doorways, music danced along the window ledges, and everywhere was the smell of food and the clink of glasses and shadows kissing and sighing in darkened alleyways.
It was like this always in the city. The frivolity, the pleasure. The white city of Artemisia—their own little paradise beneath the protective glass.
At the center of it all was the dais, a circular platform where dramas were performed and auctions held, where spectacles of illusion and bawdy humor often drew the families from their mansions for a night of revelry.