I’m sure their omens will start spreading soon. Even still, I can’t let them die crushed together in a cell like they’re not even human.
The guard grabs me from behind, but I twist and slip out of his grip, and then I’m running. I stumble down the spiral stairs. He’s right behind me. So I let him get closer, and closer, and then I throw myself to one side and stick my leg out. He trips and goes flying down the steps. He lands in a crumpled heap, and as I run past, I kick him in the head for good measure.
I don’t belong in this prison. I don’t want to be in this prison. And I always get what I want.
When I reach the door to the tower, I can hear the guard far above. It sounds like he’s managed to get to his feet, and he’s stumbling and shouting for help. But I’m already slipping outside into the black night.
Occhia has five different neighborhoods, made up of dark manors of varying size and grandiosity. They all cluster together to form a ring around the heart of our city—the cathedral and the watercrea’s tower. Off to one side of the cathedral are the Parliament buildings, and off to the other are the public gardens. It only takes me a minute to navigate back to the winding cobblestone street where my family’s house sits.
All the windows are dark. I’m shivering in the chilly air and desperate to get inside. Everyone is going to be amazed to see me. My parents are going to wrap me in blankets and my aunts are going to feed me hot drinks, and they’re going to help me hide from the guards.
I move toward our front door. But then my eyes fall on the enormous manor at the end of the street.
The House of Morandi has been the wealthiest, most powerful family since the city began, when they took charge of organizing our government and our entire way of life. The central manor, with its towering, ornate double doors, is flanked by two wings, five stories high. Each wing has a tall trellis with ivy creeping up the sides. It’s the most flamboyant way for a family to flaunt their status. Their household is so revered that they receive enough water to keep decorative plants.
Ale’s bedroom window is at the top of one of the trellises, overlooking a small iron balcony. There’s a burning candle sitting in his windowsill.
Without really deciding to, I’m running down the street. I run all the way to the trellis and peer up at the bedroom window that’s supposed to be mine by now, and I decide the climb probably isn’t as horrible as it looks.
The climb is horrible. The only reason I make it to the top is because going back down sounds equally unappealing. By the time I drag myself over the railing of Ale’s balcony, my arms are shaking and my head is spinning. I collapse onto the balcony floor with an undignified thump and catch my breath. I peek through the large glass pane of the door to make sure his meddling mother or sister isn’t around, and then I push open the door, crawl inside, and stagger to my feet.
Ale is sitting in his bed with a book in his lap. His hand is frozen halfway to turning the page.
“You look surprised,” I say.
He looks more than surprised. His face has gone white. He’s staring at me like I’m a ghost.
“There are guards behind me, of course, so let’s move,” I continue. “I need a hiding place. Do you think I can still fit in that trunk in the nursery?”
He drops the page in his hand.
“Em—” He stammers. “Em-Emanuela.”
“I’m glad to see you haven’t forgotten my name after… what was it? A whole day?”
“Three,” he whispers.
“What?”
“It’s been… three days.”
“No, it—”
I start to argue with him automatically. But then it occurs to me that he would know better, seeing as he hasn’t been locked up in a dark cell, having his blood and his consciousness sucked away.
Three days. I’ve lost three days.
“Well,” I say, “in that case, food and water wouldn’t hurt, either.”
He just stares at me.
“What?” I say. “Is it the hair?”
For the first time, I touch what’s left on my head and discover that it’s been hacked off all the way up to my chin. It’s not a big deal, I tell myself. Yes, I spent countless hours tending to it, and yes, I was rather known for inventing intricate hairstyles that no one else could figure out how to copy. But compared to losing three days of my life, it’s not a big deal.
Ale is fumbling for words. He’s still dressed for the day, his dinner jacket hanging over the bedpost. His eyes jump to the omen on my hip, but he averts them, quickly. Then they drift past me to the open balcony door.
“Guards,” he says, like he’s never heard the word before.
“Yes, there are guards behind me. That does tend to happen when one breaks out of the watercrea’s tower.”
“Guards—Emanuela—”
He scrambles off his bed and runs across the room to dig in his wardrobe, then emerges with a bundle of clothes that he shoves into my hands. The shirt is entirely too big for me, and the buttons are on the wrong side.
“Emanuela, you…” He darts around me and shuts the balcony door. “How did you get out?”
“Oh, it wasn’t that hard.” I attempt to pull on the pants. “I just—”
“Shh. Don’t talk so loudly— What are you doing? You have them on backward— Oh God—” He reaches over and yanks down the pants, then forces me into them the right way like a very aggressive lady-in-waiting. He has to roll up the bottoms several times.
“I bit a guard,” I declare as he buttons them for me.
“Oh God, you
