The next time Zaphar snuck in, he brought her some clothes for escaping in. Elara had just noticed the sound of the upper window creaking open when a dyed canvas bag thumped down on the floor next to her.

  “Thank you,” Elara said coolly, to cover up her startled jump. “Has everything been prepared, then?”

  “No, not yet, it is not,” Zaphar told her.

  “Well, take this back then! The maids search this place thoroughly when cleaning; there’s no way I can hide it.”

  It was a truth universally acknowledged by the nobility of Zamarra that a woman’s privacy was only as secure as the lips of the least trustworthy of her maids. Elara was close, personal friends with each of the ladies who attended her. She’d grown up with the ones who were nobles. She ensured that everyone who toiled over the washing, the chamber pots, and all the other chores too lowly for noble hands held her in genuine affection. She listened to their stories, paid for their aged mothers’ medical treatments and pulled strings to make sure their children had a bright future.

  Most of all, she made sure that every one of them knew that they could come to her with anything. Especially when men came with gold, asking for favours.

  Elara just hadn’t had the chance to build such a rapport with the maids here. They certainly made themselves easy to confide in, but Elara was fairly sure that anything she said made its way into a report compiled for the Tiatian government.

  “Ah, I am not finishing what I am speaking,” Zaphar said, losing a little of his command of Tiatian grammar. “We are not finishing the preparing, but the time for moving is now. Your father’s people came looking for you.”

  “What happened?”

  Elara narrowed her eyes in thought. This wasn’t unexpected. She’d been seen leaving in the company of the Ambassador; the Embassy was the logical first place to look for her, once they established that she wasn’t dead.

  “They were turned away. The Tiatian Empire is very large and scary, your father’s men to scared to force the issue. But the Ambassador thinks it is only a matter of time before they find their courage.”

  “You listened in on Tazult’s conversations? That was dangerous.”

  “My first job was eavesdropping. I have very sharp ears,” Zaphar said smugly. “The Ambassador didn’t say what his plans are, but they are to be moved forward, so that the King cannot interfere.”

  Elara’s eyes widened. Those plans probably included denouncing her father for his attempt on her life. They needed Elara as a figurehead, but that wasn’t the only piece that they needed.

  “There must be Tiatian forces nearby,” she said. “Not too close, or I would have heard. Or mercenaries?”

  “Probably,” Zaphar agreed. “But with more relevancy, the Ambassedor thinks they may try a more sneaky way to either steal you or kill you. So he is putting more guards on the roof.”

  “That’s going to stop you from getting in,” Elara guessed.

  Zaphar chuckled. “They are no good for catching me,” he boasted. “But you are not as swift or as agile as Zaphar, so the window for you is closing rapidly.”

  Elara felt a chill. Unmentioned by Zaphar was the possibility that the assassins were as good as he was, and her next visitor would not be so friendly.

  “How long?” she asked.

  “Two hours,” he told her, “Before they are finding the guards I put to sleep.”

  Elara didn’t want to know how he had managed that. “I’ll get changed,” she said.

  “Zaphar promises not to peep,” Zaphar promised.

  Somehow, that made her even more nervous. She didn’t have time to let that stop her, though. She quickly stripped herself of her dress. It wasn’t meant to be taken off by the wearer, and she heard some of the buttons come off as she pulled.

  It wasn’t like I was taking it with me, she consoled herself and started putting on the trousers and tunic that Zaphar had provided. They were unevenly dyed in a medley of different dark colours, giving her cause to wonder if they’d been delibrately dyed or just used to mop up the dregs from a dozen different dye pots.

  Once that was done, Elara transferred her few belongings to her new outfit. A lady was never without a few coins, just in case, and Elara always made sure she was armed with at least a dagger. She couldn’t conceal it like she could in a dress, but she strapped it to her pants-clad leg.

  “I’m ready,” she called. Zaphar didn’t respond verbally, but one end of a rope ladder was carefully flung through the window.

  The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

  “Lodge the hooks in the wall,” he instructed her.

  Elara approached and saw that the end of the ladder was weighted down with a pair of wicked-looking hooks. Once she had jammed them under the wood panelling near the floor, Zaphar pulled the ropes tight and the hooks dug into the wall.

  “Once you get to the window, you will needing to switch sides to get out,” Zaphar said, his voice tight with strain. “Get to climbing.”

  Elara had climbed rope ladders before, as part of games or training. Pulling the lines taut made it easier to climb, and she didn’t have any difficulties until she got to the window. As Zaphar had said, she had to squeeze through the gap left by the ladder and twist around to start climbing on the other side. It was a tight fit, even with her new clothing. She wouldn’t have been able to do it in her dress at all.

  Not that her dress would be at all suitable for what would be coming next.

  Zaphar pulled her up when she got to the roof. She felt lightheaded from the exertion, and the three-story drop beneath her made her sway. Zaphar held her steady while she tried to get her bearings

  “No time for that,” he said softly. “We need to be swift and agile and swift.”

  He led her—led sounded better than pulled—over the rooftop. She felt a surge of vertigo as she found herself high above the street with no walls or railing to stop her from falling.

  “This way,” Zaphar whispered, leading her higher still. There was a small redoubt on the roof, a post for guards to keep watch from on high. Clambering ungracefully over the low wall, she was startled by the sight of two corpses on the floor next to her.

  “Just asleep,” Zaphar said softly. He had glided over the wall with far more grace, even while helping her. “I am not strong, but alchemy makes up for much for those with coin.”

  Relieved, Elara looked around as she regained her breath from the short climb. There was a trapdoor in the floor for access. Someone, probably Zaphar, had jammed one of the guard's swords through the latch, preventing it from opening.

  “Are we going through that?” she asked.

  Zaphar shook his head. “No, no. More guards, more doors. We go that way.”

  He pointed out into the darkness. The ridge of the roof was flattened, providing a walkway for the guards to patrol. It looked precarious to Elara. There was no guardrail, nothing to stop someone from falling off.

  “All right,” she said nervously. “What then?”

  “There is a rope,” Zaphar said, as if that explained anything. Elara just nodded and got back on her feet.

  “Lead the way,” she said, holding out her hand. For safety.

  When she got to the end of the building, Elara swallowed. There was a rope there; she could just see it. It was black against the darker black of the ground below, but this end was barely visible. Elara couldn’t see where it went.

  “I don’t think I can climb that,” she admitted.

  “No need,” Zaphar said. “Is all downhill. You just slide.”

  He pulled out a short piece of rope with two loops for handles. “Nice and smooth,” he said, “This rope goes over that rope, and you hold on and you slide down. Very safe, as long as you don’t let go.”

  Elara stared at him. “There’s no way that can possibly be safe,” she said.

  Zaphar shrugged. “Safer than staying here? Or… perhaps not. No one here seeks your life, so perhaps you would rather stay?”

  “No,” Elara said. She shook her head. Staying was the safer course. However dangerous this rope was, it paled in comparison to what lay ahead. “Are you going first?”

  “No, I have to untie the rope when you’re done,” Zaphar said.

  “Then how will you—”

  Zaphar tapped the side of his nose. “You will see,” he said. He looped the short rope around the long one and held the handles out to her.

  “Remember, not to scream,” he said. “Most people scream the first time, some scream every time, but screaming would be bad.”

  “I—” Elara started. She was going to say something about how ridiculous the idea of her screaming was. She was a princess, after all! But the thought of sliding down that rope into the unknown darkness almost had her screaming already.

  Zaphar was watching her intently, as if he had a way to stop her from screaming. Probably something as simple and undignified as a rag shoved in her mouth. A dirty rag. That would be undignified.

  “I will not scream,” she said firmly. Zaphar looked at her for a moment longer, then nodded and handed her the handles.

  Don’t scream. Don’t scream. Don’t scream.

  Elara let the mantra run through her head as she gripped the rope tightly, before stepping—crawled would be more accurate, as the guide rope was quite low—into the darkness.

  She kept her jaw clamped shut. It turned what would have been a scream into a very intense hum. She was dimly aware of what must have been tree branches rushing past, before she started to slow. A wall slipped by below her and then she was slowing further, until she was just hanging in place.

  Was there ground beneath her? There must be. She looked down, but there wasn’t much light to see.

  Zaphar can’t untie the rope until I’ve released it, she thought. Or… will he just release it and let me drop to the ground like a sack of potatoes?

  He wouldn’t do that unless it was safe, she assumed. But safe was a fair distance away from dignified, and that would not do. Bending her knees slightly, she let go of one of the rope handles.

  The ground was only two feet down, but it felt like a mile. Elara let her legs absorb the impact, resisting the urge to fall down or start sobbing. She was a princess; she would not let Zaphar see her weakness.

  Then a glimmer of light in the sky caught her eye. She looked up.

  Zaphar was drifting silently through the air above her. His cloak was flared out, revealing the teal silk that he covered over with another, midnight blue cloak.

  A magic item, Elara realised. That’s cheating. That has to be at least Tier Three, maybe even Tier Four.

  Zaphar sank gracefully to the ground beside her.

  “Why couldn’t I use that?” Elara demanded. Her heart was still pounding.

  Zaphar shrugged. “It won’t carry two,” he said. “And it would be ungentlemanly for me to undress in front of a lady.”

  Elara’s eyes narrowed, but it was another voice that responded. A woman’s voice, coming out of the darkness.

  “I’m sure you’ll both be undressed soon enough,” the woman said. She had a hard look to her, a sharp and expressive face beneath a tumble of dark, wiry hair. She was dressed in a leather jerkin and a short cloak, and Elara could see the glint of steel all about her person.

  Zaphar sighed. “It was about time for something to be going wrong. Hello Calis.”

  The young woman seethed. “I get a note that says you’re leaving town, and I find you with another woman? Could you be any more of a cad?”

  Zaphar took a deep breath. “It is… not what you are thinking.”