“Later.” Russell glanced again toward the houses built on the north side of the courtyard. Zoltan and Neona had already disappeared down an alleyway to their home.
He teleported to the edge of the courtyard, then moved quickly and quietly through the maze of houses. Jia’s home should be easy enough to spot. It would be the one with guards out front.
Jia paced back and forth in her room, growing increasingly agitated. It looked like she had no choice but to go with Plan C, but just thinking about it filled her with dread. Surely there had to be another way, but she’d racked her brain all day, and this was the best she could come up with.
Her backpack was ready to go. She’d packed an extra set of clothes and the rest of her knives. A rolled-up cotton quilt was strapped to the bottom of her backpack so she could use it for catnaps. Her favorite four knives were in place, either in her boots or attached to her legs.
It was just her fear that was making her hesitate. With a growl of frustration, she whipped the knife from her right boot and hurled it at the silk banner on the wall. A hit, dead center between the man’s legs.
Damn. Even her aim was off. Get a hold of yourself.
All day long she’d strategized and come up with three plans. It would be easier to escape late at night after most were-tigers were asleep, so she’d waited a few hours after sunset to put her plans into action.
Plan A: telling the guards she wanted a late-night snack from the palace kitchen. She would conceal her backpack beneath a bulky cape, then, while the guards thought she was on her way to the kitchen, she would make a run for it.
A hundred yards to the north, there was a trail that wound downhill from the bluff to the riverbank. Her uncles, Rinzen and Tenzen, had a canoe stashed nearby in some bushes, since they loved to go fishing. She would take their canoe across the river and head toward the nearest of Han’s camps. Earlier in the day, she had sneaked into Rajiv’s office in the palace to study his map and take notes on all the locations of Han’s campsites.
Plan A hadn’t worked. Even though she’d assured the guards she would be right back, they had insisted on accompanying her. She’d had no choice but to go to the palace kitchen and pretend to be enjoying some almond cookies. She’d tried to tempt the guards with some strong, homemade Tiger Juice, thinking they’d be easier to handle if they were drunk, but they had refused.
An hour later, she’d tried Plan B. Just a quick trip to the outhouse, she’d assured the guards. No need to accompany her. But they had insisted.
Now she was stuck with Plan C. It was the best plan, actually, but she’d saved it for last, hoping to avoid it. Her hands had trembled as she’d unwound the bolts of red and gold embroidered silk. With the ends tied together, the two lengths of material made a rope about thirty yards long. Since the fabric was smooth and slick, she made a knot every three feet to give her a handhold and foothold.
Plan C was simple. Tie one end of the silken rope to the heavy beam that crossed her room’s ceiling. Then toss the other end out the back window so that it fell over the edge of the bluff. She would climb down the rope, then head north to her uncles’ canoe.
You can do this. She tied a knife to the end of the silk rope, then tossed it over the heavy wooden beam that traversed the ceiling. Standing on top of a chest, she tied off the rope and returned the knife to her left boot.
Her knees wobbled as she climbed off the chest. Dammit. Only three feet off the ground, and she was shaking. How on earth would she climb down a thirty-yard rope?
She shook her head, trying to keep the memory from coming back, but it seeped into her mind, eager to torture her and paralyze her with fear. Thirteen years ago, her father had rushed her out the back door of their home and set her on a low branch of a tree. His deep voice edged with tension, he’d instructed her to climb as high as she could. She had. Like most were-tigers, she’d been adept at climbing. But she’d never imagined that high in a tree, she would see her parents and older brother captured by Master Han and slaughtered.
She clenched her fists, chasing the memory away. You can do this. She slipped on her backpack. The door and front window were closed and bolted. She’d placed a second chest by the back window so she could climb out. With trembling hands, she gathered up the silken rope and tossed it out the back window.
Her hands started sweating as she climbed onto the chest and sat on the windowsill. She wiped her hands on her pants, then clutched the silken rope. With a shaky breath, she eased out the window and landed on the bluff.
So far, so good. There was a narrow ledge of land here between the house and the cliff. Don’t look down. Her heart thundered loudly in her ears.
With the silken rope clutched tightly in her hands, she backed up slowly toward the edge of the cliff. Panic seized her, and she stifled a cry. She couldn’t let the guards hear her.
When her feet slipped off the edge, she fell till her arms snapped straight and took the weight. Unfortunately, her hands started sliding. She hissed in a breath, feeling a moment of sheer terror till her hands stopped at a knot. Her shoulders strained, and she desperately struggled to catch the rope between her feet so she could find another knot. She found one and pressed her boots on it to relieve some of the tension on her arms. Her breaths came out in pants, and sweat beaded her brow. You can do this.
She slid her right hand down to the next knot, then quickly grabbed it with her left hand. Her feet came loose, and she dangled from her arms again till she found the next knot with her feet. Don’t look down. She squeezed her eyes shut and took long, slow breaths.