Vesaria had barely finished her morning meal when Freya appeared with a basket of wool and a pair of worn mittens, greeting her with the same cheerful enthusiasm that had made refusing the woman's invitations increasingly difficult.
Vesaria accepted the mittens and followed her toward the communal hall, although she had intended to spend the morning examining the rear gate.
She had given herself seven days to find a way out of the settlement, and now, on the seventh morning, she still lacked proper boots, enough provisions for the journey, and a horse she could take without being stopped.
Inside the hall, several women were sorting winter clothing into baskets, their conversation rising above the scrape of wooden stools and the occasional clatter of shears.
Vesaria recognised the travelling cloaks in the storeroom, but an older woman was counting each garment against a wooden tally. She joined Freya in sorting damaged clothing, keeping an eye on the doorway until Freya left to fetch more thread.
Seizing her chance, Vesaria carried a basket of discarded garments into the storeroom and searched through the worn boots she had noticed the previous afternoon. The first pair was too large, the second had a split sole, but the third fit over thick wool stockings, though it pinched her heel. She buried them beneath the discarded clothing, added a heavy brown cloak with a torn lining, and hurried toward the door.
She stopped short as the older woman stepped inside.
Vesaria turned toward the shelves, pretending to arrange the garments, but the woman spoke sharply in Northern and pointed toward a stack of tunics. She obeyed, keeping the basket close while the woman searched another pile scarcely an arm's length away.
As Vesaria reached for a tunic, a boot shifted beneath the clothing and struck the wicker with a dull thump. The woman looked up, her gaze dropping to the basket.
Vesaria quickly held out the tunic, hoping to distract her, but the woman approached and pushed aside the uppermost garments.
A boot toe protruded beneath a torn sleeve.
Vesaria's stomach tightened as the woman searched the basket. If she summoned someone who spoke Southern, the stolen clothing would be difficult to explain. Instead, she thrust a frayed tunic toward Vesaria and pointed to another basket. Vesaria obeyed, sorting garments beneath her watchful eye until the woman finally left.
She hurried through the rear passage with the cloak and boots buried beneath discarded clothing, stepping aside for two servants carrying firewood before reaching her quarters. She hid everything beneath the loose floorboard and returned before Freya noticed she was gone.
By midday, her shoulders ached from sorting clothes. She ate quickly, then helped in the kitchens while watching the storeroom. When a quarrel over a missing ladle distracted the cook, Vesaria slipped inside, wrapped three oatcakes and dried berries in linen, and took a small waterskin from a peg.
She was hiding them in her basket when a servant entered for salt. Vesaria snatched up a sack of onions and headed for the kitchen, but stopped when the woman called sharply after her. She pointed toward a table across the room, and Vesaria carried the onions there before returning to work.
Outside, she filled the waterskin at the pump and tucked it beneath her apron. The cook waved permission when she asked for several bruised apples beside the doorway, and Vesaria took four before hiding her provisions beneath the floorboard and hurrying toward the stables.
A woman's laughter stopped her outside Azgar's quarters.
A tall, fair-haired woman emerged, fastening a fur-lined cloak over her fitted blue dress. Azgar followed, his hair damp and his tunic unlaced at the throat. When she straightened his collar, he caught her around the waist and murmured something against her ear, making her laugh before she kissed him.
Vesaria tightened her grip on the basket. She had welcomed his decision to seek other women rather than expect her in his bed, yet their easy familiarity brought an unwelcome warmth to her cheeks. How long had the woman been inside?
The stranger noticed her and offered a pleasant greeting in Northern before crossing the yard, apparently unbothered.
"Have they stopped feeding you?" Azgar asked, descending the steps with his attention on her basket.
"Not yet," Vesaria replied, shifting it against her hip. How could he speak to her with no shame?
"Then why are you carrying away the kitchen scraps?"
"The apples were going to be thrown away."
When he reached toward the basket, Vesaria instinctively drew it closer. His gaze flicked to her face, but he merely selected an apple and took a bite. "These are perfectly edible."
"Then you may keep that one."
"How generous of you." His mouth curved slightly.
Vesaria glanced toward the stables, aware of the afternoon slipping away while the man she intended to escape ate one of the apples meant for her prospective mount.
"Have you found enough work to occupy yourself?" he asked.
"More than enough, although I imagine that pleases you."
"I would hate for you to grow bored."
"Then you needn't concern yourself."
Azgar studied her for another moment before stepping aside. "Enjoy your afternoon, Little Rabbit."
Vesaria hurried away, hoping his fair-haired companion would return that evening and keep him occupied. She had already lost enough time.
The stables were quiet, with one groom sweeping the passage and another working near the far entrance. Vesaria waited until the nearest disappeared, then approached the grey mare with an apple. The animal accepted it readily and allowed her to stroke her neck.
Still, when Vesaria unbolted the stall and took hold of her halter, she pushed eagerly toward the open passage, nearly pinning Vesaria against the partition.
"Not yet," Vesaria whispered, struggling to turn her around.
A groom called from the far end. She hurried the mare back and wrestled the bolt into place just before he appeared with a bucket. He pointed at the horse and questioned her in Northern. Vesaria offered him an apple, which he accepted with a puzzled look before moving on.
She examined the mare's saddle once he disappeared. The leather straps were unfamiliar, and the saddle itself was heavier than expected. Her family's servants had always prepared her mounts. She could ride, but saddling a horse in darkness was another matter.
Azgar's black stallion pricked his ears when she approached with another apple, reaching eagerly for it before recoiling from her touch. "You cannot expect me to feed you if you intend to bite me," she muttered, dropping the fruit into his trough.
He seized it, then followed her along the partition, stretching his neck toward her empty hand. When she tried to stroke him, he flattened his ears and swung his head sharply. Vesaria snatched her fingers away. "Your manners are dreadful."
The stallion stamped and struck the partition as she left, drawing an irritated shout from a groom. Too much like its owner. Vesaria shook her head and hurried toward the entrance, where a saddled horse stood tethered beside the watering trough. Its groom had disappeared into the tack room, but the main gate remained guarded.
She continued toward the rear of the stables, where a service door opened onto a narrow track between the granary and smokehouse. Pretending to examine a stack of firewood, she tested its wooden bar. It lifted easily.
A shout drew her attention to two supply carts approaching the rear gate. Men hurried to clear barrels from their path while a guard raised the crossbar, allowing both carts through before closing the gate.
The track narrowed between the granary and stacked timber, barely wide enough for a horse to turn. When a guard noticed her watching, Vesaria bent over her basket and moved away.
Nearby, men were loading another cart with covered barrels. Its driver pointed toward the lowering sun and gestured at the gate, earning an impatient reply from the older guard, who held up several fingers.
Another departure before nightfall.
Vesaria glanced toward the stables, where returning patrols were bringing in saddled horses. If she could take one and reach the gate while the guards were occupied, she might finally escape.
She hurried back to her quarters, pulled the stolen boots over her stockings, and fastened the brown cloak. The leather rubbed painfully against her heels, but she ignored it as she packed her food, waterskin, and mittens into a cloth sack, secured it with braided cord, and hid it beneath her cloak.
*-*-*-*-*
Outside, mounted patrols were returning as servants carried supper into the communal hall. Vesaria glanced toward Azgar's quarters, wondering whether his fair-haired companion had returned, then pushed the thought aside and reached for her door.
Footsteps sounded in the passage. She froze as two men passed, one pausing close enough for her to hear his hand scrape against the wall. Only when they moved on did she slip outside.
Firelight spilt from the communal hall, accompanied by laughter and clattering bowls. Keeping beneath the overhanging roofs, Vesaria hurried toward the stables, her bundle pressing against her ribs and the unfamiliar boots scraping her heels.
She had nearly reached the granary when wheels creaked ahead. A driver shouted to his horses, followed by the scrape of the rear gate's crossbar.
The cart was already leaving. It was now or never.
Vesaria stopped in the granary's shadow. Across the yard, a saddled horse stood tethered beside the watering trough while its groom disappeared into the tack room. It was neither of the ones she'd wanted, but it was ready, and time wasn't on her side. She gathered her cloak and hurried toward it, catching the reins as the animal tossed its head.
The knot resisted her fingers. A bucket scraped inside the stable, and she pulled harder, finally freeing the reins as the groom appeared in the doorway. He called something in Northern, but Vesaria turned away and led the horse toward the service entrance.
His second shout was sharper. She lifted the wooden bar and pulled the horse through, struggling when its saddle brushed the doorframe. By the time she coaxed it into the narrow passage, the groom was shouting enough to draw attention from the rear gate.
One of the guards turned.
Vesaria thrust her boot into the stirrup, but the horse sidestepped, sending her stumbling against its flank. She caught the saddle, tried again, and hauled herself up as the guard hurried toward her.
She swung her leg over and drove her heels against the horse's flanks. It lunged forward, nearly throwing her backwards, and she bent low over its neck as the cart cleared the gate.
The guard shouted and reached for her reins. Vesaria pulled sharply aside, his fingers brushing the leather as the horse stumbled in the frozen ruts before recovering.
Ahead, the second guard seized the heavy gate and began swinging it shut.
Vesaria urged the horse faster, the narrowing opening rushing toward them.