CHAPTER FIVE

I’m sitting up in my bed, unable to sleep. They released me from the medical center, telling me I’m not sick, that I’m fine, but I’m not fine. Lenora is asleep in her bed. She has not asked me how I feel; she will not even speak to me.

I want to leave this room. I want to go to the garden and think. Not about school or part-bloods or purebloods or Finlets or Winglets. I don’t care anymore. I don’t care; they don’t matter. Not even school or tests. I know what I want. But I can’t even admit it to myself. In the garden, I must go there … he’ll be there. I know it. Only he can answer the questions burning inside me.

I slowly turn back the covers. My feet touch the cold floor, and I pad silently to where my sandals lie, side by side. One foot slides in with care and then the other.

My breath is hushed. Lenora remains still in her bed, her breathing consistent and calm. I pray she will stay asleep as I approach the door. I turn the handle like ice in my hand, and it releases the door to glide open without a sound. I only open it enough for my body to slip through, afraid the light from the hallway will cause Lenora to wake. Her personality tells me she is a light sleeper. The door closes behind me with no more than a click.

Once in the brightness of the hallway, I close my eyes to give them a chance to adjust. Slowly I unclench them as my sight improves.

My obstacles now become far more risky. If I am to make it to the garden I will need to completely avoid the guards. Yet the idea of that happening seems near impossible. Never have I been out wandering past curfew. I have no idea where the guards patrol or for how long. I’m fighting the impulse to sneak back inside my room and return to bed, but the curiosity I’ve been denying all along is impairing my judgment. I must try to reach the garden; there must be some way.

I hear footsteps echoing down the hallway to my left. I push myself into the indent of the doorway. My eyes peer around the frame. My face presses against the cool metal and my breathing ceases.

It is a guard. A tall man, broadly built and clad in a button-down white tunic and stiff matching pants, a small-brimmed hat stately upon his head. Whether he is part- or pureblood I cannot determine; he is still a fair distance away and I don’t try to crane my neck for a better look. In fact my eyes concentrate solely on the long metal rod that he swings deftly in his fist. The rush of air follows in its wake along with the obvious strength in the man’s trunk of an arm. I try not to further imagine the pain inflicted by a blow from such a weapon and arm. I must concentrate on my goal. I can do this; I can figure it out.

The guard continues down his hallway, never glancing down the aisle of dormitories that I stand in. He is most likely accustomed to empty halls. Who would even try to leave? If someone was caught, no matter how pureblooded, their name would be scarred, their body banished, and their soul forever damned by Odon himself. Push the thoughts away; don’t think about what might happen. I can’t let that happen.

He passes out of view. All this took only a moment, yet the gleam of the metal object is still blinding. Now the guard is out of view, and I allow myself the slightest gasp of air before releasing a sigh of relief. I am once again alone. I must begin to make decisions.

I wait a few minutes longer. Perhaps I will hear another guard at the hallway to my right. This may give me an idea of where they are patrolling. I will be able to take either hallway to reach the garden. Which one will be the safest?

The sound of footsteps reverberates to my right. So there is another guard … My assumption is confirmed as the man walks past the end of this aisle. My breath is silent once again, and the earlier apprehension is back at the sight of an identical weapon in his hand.

In fact, overall the guards look very similar. They wear identical uniforms and are both wide in body structure. This man must be different though, as he walks from the side of the wall that I am pressed against to pass behind the opposite end. This is not the same direction the previous guard took, and it would be impossible for the guard to arrive on this end walking in that direction without passing back through the opening. Basically, I would have seen him.

Two guards, two hallways, but their timing is slightly different, a minute, maybe less. How can I do this? My thoughts are so calmly spoken, but my heart is racing.

Go back to bed, Oriana. It’s late, it’s dangerous, you’re not thinking straight. Dorian will not wait for you. How could he get past the guards himself? You are trapped. Give up.

“No …,” I whisper and then freeze in strained silence. I have to go through with this. I feel its importance. He will wait; he has to.

The silence remains. I gather a courage I thought did not exist and fly to the next doorway down to my right. My sandals tap lightly on the hard floors, but it seems loud in the heavy air. Then comes the expected sound of footsteps to my left; the guard is returning down the opposite direction. I am still, quiet, holding my breath. Don’t move, not a sound. He passes; I do not watch.

Now I rush, tapping louder than I’d like, to the end of the hallway where the second guard passed not long ago. I peer down the hallway and see him walking, his back to me. He will reach the end of the hallway very soon, too soon. Then he’ll turn and see me, he will look right at me, and then the metal baton will rise to come crashing down upon its victim like a diving bird. I shudder.

Stay focused; there’s not much time! Go … I glance down the other end of the hall. Empty! Run! I dash out into the hall, on my toes, moving toward the guard. There’s no turning back. I’m almost to the doorway, the garden. My feet patter. My heart pounds. Almost there!

But the guard has almost reached his destination as well, and he will turn around. No, he is turning around. About to head back down the hall, about to see me, the cornered prey, standing in all this whiteness, my hair a golden beacon.

I fall into a nearby doorway. Try the handle; it is locked. I remain in the frame. This one leads to a classroom. I have passed this way before. I picture myself walking here, the hallways filled. I pass this doorway, and I see me. A pathetic little girl tucked in panic against the white doorway, waiting to be found. This is how I will look when the guard passes, when he sees me, when his hand grips the metal tightly, when it rises above his head.

I tremble with each approaching footstep, closer, closer, with each thud on the porcelain floor. Why didn’t I listen to that other voice, the sensible one that would have led me safely into my bed, hidden in the darkness? But I am far from the dark, and only hidden by the slight impression of a flimsy entrance. The present safety will last for only so long before I am discovered.

The pounding of my heart in my ears is drowning out the footsteps. How long have I waited? How much longer will I have to? I peer slowly down the hallway. My forehead, beaded with sweat is relieved against the cool frame. Empty? The guard is nowhere in sight. I look the other way. No, there is no one in sight.

The guard has turned down a hallway, one further down that connects to the opposite side. His patrol is more complicated than I assumed. He will not be there long. I already hear his steps growing louder. He has already surveyed the area and is heading to the main hall.

There is not much time. If I don’t leave, I will definitely be trapped. There is no other chance. Move, feet! I flee from my place of hiding and reach the door, the one that will lead outside, to the garden, to freedom.

My hand grasps the knob. I see the night sky in a small window above the door. Let me out! I shove against the heavy metal door. The air rushes around me. I gasp for breath. The door, now wide open, is caught by the wind and torn from my hand. The hinges hyperextend, and the door slams into the side of the building. But the sound isn’t half as deafening as the blaring siren that has me frozen like a stone statue in the night air—an alarm.