I blink, uncomprehending.

"Did you hear me?" Sera steps forward, her eyes searching my face urgently. "They know you're the Runner. They know that Princess Megra is a traitor. The guards are coming for both of you right now. You have to take the Princess and get out, while you still have a chance."

I shake my head, desperately trying to sort through the wave of information.

"I..." Gradually, everything begins to sink in. I stare at Sera, at her pale face pinched tightly. "How do you know who I am?"

"I figured it out the day they discovered the prisoners escaped. They said someone disguised as a guard helped them and I remembered the uniform I found in your room."

"So you knew? This whole time?"

She shrugs. "It made sense. You didn't behave like the rest of the ladies, and you were kind to the servants." A small smile plays on her lips. "You are exactly the kind of person I always hoped she would be."

I run my hand through my hair, willing my mind back to the task at hand. "And you say the King knows?"

"Someone turned you in. I don't know all of the details, but the word is the King was told that you and the Princess are planning to run away and start a rebellion against him. He has ordered your arrest."

Meg. I have to find her. Get her out.

"Find Dr. Cain," I tell Sera, thinking fast. "As quickly and quietly as you can. Tell him I have to move Meg out now and he must bring a carriage to the west entrance. Immediately, before they put the Palace on lockdown."

"What about you?"

"Tell him not to wait for me. I'm going to find my own way out."

She nods, moving with her trademark briskness to the door. I follow her and together we peer left and right down the hallway. A few servants scurry back and forth, but there is no sign yet of any guards.

Sera slips out first, heading back to the main stairs. I turn in the opposite direction, toward the servants' passage.

"Sera." I grab her hand just before she leaves. "Thank you."

She smiles, broader than I've ever seen. "Anytime, Miss."

We drop hands and turn to run in separate directions. I take the servants' stairs up to the next floor, pausing momentarily in the stairwell to kick off my sandals. I hitch up the layers of my dress and glance both ways down the fourth-floor hallway.

Finding it abandoned and hearing no warning sound of armour clinking in the distance, I slip out into the hall, creeping toward Meg's room.

The door is locked tightly. I try the handle a few times, then press my ear to the wood, frowning when I hear nothing from within.

She isn't here. I know I saw Grayson pull her up the stairs... so, where would they go? I bite down hard on my lip and think.

Meg wouldn't wish to go anywhere too private with him. Knowing her, I'd guess she would want to be somewhere spacious—somewhere she could be found if needed.

The library.

I tear down the hallway, slipping back into the servants' staircase just as the sound of several heavy footsteps reaches the fourth-floor landing behind me.

My breath echoes in my ears as I run up the spiralling staircase to the seventh floor, emerging from behind a bookshelf when I reach the library. It is only when I begin weaving my way through the crowded aisles that I start to doubt my plan. What if Meg isn't here? What if she's returned to the Hall? I may already be too late.

"Lynal, enough. I'm going back to the party."

I have never been so happy to hear a voice in my life. Rounding the corner, I see Meg and Grayson on the couch, him leaning over her with a hand on her thigh, her looking at me with a mixture of relief and surprise.

"Meg. Thank the gods." I race straight past them to the main doors, cursing as I stumble on the long layers of my dress.

"Abby? Where did you come from?"

"We are leaving. Now." I push the doors to the main entrance closed. Thinking quickly, I spot a heavy desk off to the side and run behind it, shoving it toward the door.

Meg appears at my side instantly, helping me bar the entrance.

"What's happening?" she asks.

"Your father knows everything. There's no time to explain—we have to get you out of here."

"How? We just blocked the only way out."

"Um, pardon me?"

We glance up. Grayson is standing in front of the couch, staring at us with utter contempt.

"One moment—I need to take care of this," I say to Meg, reaching for the heavy clay vase set on top of the desk. I test the weight in my hand and stalk calmly across the floor toward Grayson.

"Whoa, there. What do you think you're doing?" His eyes are wide with fear and his weak chin begins to tremble. "Put that down."

"I'm sorry about this." I maintain my even stride, watching him carefully.

Meg lets out a shriek as Grayson suddenly darts across the room, sprinting for the exit. I snatch a pillow off the couch and toss it along the floor, aiming for his path and smirking with a grim sense of satisfaction when his shiny boot comes down on top of the soft fabric.

Immediately, his leg slips out from under him and he careens backward, falling hard and landing in an inelegant heap. By the time he raises his head, I have come to a sliding stop directly next to him. He manages only a single cowardly yelp before I bring the vase down across the back of his skull, rendering him unconscious with one fell swoop.

I support his head as his neck slumps to the side. The vase clatters to the ground and I rise to my feet, raising my chin to look back up at Meg. She stands rooted to the spot, her hands clenched at her mouth.

"What in the eternal Burn was that." She lowers her arms slowly as she stares at Grayson's limp form, her eyes stretched into giant saucers.

"We can't have him telling the guards where you've gone."

"But...how were you able to do that?" she asks in a thin voice. She looks from Grayson and back up at me. "Who are you?"

"Meg, you know me." I take a step toward her. She flinches at my approach and I feel a stab of guilt.

"Is your name really Abby?"

I stop in my tracks.

"Please, Meg, I'm begging you. We can't do this now. We have to go." I reach tentatively for her arm, but she jerks away.

"Tell me." Her perfectly arched brows are drawn together as if she is in pain.

"My name is Kay," I tell her. "I'm the Runner."

Her mouth opens, then closes. "I don't understand."

"I can explain it all to you later, I promise. Right now, I just need you to trust me." I look over my shoulder, thinking I have heard the sound of approaching footsteps.

She is shaking her head. "I can't trust you. I don't even know you."

"I'm sorry I lied to you, Meg, but I swear I never betrayed you. Everything that we planned, the support of the Commons, that's all real. I know it is, because I was there. I talked to them. They want you for their queen and I'm going to help make it happen."

She takes a step backward. "You pretended to be my friend."

"It started out that way, but I swear everything is different, now." I speak hurriedly, my stomach turning somersaults as I struggle with the weight of my guilt and the loss of time. "I wanted to tell you the truth so many times, but I couldn't. I thought that you wouldn't leave the Palace if you knew who I really was; I thought you'd be too angry to trust me." I can hear the desperation in my voice and swallow. I just have to focus on getting Meg down to Will, whatever it takes.

There is the now-unmistakable sound of heavy footsteps filing down the hall just outside the library. We both jump as someone pounds a fist against the door.

"This way," I hiss, lifting my skirts again and weaving my way back through the bookcases toward the servant's entrance.

Behind us, the door is straining against the desk. Men's voices shout incomprehensibly.

"Through here," I tell her, gesturing down the darkened passage. "Take the stairs to the first floor. Turn left and go down the hall, the sixth door on your right is the exit. Will is waiting for you, he'll take you somewhere safe."

"Will?"

"Dr. Cain," I correct myself.

I usher her through the door, drawing back when she stiffens at my touch. She glances into the stairwell and back up at me, her beautiful face drawn in an expression of utter hurt.

My chest constricts painfully. "I know I don't deserve it, Meg, but please, I really need you to believe me."

"What about you?"

The pounding on the door has grown louder and I hear the heavy desk move on the floor.

"I'm going to distract them. Don't worry about me—I'll see you soon."

She nods. "Be careful."

Her cool hand squeezes mine once, not a hint of a tremor between us. I watch her gown slip around the corner before I take off back toward the front of the library, holding my skirt in my hands and forcefully tearing the fabric as I run.

The main door is partially ajar and I see one leather-gloved hand slip through the gap, followed by a broad shoulder. Someone grunts, straining against the barrier.

I leap over Grayson's prone form, skidding to a stop in front of the bookcase nearest the door and scrambling up it, forgoing the ladder and instead heaving myself up the shelves one at a time.

There is the mighty sound of wood scraping against wood and the desk is finally pushed back far enough for the guards to file into the library one by one.

"We know you're in here!" the man in front shouts authoritatively, brandishing his sword. "What the—?" A piece of emerald green fabric floats lazily in front of his face and he bats it away, looking about in confusion.

More strips of green fabric cascade down over the men, swirling through the air in a vibrant display against the ornate backdrop of books. I tear the layers of my skirt into strips, tossing the pieces gaily so that they fall from every direction, delighting in the guards' confused reactions.

"Hey! I see you up there!" The first man points up at me, directing the attention of the others.

"Good evening, gentlemen!" I call. I am sitting comfortably on top of the bookcase, kicking my legs where they dangle over the edge. I look down triumphantly at the shower of emerald fabric, grinning when one man daintily plucks a piece from the shoulder of his comrade.

"You are under arrest by order of the King. I demand that you surrender and come down at once." I recognize the man as Lieutenant Griss, captain of the King's guards.

"Oh, dear." I sigh, slumping forward to place my chin in my hand, tilting my head at the captain reluctantly. "I'm flattered that you went to all this trouble, but I'm afraid I will have to respectfully decline the invitation. However, you are more than welcome to come up here and join me instead."

"Enough of your games, Runner. Surrender or we will have to use force."

"I'm not sure why you suppose I would do that, Lieutenant. You see, I have the advantage of being all the way up here." I gesture at the height of the bookcase, my eyes stretched wide.

Griss nods to the guards. "Get her."

Having anticipated this, I wait before I rise to my feet, watching while two of the guards move to the ladder of the bookcase I am sitting on. They ascend clumsily, making it about halfway up before I jump, nimble in my new, shorter skirt. As I leap, I push my legs back as hard as I can, kicking the shelf backward.

Every one of my muscles is poised as I land. I grit my teeth, clutching the top of the next shelf tightly, the bookcase wobbling precariously beneath my feet. I glance back at the platform I just jumped from, watching as it slowly tilts backward, the weight of the two unfortunate guards inadvertently pulling it over.

The trapped men shout out in alarm as the bookcase topples and collides with the case standing behind it, emitting an ear-shattering crash. As I hoped, the circular layout of the library has allowed for the perfect domino effect.

And one hell of a distraction.

Guards shout from below as they scramble over one another to get away from the falling bookcases. I train my eyes on the path of still-standing shelves lined up in front of me and leap across them one by one, gradually making my way toward the ever-growing pile of destroyed furniture and, past that, the open door of the library.

The room has exploded into utter chaos, books and splintered wood flying in all directions, a veritable symphony of shouts and crashing furniture. I am in my element, leaping from one bookcase to the next, my every instinct primed and honed for this very moment. I can see from the corner of my eye the eradicated shelves circling past the door, heading straight for me.

I manage to get airborne at the same instant that the bookcase I am standing on is hit. Bracing for an awkward landing, I come down unsteadily on a slanted surface, using the scattered books as a slide while I eye my next target.

"Over there!" someone, presumably Griss, hollers.

I shut my senses to everything and focus on staying upright, leaping over the top of the next case and repeating my sliding technique down its front, picking my way over to the exit.

I am vaguely aware of the men scrambling toward me as I near the end of the last bookcase. I grin to myself, knowing they are too late. In one smooth motion, I shoot straight up and vault seamlessly over the desk, sliding across its polished surface and twisting my body so that I slip sideways through the open door.

Once free of the library, I have to ignore the inclination to disappear back into the servants' passage. Instead, I turn to the main stairwell and run up the steps, slowing my pace just enough so that the guards will see where I've gone.

I have to keep them chasing me. I have to give Meg and Will time to escape.

The staircase reverberates beneath me as more and more guards fall into pursuit, tracking me past the eighth floor and up to the ninth, straight into the King's personal quarters.

The topmost room opens directly into a spacious parlour and office. Having never been up here, I rely on what I can recall of the schematics I studied, and tear across the opulent parlour toward the balcony doors.

I take no small amount of pleasure in pulling over pieces of furniture as I run. Expensive wooden and precious metal–laden items scatter the ground behind me, tripping Griss and his men and buying me a few precious seconds.

Finally reaching the balcony, I dart through the opening and slam the door shut behind me; groping for a lock, I curse when I find none. I make my way along the circular terrace, searching desperately for another way back into the King's room.

Somewhere in the recesses of my memory, I recall that the Palace has four wraparound balconies, one for every other floor. Unfortunately for me, it appears that the King's private walkout was designed with only one entrance. Having always admired the great, glass spire from my perch inside my tiny attic flat, I can't help but regret not being able to enjoy the view. The wind whips at my ruined dress and tangled hair as my eyes dart between the two sets of guards closing in on either side of me.

"It's over, Runner." Griss appears out of breath as he approaches, his sword raised in warning. "This is the end of the line."

I raise my hands. Slowly.

"What's wrong?" he sneers. "Don't you have a plan?"

"I was never much for plans," I admit. "I prefer to improvise."

Planting my hands on the ledge behind me, I smoothly vault myself up and over.

The next balcony is a full two storeys below me and I brace for the rough landing, angling my body so that I don't hit the ledge.

I land with such force that my teeth rattle in my skull. I attempt to crouch and tuck into a roll in the last instant, but end up crashing inelegantly into the wall of the seventh floor.

I unfurl myself gingerly, limbs protesting as I fight to clear my head and think of the next move.

I can hear the angry shouts from two floors above. I glance up, spotting Griss leaning over the balcony, his face twisted into an expression of utter fury. He yells orders to his men, who promptly disperse and disappear back inside.

There isn't much time before they make it back to the library. I have to keep moving.

I rise to my feet and peer over the ledge toward the fifth-floor balcony. A warning itch of pain shoots up my knee as I regard the two-storey height and I grit my teeth, raising my gaze to look out across the Palace yard. From this vantage point, I can see the roof of the gaol and the stables to either side, the courtyard directly in front of me and, beyond that, the Palace gates. My eyes dart across the surfaces below, desperately trying to find a safe path out of the Palace. The gaol is across the yard and sits two storeys above the ground; it's possible that I could leap from the Palace's third-floor balcony and across to the roof of the gaol, but first I have to find a way to descend four levels.

The glass outer walls of the Palace are faultless, effectively eliminating the option of climbing down the facade. A slight reverberation below my feet tells me I have just lost my opportunity to take the stairs. The guards are already back in the library.

Stifling a sigh, I climb over the balcony wall and lower myself so I am dangling above the ground, the muscles in my sore arms straining as I give myself as much slack as possible in preparation for the next drop.

I look up again. Through the clear glass ledge, I can see the guards rounding the catwalk, heading straight for me. With some effort, I release one of my hands and give them a crude gesture, winking before I let go with my other hand and drop out of sight, once again.

This time, my landing is a touch more graceful. I am able to anticipate the force of the impact and the texture of the surface. I ignore the tenderness in my knee, hobbling slightly as I head inside, intent on taking the stairs this time.

I shove open the balcony doors and round the altar situated at the front of the room, my bare feet padding on the carpeted aisle. A few scattered nobles are praying while kneeling on the plush cushions arranged on either side of the aisle. I disregard the heads bobbing up in confusion and sprint toward the servants' staircase at the very back of the room.

"What is she wearing?" someone mutters to their neighbour as I run past. I imagine how I must appear: a barefooted girl materializing on a balcony and tearing through a chapel in a torn emerald dress.

Once inside the servants' passage, my knee begins to throb again. I briefly consider taking the stairs all the way down to the first floor but ultimately decide against it. It's likely that Griss already has his guards barring the main front and back entrances. On top of that, the first floor will be filled with party guests, and I don't want to risk any bystanders getting caught in the crossfire.

I'm going to have to jump.

I pause on the third floor, catching my breath. I remain inside the servants' entrance, my back pressed against the stone wall as I listen for the sounds of traffic. Straining, I can make out the footsteps of servants moving back and forth. Past that, nearest the main stairs and the balcony doors, there is a distinctly heavy tread. I grimace, recognizing the unmistakable sound of armoured men walking in formation.

The first floor is not an option. If I have any chance of getting out of here, it will be from this balcony. That means my only exit is straight past an unknown number of guards.

I delay a few moments longer, praying fervently that the footsteps will recede up or down the stairs, but the gods must have been offended by my behaviour in the chapel. The guards remain firmly in place, waiting.

"Here goes nothing," I murmur. I take a deep breath and twist around the corner, tearing into the hallway.

My bare feet slap against the tiled floor as I run, narrowly avoiding the maids and stewards who step smoothly aside with practiced grace. Rounding the curved hallway, I can make out the dark silhouettes of the guards shuffling near the landing.

"There!" someone shouts.

I grit my teeth and urge myself to run faster, my sore muscles screaming and my knee protesting. I force myself to focus on the balcony doors coming into view, actively pushing away the nagging warning that says I won't have enough time to get to balcony before the guards head me off.

"What are you doing? Get out of the way!" a man shouts angrily.

I chance a glance in their direction. A crowd of servants have gathered in front of my pursuers, creating a human barrier between us.

The guards push and shove, bodily forcing the servants back and fighting their way toward me. It's too late—I've already been given all the time I need. I unleash a final burst of speed and propel myself through the balcony doors, hurtling over the ledge and throwing myself into the clear night sky.

My heart ceases to beat as I fall, tumbling through the air at full velocity toward the roof of the gaol.

Miraculously, I manage to hit feet first but the force of the landing causes my legs to collapse. I tuck into a roll instinctively, desperately trying to cover my head. The rough stone scrapes and tears at my skin and clothes as my body skids across the roof.

My back slams full force into the raised ledge of the gaol and I finally, mercifully, come to a stop. The world is dark and I feel nothing, no pain in any part of my body, as I nearly give myself over to a beautiful, inky blackness.

Not yet.

With difficulty, I pry my eyes open, blinking up at the Fireline swimming into view above me.

You're still alive.

You need to get off the roof.

Groaning, I roll over onto my hands and knees.

Get up.

I try to push myself up, crying out as a stabbing pain causes me to collapse back onto all fours.

Get up.

Somewhere in the distance I can hear people shouting.

Get up. They're coming.

I push myself up again, gritting my teeth as I stumble into a shaky standing position, keeping most of the weight on my right leg.

Now, run.

I take a shuddering step forward, then another, planting my foot on top of the ledge and looking down. It's just two more storeys. That's nothing.

Every bone in my battered body cries out in protest as I stoop and gingerly lower myself over the edge, digging my fingers into the rough stone before I release and drop straight down.

My leg crumples beneath me as I land. I stagger against the wall, biting back a scream. Shutting my eyes tight, I take deep, shuddering breaths. I have managed to make it to the ground; now I just have to get through the gate and down to the City before I'm home free.

One problem at a time.

I turn and lean my head back against the gaol wall, trying with great effort to gauge how far away the voices are. My head swims as I fight protestations from a million different pain points.

Doubtless, they will have closed the main gate by now. If I can't go through, I will have to go over. I study the smooth, impassive wall in front of me. It is only a few yards off, but I will have to cross open ground in order to reach it.

I just have to move twenty feet and climb up one measly wall.

On a bum leg.

I push off the side of the gaol and limp as quickly as I can toward the barricade, sweat pouring down my face and clouding my vision.

Fifteen feet. Ten. Five.

Just as I reach the wall, someone calls out, "Over here!"

Gods. I look up. The wall is made of large slabs of stone and there appears to be a few gaps in the brickwork, though they are far shallower than what I'm used to. Nothing for it. I grip what I can manage and begin inching my way up the face of the wall a single brick at a time.

As I climb I am acutely aware of the stampede of men running toward me, Griss at their head, their swords drawn and glinting in the moonlight.

I reach up and my fingers slip free of the wall. My heart seizes as I hold on with my other hand, pressing my face against the rock and curling my toes, desperately gripping the stone with everything I have left. I regain my hold and glance upward. I am nearly at the top; a few feet more and they won't be able to reach me.

It sounds as though Griss is directly below me, but I don't want to chance looking down. Instead, I grope for the very top of the wall, something pulling and cracking painfully in my ribcage as I pull myself up, my tired legs limp and useless.

There is a wisp of air beneath my foot just as I bring it on top of the wall. Griss took a swipe at me, missing by mere inches.

With barely anything left in my reserves, I fairly roll over the top of the wall and down onto the ground on the other side, another shot of pain in my left knee causing spots to blink across my vision.

I did it. I'm out.

Taking advantage of the darkness, knowing I have only minutes before the guards change course and come through the gate after me, I drag myself upright. I focus what little remaining strength I have left on reaching the flickering lamplight of the City buildings and the familiarity of its darkened alleyways.

Step by painful step, I push myself forward, limping toward home.