It worked.
Kyva opened her eyes to find the captain frozen atop of her.
For a heartbeat, she didn't dare believe it. The captain's weight sagged against her, like he was struggling to gain control of his limbs. His breathing was hot and ragged, but then he went completely slack.
Kyva barely managed to gather her strength together before the captain's heavy form collapsed on her, knocking the air from her lungs in a sharp, painful rush, and she gasped.
The captain was all solid muscles, sweat and far too much of all of it. For a terrifying second she thought he might wake up and announce to her that this was some trick, that he would laugh in her face and resume his assault.
But he did not move.
Despite being aware of the course, the poison worked too quickly.
Summoning whatever strength she had left in her, Kyva braced her palms against his chest and pushed him off. Her arms screamed in protest, but she managed to roll him onto his back.
In the silence of the chamber, she lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling and trying to drag air back into her burning lungs. Her heart pounded so violently she was certain it would give her away to anyone within a mile.
Her hands were shaking uncontrollably, but she curled them into fist to stop it, knowing that this was only just the beginning of her escape. Taking a deep, shaky breath, she forced herself onto her side, then onto her elbow. Black spots spilled across her vision like ink dropped in water, but she clenched her teeth and pushed harder, managing to get one foot beneath her.
At last, she stood, but Kyva hadn't expected her knees to buckle instantly, hence, she collapsed to the floor.
"No, no, no, not now," Kyva whispered frantically, panic rising in her throat as she slapped at her thighs and her calves, forcing them to work.
If the poison hadn't killed her, it wouldn't kill him either, so she needed to move fast before he woke up.
Planting her hands flat against the ground again, she forced herself up.
Looking around, Kyva hurried toward the captain's discarded military coat and rifled through the pockets, hoping to find something inside that might aid her escape. But there was none. No knife. No pistol. Not even a spare cartridge.
"For a military man…" she muttered under her breath. He really was parading without any ammunition.
Since she did not find anything useful in his coat, Kyva abandoned it and turned toward the reinforced window. Thick wooden boards had been nailed across it from the inside, sealing her in like a cargo.
If she could just pry the nails loose…
Her gaze darted around the room, and she realized she hadn't checked the small cupboards yet.
In an instant, she lunged forward and yanked it open. The hinges squealed in protest, but inside were odds and ends. Kyva pushed through the clothes, shifting the empty bottles aside, a tarnished tin cup, and beneath them was a cold iron.
Her eyes widened.
A fireplace poker.
Of course!
Kyva snatched it up immediately, nearly dropping it from the sudden spike of hope that made her hands slick with sweat.
Without wasting another second, she hurried back to the window. After figuring out how to use the fireplace poker to her advantage, she carefully wedged the curved end of the poker beneath the head of the first nail and pulled.
But it didn't move.
"Come on," she channelled all her strength into it, hissing through clenched teeth.
Refusing to give up, Kyva shifted her angle and braced one foot against the wall, pulling harder.Pain flared in her shoulders and her arms trembled from the strain.
But at last, the nail shifted.
Kyva's breath stuttered, and she pulled harder, ignoring the burn in her muscles. The nail finally tore free with a sudden jerk that sent her stumbling back, but she caught herself on time.
That little victory almost had her crying and laughing.
One nail down.
However, the rest of the progress took an insufferable amount of time. Each nail fought her every attempt. The splinters bit mercilessly into her palms, and her hands blistered painfully. Sweat trickled down her spine despite the chill in the room, and every sound felt alarmingly thunderous the more time went by.
But slowly, agonizingly slowly, the boards began to loosen.
When the final plank gave way and dropped to the floor with a heavy clatter, Kyva stared at the opening as if it might vanish. She shoved the remaining woods aside and forced the window upward. It resisted at first, swollen from weather and neglect, but she pushed through the protest until it finally lifted.
Cold air rushed in, hitting her face, her skin, her lungs. For a moment, she simply stood there, breathing it in, as if she had forgotten how. She couldn't remember the last time she had seen the outside world.
But she needed to move.
Kyva swallowed hard and pulled herself through the opening, scraping her hips and shoulders as she crawled out. She landed awkwardly on the ground below, her knees buckling again, but she caught herself as always.
The world outside stretched dark and open, wide beyond the suffocating walls that had held her.
Was this… freedom?
After eleven years of being constantly trafficked as a slave, was this finally her escape?
Her foot barely moved a step forward when the door inside the chamber suddenly burst open with a violent crack, and she froze.
Every muscle in her body locked as if a blade had been driven through her spine. Instinct took over, and she flattened herself against the outer wall beneath the window she had escaped from, pressing her back into the cold stone as though she could disappear into it.
Boots thundered across the floor inside, and then she heard voices.
"Shit," the warden snarled, his voice slicing through the air like a whip. "That little bitch has escaped."
The voice of the warden made Kyva's vision swim. Her lungs momentarily forgot how to work, and her heart slammed so hard against her ribs that it hurt. She had heard that voice far too many times in too many dark moments. It carried punishment in every syllable, and she wondered how he found out.
The brand on the back of her shoulder flared as though it had been pressed anew with hot iron, the trauma rising like bile.
She clamped both her hands over her mouth to trap any breath, any whimper, and any trembling sound that might betray her, her fingers tasting of blood, dust and splintered woods. She hadn't made it this far to expose herself in her own panic.
"Check the captain!" The warden barked at his men, already irritated. Something heavy crashed, and furniture was being overturned. "Fuckin' hell, she used the window. Where did she even learn to do that?! Check the window!"
Kyva squeezed her eyes shut as footsteps approached. One of the guards in charge of the brothel leaned out to check.
The warden, on the other hand, was infuriated. He could not believe that after everything he put that girl through, she still had the audacity to flee. The thought scraped at his pride like sandpaper. If one of the courtesans hadn't reported hearing a loud thud coming from this room, he might not have known till morning.
"The window's clear," the guard reported.
The warden scowled, the expression cutting deep grooves into his face. "Then go out and find her!" He snapped, spittle flashing at the corner of his mouth. "She couldn't have gone that far. We can still catch her. Go!"
For a split second, Kyva felt like she was back in that room again, back in that establishment. Voices multiplied, boots pounded. She froze when someone leaned out the window above her, and she saw the shadow shift across the room.
No.
She couldn't stay here like this.
If the warden got his hand on her, death would be a mercy compared to what he would do. She had seen what happened to those who crossed him, and experienced it first hand as well. She wasn't going to become another echo in those walls.
She had to leave.
Using that truth as her source of motivation rather than weakness, she waited for the shadow to vanish before slowly peeling herself from the wall.
Her legs trembled violently. Pins and needles stabbed at her feet, but she kept moving. The cold night air scraped against her bare skin, raising goosebumps along her arms and across her spine.
Barely clothed, the thin fabric of her undergarments clung to her like a cruel joke, just enough to cover her most intimate parts, but not enough to shield her from the biting wind or the shame of exposure.
The yard stretched openly before her, exposing in every sense. The moon hung above like an unblinking eye, washing the packed dirt and scattered stones in pale silver. And beyond the yard, a dark line of trees stood like a silent wall, their branches tangled and unmoving.
Freedom waited there.
Or at least the chance of it.
Another shout erupted into the night.
"That girl is a murderer! Find her!"
The words struck harder than any blow.
Fear nearly paralyzed Kyva again, her body freezing halfway between instinct and collapse. The accusation rang in her ears, louder than the wind.
'Me? A murderer?'
Her thoughts scattered, scrambling for memory, for clarity. What had happened?
Did someone die?
It didn't matter now.
Realizing that should be the least of her concern, her jaw tightened, and she forced one foot forward.
Then another.
Halfway across the yard, her body felt numb and heavy, but she pushed through it.
She needed to make it this time.
Drawing on the last fragile thread of defiance inside her, she broke into a clumsy, uneven run into the trees.