Wind gusted snow into her face and pulled her hair. Her heart pounded hard and fast against her chest. This was just like playing on the ladders in the stables, she told herself, trying to forget that she fell off those ladders when she was seven and broke her arm falling from eight feet up.
She tested her grip, then tested it again, before backing up to the edge of the battlements. Gritting her teeth, she slid her leg over the edge to search for a foothold.
A cheer from below floated up as she found one, held her breath, and forced herself to lower her other foot over the edge. The narrow platform shook as a gust of icy wind tugged at the hemp rope. She clutched it tightly and leaned against the wall, knowing she had to move. The longer she was on the rope, the weaker her aching muscles would become. Fear screamed to go slow, but she knew that would kill her. So she used the fear and the sound of the blood pounding in her ears to drive her all the way over the edge.
Her foot searched for the next rung and found air. She closed her eyes tight and squeezed her fingers so the hemp bit into flesh as she felt nothing beneath her. The rope had to be there.
Yes. Sweat trickled down her neck as she found the rung and slid her foot onto it.
Don’t think, she told herself. Just go and don’t stop.
Facing the white wall she had always hated, she clenched her teeth against the pain in her arms as she shifted her foot and lowered herself down the ladder. One rung. Two. Never looking down. Never letting more than a few seconds go by before feeling for the next rung, or the icy knot in her stomach would overwhelm her and she wouldn’t be able to move at all.
One foot on the next rung. Move one hand. Next foot. Then the next hand, tightening her grip when she couldn’t find the next foothold for several seconds. The rungs weren’t evenly spaced. Some were over a foot apart. Others were just inches. Each time her foot found a rung she let out a sigh of relief before her insides once again clenched with fear.
The snow fell harder. The wind blew, turning her fingers to ice and making it more and more difficult to grip the braided rope. Her arms trembled as she lowered herself down another rung. Her calves cramped and Carys bit her lip with the new wave of pain. Gods help her. Her body wasn’t going to be able to hold on much longer. She had to go faster.
She found the next rung. Then the next as the crowd cheered.
The cheers sounded louder than before. She had to be getting closer.
Wrapping one arm around the rope to give her scraped, freezing fingers a rest, Carys braved a look downward. Still over half the distance to go. Glancing to her side, she could see Andreus fifteen feet below. His ladder dangled two arm lengths away from hers. He was reaching down toward his leg. Were his muscles cramping from the cold? Or was it something worse?
If he had an attack up here . . .
Carys wiped the dampness from one hand on the sleeve of her tunic, gripped the ladder as tight as she could, and resumed her descent, determined to catch up with her brother. He might hate her, but he would hate the idea of falling to his death more.
She descended two more rungs. Then two more, flexing her fingers each time, trying to make sure she could still hold on. She ignored the spasms in her arms and the pain shooting up her back. She leaned her head against the coarse hemp and choked back a sob as a tremor shook her body, making the rope ladder swing.
Keep going. She had to keep going.
Carys lowered herself down another rung. Below her, Andreus didn’t appear to be moving.
“Dreus!” she yelled, blinking against the snow. “Are you all right?”
Her fingers closed around the next rung. She stepped down, then down again until she was even with her brother. “Andreus! What’s wrong?”
Her brother looked up at her. “My boot. I can’t get it free.”
Stuck—fifteen feet above the stone below. Her own fingers were barely hanging on. His would be stronger, but the cold would eventually make him lose his grip.
From here, she couldn’t see his boot well enough to tell what the problem was so she clenched her jaw and forced herself to move several feet lower. Squinting into the swirling snow, she spotted the problem. A piece of hemp had come free from its braiding and had caught on the ties to his boot.
“I’m going to cut you free.”
“What?” he yelled.
She wrapped her right forearm around the ladder and drew the stiletto from her belt with her left. “Don’t move,” she yelled.
Oh Gods. She swallowed hard and leaned to her left, pulling herself away from her own ladder so she could reach the one Andreus was on. Her left foot slipped and her stomach lurched and she hugged the ladder and found her footing again.
She closed her eyes, took a deep breath, and ordered herself to try again.
Swallowing hard, she shifted her weight and leaned toward her brother again. The snow fell. The air was still as she held her breath and tried to reach the rope that was keeping her brother from continuing his climb. “Can you move?” she yelled.
“What?” he yelled back.
“Kick your foot away from the ladder so I can cut the rope that’s holding you.”
He looked down at her for a long second, then gave a slow nod as she braved leaning a little farther. Her arms shook. Sweat streamed down her back as she shivered and told herself not to worry. She could do this. She’d get her brother free and make it the next twelve feet to the plateau’s surface.
Andreus kicked his foot away from the rope and the ladder began to sway.
“Again,” she yelled, judging the distance and the angle like she would a target she wanted to hit with her blade. Andreus followed her command. The movement sent the ladder an inch closer to her. Then another as it swayed on the wall.
Carys could hear the gasps from the crowd. Her heart pounded as the coarse hemp dug through the fabric of her tunic and into her arm, which was beginning to weaken more. If she didn’t want to fall, she needed both hands to hold on.
She judged the sway of the ladder as Andreus kicked his boot again and slashed with her blade knowing it was the only shot she had.
The blade caught the rope, but not enough. It was still attached to Andreus’s boot as she grabbed her own ladder and hung on for dear life.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her brother kick again, trying to break the rope’s hold on him. She heard him shout something. Then out of the corner of her eye, she saw his boot a second before it slammed against her hand.
She let go.
The stiletto dropped from her hand.
Her feet slipped and suddenly there was nothing beneath her.
She dangled from the rope by her forearm and desperately reached for a rung with her left hand when another blow struck the side of her head.
Pain swirled. Lights flared behind her eyes and her forearm slid down . . . then free.
A scream clawed her throat as she fell. The air around her swirled harder, then harder still, pushing her toward the wall—toward the ladder—as her fingers tried to grab hold of something. Anything.
The crowd below jeered.