Chasing the Valley by Skye Melki-Wegner Read Free Book Online

escaped.
    This realisation is almost enough to knock me senseless again. I’ve just broken through every shackle that held my life in place – the laws, the city walls, even the guards – but this is not the time for a victory dance. The hunters will be summoned soon, and I’m in danger. More danger than I’ve ever faced before.
    I pull my dripping body from the ditch and shake myself off. I wring the water from my coat, from my sleeves, from my trousers and hair. I even risk removing my neck-scarf for a second to squeeze it dry. I feel incredibly exposed. It’s like standing naked in the woods, divulging something very private to the trees. I know no one is nearby – the trees are silent, except for the crickets and the wind – but breaking the taboo feels wrong .
    Then I snort, and clap a hand across my mouth to silence myself. I’ve broken enough laws to be shot on sight, but I’m worried about exposing proclivity marks that haven’t even developed yet? It seems so stupid, now, to worry about taboos and modesty. Anyway, better to break the taboo than catch hypothermia. The water is too cold to leave it streaming down my neck.
    Once I’m no longer dripping I set out into the trees. I need to find a safer place to hide. The guards will summon the king’s hunters soon, and I haven’t got the speed or knowledge to outrun them. My only hope is to bunker down for a few days, somewhere with fresh water and maybe even food nearby, until the hunters give up or look elsewhere.
    Taladia is a huge country. One little scruffer girl can’t be worth a massive search, right? They’ll have to give up sooner or later, when they’re summoned to deal with some more important case of rebellion or refugees.
    Radnor’s refugee crew is out here too but they’ve got a head start and they’re riding foxaries. A human guard has no hope of outrunning a beast like that. Then again, the foliage is so thick that the foxaries’ bulky bodies might be a disadvantage. Just like the city’s slow-closing gate: too big and strong to move swiftly. I guess there’s something to be said for being small.
    As I crunch through the leaves, the cold sets in. The water is practically frosting over on my clothes. Fabric chafes like sandpaper in my armpits, and the flare in my trousers is even worse. With every step, its fuse scratches the soft skin of my thighs. Has the water ruined it? Maybe it will work once it’s dried out. I’m half-tempted to toss the flare away, but it’s the closest thing I have to a weapon. And it’s more than that. The flare reminds me of what I did up on the turret, the way I blasted its sibling into the night. The memory feels foreign, like the actions of a stranger, terrifying but thrilling.
    I fish the flare out of my trouser-leg and clutch it in my hand. If the guards find me, perhaps I can use it to scare them off. I bet a lighted flare could do some damage at close range. That threat might buy me a few seconds, before the guards realise the flare’s been soaked.
    I keep on walking. I don’t know where I’m going yet, and I’m too exhausted to think of a plan. Most refugees follow the main trading route south. I’m guessing that’s Radnor’s plan, since he’s disguised his team as foxary riders. But I have no idea how to find the road, and in the meantime I’m as lost as a richie in Rourton’s sewers.
    The Valley lies far to the southeast, nestled in the Eastern Boundary Range. But I’m not stupid enough to head east right away. The Range is too high and desolate for even a biplane to cross in one piece. It’s why the people on the other side remain safe from our king: the Valley is the only gap in their borders.
    Besides, I’m not even sure which way is east. Left or right? Forward or back? All I can see here is darkness.
    After a while, the silence begins to worry me. At least