It was colder than it looked, and quickly soaked through her clothing. She couldn’t feel the bottom at all, and suppressed the urge to panic. But she could not make herself let go of the side of the aqueduct. Her teeth chattered as she clung to the brickwork of the side, and worked her way hand over hand into the darkness of the tunnel.
That was where she discovered that the ceiling quickly dropped much closer to the water than it appeared from outside, and she found it was impossible to hold on to the side and still have room to breathe. With a shudder, she let go of her last handhold and let the sluggish current take her, hoping she’d be able to stay afloat.
She looked back over her shoulder. The light at the end of the tunnel receded slowly, though when she looked ahead, no new light showed where the other end might be. She was so cold now that her feet and hands were numb, and behind her, the pack was soaking up water and acting like an anchor, slowing her down. She tried to paddle forward without churning up the water too much—thinking that too much splashing might echo out of the tunnel and alert a supervisor to something irregular. With the pack dragging at her, it was hard work to keep her head above water; she paddled more vigorously, gasping for breath as the cold water lapped around her chin and lips.
Finally a hand came out of the darkness and seized her shoulder; she stifled a yelp, knowing it had to be either Lorryn or Myre.
It was the former, clinging to a metal grate that blocked the tunnel. “There’s a door in the grate,” Lorryn said, spitting water, his own teeth chattering. “It’s just under the surface. It’s usually locked, but Myre opened it. Follow me.”
By now there was enough light coming from the end of the tunnel for Rena to see, dimly. Lorryn patted her shoulder encouragingly, then ducked under the water. She felt his legs thrashing past her, then his head reappeared on the other side of the metal grate.
She hung on to the grate and felt cautiously under the water with her free hand and the toe of her boot, until she encountered the open space down there where the door must be. By then Lorryn was gone, floating away out of sight. She took several deep breaths, and told herself that if Lorryn—who was a worse swimmer than she—could manage this, it should be easy for her. Then she ducked her head under, eyes tightly closed, grabbed for the edge of the opening, and hauled herself through, head-first.
She had a moment of panic when her pack caught; it pulled her back under before she managed to get a good breath. Fear chilled her more than the water; she fought the pack strap mindlessly, thrashing and getting pulled under again and again, breathing in more water than air each time she reached the surface for a breath.
She couldn’t even cry out for help; she kept choking on the water.
Finally her gyrations freed it quite by accident, and she bobbed to the surface as it dragged downward on her belt. She clung to the grate then, panting, until she recovered enough to follow her brother.
Fortunately, the end of the tunnel was not far away; now she was able to make out another dim half-circle of light up ahead of her, and a pair of dark blots that must be the heads of Myre and Lorryn side by side in the middle of the light. Now she actually swam, rather than letting the current take her or simply paddling like a child, and in spite of the drag of her soaked pack, she reached their side in a very few moments.
Lorryn heard her coming, and held out a hand to catch her. As she peered past him, she saw that the aqueduct gave directly out on a river, the bank here was overgrown, and the weeds hung down into the water, forming a screen between them and the open water.
The sun was up, but the day was overcast, and it looked like rain. Heavy, black clouds rolled sullenly across the small patch of sky visible from the tunnel, and Rena thought she heard the growl of thunder in the distance.
“If you had to pick a day to run, this was a good one,” Myre said, her whisper echoing down the tunnel. “We should wait here until the rain starts. Once there’s a downpour going, even patrols will stay inside until it’s over—and a good strong rain will wash away tracks and scent if they try to follow us with hounds.”
Rena was already soaked and cold; the prospect of traveling through the punishing rain of a thunderstorm wasn’t a pleasant one.
But we’re running for our lives! she chided herself immediately. Be sensible! What’s a little water, if it will help keep Father from following us?
The only trouble was—if the rain kept people inside, it would follow that she and Lorryn might be missed sooner.
I can probably count on Father letting me sleep late this morning, too, after my little “betrothal dinner,” but what about Lorryn? How soon would his servants come to wake him? And would he actually be missed if he wasn’t in his bed? Would they assume he was at a gathering and hadn’t yet come home?
Thunder did rumble in the near distance, making her jump. Of all the things she had imagined she would do to find the dragons, this situation had never entered her mind. The girl dreaming in the garden, surrounded by birds, seemed another person entirely.
Lightning arced across the sky overhead; thunder exploded above them as Rena shrieked involuntarily, and the skies opened up.
“Now!” Myre said fiercely, and thrust herself through the weeds, out into the pouring rain.
Lorryn followed; Rena, gasping and clutching at handfuls of clay and tough weed stems, followed him. Myre was already halfway up the bank; Lorryn stopped only long enough to give her a hand out of the river before taking to his heels himself.
She scrambled up the bank behind him, pausing only long enough to wrestle her pack back on. She slipped and fell along the slippery clay bank so many times, she lost count; her hands stung and burned from weed cuts and nettle strings, and they were the only parts of her that felt warm.
Her sides ached, and she was panting for breath by the time she reached the top of the steep bank, and dove into the dubious shelter of a tangle of wet bushes beside Lorryn. Myre was already peering through the rain, looking for something. Rena was glad, now, that she had cut off her hair when she’d put on the slave’s old clothing; at least she wasn’t fighting masses of wet, tangled hair.
“We need something faster than our legs,” Myre muttered. “Horses, maybe, if we can steal them.”
“What about a boat?” Lorryn countered. “There are usually small boats just downriver from here. Father keeps them there for pleasure-angling and dallying on the river.”
Myre finally turned to look at him, her dripping hair straggling over one eye. “Just how ornamental are these boats?” she asked skeptically. “We don’t want to float off in something that screams ‘elven lord.’ And I don’t know the first thing about boats, anyway.”
“I’ve used them,” Lorryn assured her, “and it doesn’t matter how ornamental they are. I know how to use my magic, remember? I can make it look like—”
Then he stopped, and Myre smiled sardonically. “Exactly. And have your magic scream to anyone that can sense it that you’re right down here.”
He winced, shamefaced. “Well, they aren’t that ornamental,” he muttered.
Rena remembered the boats; Lorryn had taken her out in one, a very long time ago, for a long, lazy afternoon on the water. Like every moment she had spent outside the bower, every detail was etched into her memory.
“There may be some heavier boats that the slaves use on the other side of the dock,” she said, closing her eyes to call the memories up. “And if there aren’t—well, pick the plainest, and I can make it plainer. I can fade the paint with my magic; that’s so weak, I don’t think anyone will sense it. And we can use the axe to pry off any ornamental woodwork; it’s all just tacked onto the original boat, anyway.”
Myre turned to look at her with surprise; she obviously hadn’t anticipated Rena being anything but a tagalong and a burden. “We can try that,” she said shortly. “We aren’t that far from the dragons, anyway. The dragons will be happy to see you and shelter you, and once we’re away from Lord Tylar’s estate, it won’t be hard to get to them.”
She peered out into the rain once more. “Come on,” she said, gesturing to them to follow, and darted back out into the downpour.