A Door Left Open
By then, Zarina had learned that leaving the palace was not about finding a forgotten door.
There were no forgotten doors. There was only the traffic, and the hours it kept, and the fact that a woman carrying something is nobody at all.
Knowing that had taken her most of a season. It had not got her past the eastern court once.
She had spent her whole life being told the palace was hers. The moment she tried to move through it without announcing herself, it became a maze of locked doors, uniforms, schedules and people asking where she was going.
She did not leave her rooms already dressed for the corridors.
That would have been too obvious.
Instead, she crossed the royal wing in a sleeping robe with a book beneath one arm, as though she were restless and heading somewhere quiet to read. No one stopped her.
Why would they?
She was Zarina.
That was the easiest part.
The difficult part came later.
Behind one of the old linen rooms on the lower residential floor stood a narrow storage chamber filled with folded tablecloths, unused winter drapes and damaged household furnishings waiting to be repaired.
Zarina had discovered it years earlier.
No one had cared about it then.
Now she hid clothes there.
Nothing elaborate.
A plain brown dress.
A rough shawl.
Worn shoes.
A dark headscarf.
The first time she changed there, she stared at herself for several minutes.
She still looked too clean.
Too well kept.
Her hands gave her away most of all.
So she rubbed a little soot from an old fireplace across her fingers and along one sleeve.
That helped.
Not enough to fool anyone who knew her closely.
But that was not the point.
She only needed people to see what they expected to see.
A tired young worker moving through a service corridor late at night.
Not the Supreme Ruler’s daughter.
She became somebody else there.
Not outside the walls.
Inside them.
Her first successful attempt nearly failed before she reached the yard.
She joined a group of laundry workers moving bedding toward the lower level.
Nobody spoke to her.
That helped.
She carried a bundle she had taken from the storage room and kept her head lowered.
One of the workers glanced at her.
Zarina’s heart jumped.
The woman looked away again.
That was all.
At the next corridor, the group separated.
Zarina continued toward the kitchens.
The smell changed before she reached them.
Smoke.
Boiled meat.
Hot bread.
Grease.
The kitchens at night were nothing like the quiet rooms where royal meals appeared already prepared.
People were still working.
A boy carried a crate past her.
Two cooks argued over a ruined pot.
Someone shouted for more firewood.
Zarina kept moving.
She had chosen the hour carefully.
The ash crews were preparing to leave.
That mattered.
The palace furnaces burned through the night in winter and still produced enough waste in warmer months to require regular removal. Heavy handcarts were pushed from the lower yards through a guarded service gate toward an outer collection area.
Zarina had watched them twice before.
The guards inspected workers returning through that gate far more carefully than those going out.
It made sense.
A threat entering mattered more than a servant leaving.
Zarina had thought about hiding inside one of the carts.
Then she had seen what was in them.
She abandoned that idea immediately.
Instead, she waited near a row of stacked crates until the workers began moving.
Four men.
One older woman.
Two carts.
Zarina lifted a smaller sack of cloth scraps and fell in behind them.
Nobody asked who she was.
Not yet.
At the gate, a guard held up a hand.
Zarina stopped with everyone else.
For one terrible moment she thought he had seen her.
He spoke to the man pushing the first cart.
“How many?”
“Two.”
“Both ash?”
“One ash. One kitchen.”
The guard looked toward the second cart.
Then toward Zarina.
Her stomach tightened.
“You with them?”
She had rehearsed several answers.
They all vanished.
“Yes.”
The guard waited.
Zarina forced herself not to look away too quickly.
“Which crew?”
The older woman beside her answered before Zarina could.
“Laundry side. She’s carrying cloth out.”
The guard barely glanced at the sack.
“Why through here?”
“Because the west passage is blocked.”
The woman sounded annoyed.
Not nervous.
The guard looked bored.
Then he stepped aside.
“Go.”
Zarina walked.
She expected someone to shout after her.
Nobody did.
The gate closed behind them.
She was outside the inner palace enclosure.
For several seconds she forgot to breathe.
She did not immediately leave the workers.
That would have been foolish.
She followed them through the outer service yard until the carts reached a collection shed near the rear wall of the palace complex.
The older woman noticed her again.
“You don’t work laundry.”
Zarina froze.
The woman looked at her.
Not suspiciously.
Just certain.
“No.”
“Thought not.”
Zarina tried to think of something to say.
The woman adjusted her shawl.
“You new to kitchens?”
“Sometimes.”
It was a poor answer.
The woman seemed too tired to care.
“Don’t stand around here. Foreman’ll put you to work.”
Then she walked away.
Zarina waited until no one was looking.
Beyond the collection shed was another gate.
This one led not directly into the city, but to the delivery road running behind the palace walls.
It was less heavily guarded because anyone reaching it had already passed through the inner service system.
Two men were unloading empty crates nearby.
Zarina walked past them.
Neither looked at her.
Then she turned the corner.
The palace disappeared behind the wall.
She stopped.
For the first time in her life, she had left it without anyone knowing.
She almost turned back immediately.
Not because she wanted to.
Because suddenly she understood what she had done.
Her father thought she was in her rooms.
Balif probably assumed she was reading.
Nalia might check on her.
If anything went wrong, no one would know where to look.
That should have been enough.
It wasn’t.
Zarina pulled the shawl tighter around herself and kept walking.
At first she went nowhere in particular.
That was the point.
She walked through streets she knew only from carriage windows.
She bought food from a stall and ate it standing in the street, which she had never once done.
She sat near a market square after most of the vendors had gone.
People argued nearby.
A man complained about spoiled fruit.
Two apprentices talked about someone they both disliked.
A woman threatened to drag her husband home if he did not stop drinking.
Nobody noticed Zarina.
Nobody bowed.
Nobody stepped aside.
Someone bumped her shoulder while passing and muttered an apology without looking back.
She found that strangely comforting.
She had spent her whole life being noticed.
Outside, she could disappear simply by standing still.
Getting back into the palace proved much harder.
She learned that on the first night.
By the time she reached the delivery road again, the outbound workers had gone and the service gate was closed.
She stood in the cold trying not to panic.
She could not knock.
She could not announce herself.
She had no plausible reason to be outside.
For almost half an hour she waited behind a storage wall, listening to carts approaching from the eastern road.
Then the first bread deliveries arrived.
Three wagons.
Several workers.
The outer guards checked every wagon.
Opened crates.
Asked names.
Looked beneath coverings.
Zarina watched from a distance.
Getting into the palace hidden in a cart would never work.
Then she noticed something.
Once the wagons had been checked outside, the workers were waved into the service yard together.
Inside, they spread out quickly.
Some unloaded.
Some carried baskets deeper in.
Some went toward the kitchens.
No one seemed to count them again immediately.
That was the weakness.
Zarina waited for the next delivery.
Milk this time.
Smaller.
Too few workers.
She let it pass.
Then came vegetables.
A larger crew.
Zarina moved closer.
She waited until the guards finished inspecting the wagons and the workers began pushing them through.
Then she joined the rear of the group carrying an empty basket she had taken from beside the wall.
Her heart pounded so loudly she was sure someone would hear it.
One guard looked at her.
“Hold.”
Zarina stopped.
He pointed at the basket.
“That empty?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
She swallowed.
“Taking it back.”
The guard glanced toward the wagon.
One of the workers shouted for someone to move.
The guard looked irritated.
Then he waved Zarina through.
She walked into the yard.
She did not hurry.
That was the hardest part.
She wanted to run.
Instead she stayed with the group until they reached the kitchen buildings.
Then she slipped away.
Back through the lower passages.
Back to the storage room.
She changed quickly.
Washed the soot from her hands.
Folded the plain dress away.
Put the book beneath her arm again.
By the time she returned to the royal wing, the palace had begun to wake.
A servant passed her.
“Good morning, Your Highness.”
Zarina nearly laughed from the shock of hearing the title again.
“Good morning.”
The servant continued.
No suspicion.
No questions.
Nothing.
Zarina reached her chambers just before Nalia arrived.
That first night had taught her something important.
Leaving was difficult.
Returning was worse.
And if she was going to do this again, she would need to be better.
She was.
Not immediately.
Some nights she failed.
Once, a different guard was posted in the lower corridor and Zarina abandoned the attempt before reaching the kitchens.
Another time an outgoing cart broke an axle in the yard and delayed the entire night crew long enough that she went back to her room.
She learned never to rely on one route.
Sometimes laundry workers provided cover.
Sometimes kitchen porters.
Sometimes furnace crews.
She learned which supervisors noticed faces and which cared only that work was moving.
She learned when to carry something.
Empty hands attracted attention.
A basket, folded cloth, a bucket or a sack gave people a reason not to ask why she was there.
She also learned that returning too late was dangerous.
Before dawn, she could disappear among delivery crews.
After dawn, household stewards began appearing.
Senior servants knew her.
Then the shawl and the soot would not survive five minutes.
So every outing had an end.
A window.
Miss it, and Zarina had no safe way back.
That knowledge followed her into the city.
She checked bells.
She watched the sky.
She learned how long it took to walk from different districts back to the palace road.
Freedom, she discovered, required scheduling.
She found the irony irritating.
One night, on her way back toward the palace, she heard music.
She had enough time.
Not much.
Enough.
She nearly kept walking.
The violinist was not very good.
The player rushed through a tune, stopped halfway, then began again after somebody shouted something from inside a nearby building.
Zarina slowed.
The sound came from a narrow side street.
She stood there for a few seconds.
Then she followed it.
The street was darker than the main road, but not empty. A few people were gathered outside a tall old building with open windows and light spilling from the doorway.
Someone laughed from inside.
A man stepped out carrying his coat under one arm. He looked tired and slightly drunk. He passed Zarina without paying much attention to her.
There was no sign over the door.
Only a thick curtain hanging across the entrance.
Zarina stopped in front of it.
She checked the hour again.
She should leave.
Not because of the building.
Because of the palace.
If she stayed too long, the vegetable deliveries would be gone. The bakery crews would already be inside. The household stewards would begin their rounds.
She knew better.
The violinist missed another note.
A few people groaned.
Someone laughed.
Zarina looked back toward the street.
Then she pushed the curtain aside.
The room beyond had probably once been used for storage.
The ceiling was high, with old beams running across it. There were tables pushed against the walls and mismatched chairs scattered everywhere. Some people sat on benches. Others had taken cushions onto the floor.
A small stage stood at the far end.
The violinist was still playing.
The drummer beside him seemed to have given up trying to follow.
Nobody turned when Zarina entered.
For a moment she simply stood there.
That was unusual enough to make her uncomfortable.
Nothing happened at all.
A woman carrying a tray came past.
“Drink?”
Zarina looked at the glasses.
“What is it?”
The woman shrugged.
“Something with fruit.”
Zarina took one.
“Thank you.”
The woman had already moved on.
Zarina lifted the cup and smelled it first.
Then she took a small sip.
It was stronger than she expected.
She coughed into her sleeve.
A man nearby glanced over.
“Strong?”
“A little.”
He nodded.
“Yeah.”
Then he turned back to the stage.
That was all.
Zarina stared at him for a moment before moving farther into the room.
There were all kinds of people inside.
Some were dressed well.
Others looked as though they had come straight from work.
A pair of students shared a bottle at one table. A woman with paint on her hands was talking to an older man whose coat had been patched several times. Someone had brought a dog, which was sleeping beneath a chair.
Nobody seemed particularly concerned with where anyone belonged.
Zarina found an empty space near the wall and stood there for a while.
She watched.
Eventually a young woman came over.
She was around Zarina’s age, perhaps a little older. Her dark hair had been cut roughly around the jaw. She wore a faded coat that was too large for her, with the sleeves rolled up. One button was missing.
“You’re new,” she said.
Zarina looked at her.
“Yes.”
“Thought so.”
The woman took a drink from her cup.
“You were standing by the door for a long time.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should come in.”
The woman nodded.
“Most people aren’t the first time.”
She looked back toward the musicians.
“They’re usually better than this.”
Zarina listened for a moment.
“Are they?”
“A little.”
There was a short silence.
“I’m Tessa.”
Zarina almost answered with her real name.
The instinct came quickly.
Zarina.
Daughter of the Supreme Ruler.
The words lived too close together in her mind.
She stopped herself.
“Sera.”
Tessa nodded.
“Sera.”
No recognition.
No hesitation.
Nothing changed in her face.
Zarina felt something loosen inside her.
Someone across the room called Tessa’s name.
She looked over.
“I have to help them with something.”
Then she pointed toward a table nearby.
“We’re sitting there. You can come over if you want.”
There were four people around it.
One of them was sorting cards. Another was eating bread.
Zarina glanced at them.
“I don’t know anyone.”
Tessa looked back at the table.
“You can sit for a while. If you don’t like it, you can leave.”
Then she went back toward the others.
Zarina remained by the wall.
She could leave.
She should leave.
She checked the time again.
Then she took another sip of the drink and walked over to the table.
Tessa introduced her quickly.
“This is Sera.”
The others looked up.
A young man with a narrow face nodded to her.
Another woman shifted her chair to make space.
No one asked where she was from.
No one asked who her family was.
That surprised Zarina more than it should have.
She sat down.
The young man began dealing cards.
“Do you play?”
Zarina looked at them.
“No.”
“I’ll show you.”
His name was Oren.
He explained the rules once.
Zarina understood perhaps half of them.
She did not say so.
The first round ended very quickly.
Oren gathered the cards.
“You could have played that one earlier.”
Zarina looked down.
“I thought I had to keep it.”
“No.”
“Oh.”
Tessa leaned back in her chair.
“I did that too.”
Zarina played again.
She lost.
Then again.
She lost that one too.
By the fourth round she was beginning to understand what she had been doing wrong.
Someone passed bread around.
She took a piece.
The woman beside her asked whether she wanted cheese.
Zarina said yes.
They played another round.
Then another.
The music continued badly in the background.
People came and went.
At one point someone opened a window because the room had become too warm. A few minutes later someone else complained about the cold and closed it again.
Nothing important happened.
Zarina found that she did not want anything important to happen.
Later, the card game gave way to conversation.
Oren worked with his uncle repairing roofs.
Tessa made costumes when there was work and helped at a theatre when there was not.
The other woman at the table, Leni, worked in a bakery and complained that she smelled of flour no matter how often she washed.
They asked Zarina what she did.
The question caught her off guard.
She had prepared herself for it before leaving the palace.
She had invented answers.
None of them sounded convincing now.
“A little of different things,” she said.
Oren nodded.
“What kind?”
Zarina hesitated.
“Mostly helping at home.”
“Family business?”
“Something like that.”
He accepted this.
The conversation moved on.
That was strange.
At the palace, people rarely let uncertainty pass.
They would ask again.
Or remember it.
Or quietly investigate.
Here, Oren had already started talking about a roof he had nearly fallen through the previous week.
Zarina listened.
Nobody came back to her answer.
Eventually she began asking questions too.
About the theatre.
About the card game.
About which streets were safest after midnight.
The answers were ordinary.
Sometimes contradictory.
Sometimes nobody agreed.
Zarina liked that.
She was used to people choosing their words carefully around her.
Here they simply spoke.
Then she heard a distant bell.
Zarina stopped.
The others barely noticed.
She counted.
Her stomach dropped.
She had stayed too long.
She stood so quickly that the chair scraped against the floor.
Tessa looked up.
“You all right?”
“I have to go.”
“Now?”
“Yes.”
Zarina pulled on her cloak.
Oren was already looking back at his cards.
Leni lifted a hand in farewell.
Tessa walked with Zarina toward the curtain.
“Do you know the way?”
“Yes.”
“All right.”
Zarina hesitated.
“Thank you.”
Tessa nodded.
“Come back if you want.”
There was no ceremony to it.
No insistence.
Then someone called Tessa from inside and she turned away.
Zarina stepped into the street.
She walked quickly at first.
Then faster.
By the time she reached the palace delivery road, she was almost running.
Too late.
The vegetable wagons had already gone through.
The bakery crews were unloading inside.
Zarina stood behind the same storage wall she had used before and tried to think.
Another delivery approached.
Charcoal.
Two carts.
Three workers.
Too few.
She stayed hidden.
The sky was beginning to lighten.
That frightened her more than the guards.
Soon the senior servants would wake.
Soon people who knew Zarina’s face would be moving through the lower palace.
Then came a final wagon carrying barrels of lamp oil.
Five workers walked beside it.
Zarina waited until the inspection finished.
The gate opened.
The wagon rolled forward.
She joined the workers at the rear.
One man looked at her.
“Where’d you come from?”
Zarina’s mind went blank.
“East yard.”
He frowned.
“Which one?”
Someone ahead shouted for help with a barrel.
The man turned away.
Zarina kept walking.
Inside.
Through the gate.
She did not breathe properly until she reached the kitchen corridor.
She hurried now.
There was no point pretending.
The storage room.
Sera’s clothes off.
Soot scrubbed from her hands.
The plain dress folded badly and shoved into the chest.
Her own robe back on.
She reached the royal wing just as servants began opening shutters.
Nalia was waiting outside her chamber door.
Zarina stopped.
Nalia looked at her.
“Your Highness.”
Zarina’s heart sank.
“I couldn’t sleep.”
Nalia glanced at the book beneath Zarina’s arm.
Then at the hem of her robe.
There was dirt on it.
For one terrible moment Zarina thought she knew.
But Nalia only opened the door.
“Would you like me to bring tea?”
Zarina swallowed.
“Yes.”
She went inside.
Nalia closed the door behind her.
Zarina leaned against it.
Her hands were shaking.
She had nearly missed the window.
She had nearly been seen.
She had been foolish to stay.
She knew all of that.
Then she thought about the room.
Tessa.
Oren.
Leni.
The bad music.
Nobody knowing who she was.
Nobody asking.
Zarina looked toward the hidden storage chest, though it was several floors below and far beyond the walls of her chamber.
She was exhausted.
She was frightened.
And she already wanted to go back.