There were not enough bedsheets. Iris frowned as she peered out her window and looked down the length of knotted linens that dangled out of it and along the side of the McClaine mansion. She had removed her beloved orchids from the windowsill ahead of opening her windowpane. The summer night’s air was warm enough so as to not shock them.

A light breeze tugged at her makeshift rope. It was as pale as a ghost in the moonlight. Securing the knots between sheets had resulted in a much shorter rope than Iris had hoped for. With the remaining distance from the furthest length of linen to the ground, Iris would risk serious injury if she tried climbing down at this time.

She had already considered running off through the front door. That plan would not work. When she had crept through the hall and peered down the stairs about twenty minutes earlier, she had caught sight of her father pacing in front of the entrance. Another man, who could only be Adrian Colt, was with him too. Iris’s brother was nowhere to be seen. He had likely already gone to bed – it had been well after midnight.

Iris glanced back to her own bed. She had tied the top of her linen rope to the sturdy bedpost at its foot. Perhaps, if she added one of the bed curtains and managed to scoot the frame closer to the window… She eyed the distance to the ground once more, mentally calculating how much “rope” she

should need. Yes, her adjustments should allow her to safely make the climb down. Iris tugged her rope back up through the window and clambered onto her bed to tear down the blue velvet bed curtains.

She was partway through securing a new knot at the end of her rope when loud voices sounded through the hallway outside. Two of them.

Iris paused. It was rather late. Perhaps her brother hadn’t gone to bed yet and had only now decided to turn in for the night. Erold’s footsteps were quite heavy though. Iris swore that she could always hear him from a mile away. It was incredibly unusual for him to make it back to his room without her noticing.

And the voices were pitched far too low – particularly the louder one. Erold Sr. and Erold the younger both tended to speak in soft tenors. Whoever was occupying the hall was neither of them.

Iris dropped the fabric that she was knotting together and crept towards her door. The voices were muffled by thick plaster walls and distance down the hall. She pressed her ear to her door. There was a momentary lull in the conversation – or argument – as she realized that was what this was.

Suddenly, the door adjacent to her room slammed. Iris jumped. The guestroom next door was rarely used. She heard her new neighbor pound the wall directly behind her bed. He cursed loudly. Iris padded over to the wall and pressed her palm against it. The man on the other side cursed again, more quietly this time. It must be Talan Colt, she realized. They were expecting no other guests tonight. And it seemed that he was no happier with their fathers’ arrangement than she was.

“You and me both,” she breathed. And then, she turned back to her task.

Iris didn’t spend much time considering why her neighbor was unhappy. She was too busy completing her rope. Once she had finished with the final knot, she gave it a quick tug and smiled, satisfied. Then, she went to the other side of her bed and set her back against the frame, pushing against it with her legs. Slowly, very slowly, it slid towards her window, rumbling over the floorboards. The bed was heavy, but not so heavy that she couldn’t move it. Iris winced at the noise. Perhaps she shouldn’t move the bed. But if she didn’t move it now, surely it would slide under her weight later when she

tried climbing out the window.

She pushed again, shoving the bed closer to her window. Once she was satisfied, Iris tossed the end of her rope back through the window and poked her head out, looking down. It now appeared to be an adequate length for her to safely make her escape.

Good. There was still more work to be done though. Iris straightened back up and clasped her hands. She had yet to change out of her day dress, but she had no intention of donning a nightgown at this point. Instead, she strode to where her wardrobe stood at the other side of her room and flung open its doors, rummaging through it until she pulled out a worn old brown dress – the one that she typically wore when gardening. She set it aside on her chair by the vanity and pulled out one additional dress, also old and relatively nondescript, and a spare set of undergarments. These, she carefully folded and placed in her carpet bag, and then she began to pluck additional toiletries from her vanity.

Her hand hovered over a small, dog-eared book which sat on the corner of the vanity. It was Mayweather’s Complete Illustrated Guide to Native Plants of Felise. She had memorized the book cover-to-cover. It was her comfort read. But it was also extra weight.

Iris’s plan would not allow her to bring a trunk. She would have to travel light. The McClaine’s mansion stood just a short distance outside Whychfeld, a small town in the heart of Felise. It would take Iris perhaps a little over an hour to trek from her home to the train station on the south side of Whychfeld. From there, she would travel to Lyndamar, the largest city on the Felisian coast.

A shadewalker intent on retribution was a dangerous foe. Iris didn’t even know what the woman looked like. She likely wouldn’t be able to recognize if she was in danger until it was too late. Why, oh why had Erold stooped to playing Crenzen Roulette? Stupid, stupid brother. A man was dead because of him. Iris paused in the middle of her packing. If she allowed her mind to wander, she could begin to imagine the pain that Tilda Veil felt at the senseless loss of her brother. And oh, but it was an enormous pain. Small wonder that the woman wanted a taste of vengeance.

Iris shook her head. She must not allow herself to empathize – not yet, at any rate. She had to get away from here, and even Tilda Veil’s reach only went so far. If Iris could take a ship to Skirlund or even Crezna, she could be safe.

“Could be” was the key phrase, however. Iris would be a woman traveling alone, hunted by an angry shadewalker. She would have no one to receive her once she reached her destination, wherever that was. She would have no permanent lodgings, and her funding would be limited to the small amount of

money that she had kept stored in this very room.

She would be leaving behind her family.

A lump formed in her throat at that thought. Iris bit her lip. This was a poorly contrived plan, but then again, so was her father’s. If either of them had been given more time to think, things wouldn’t have come to this. Iris knew that her father loved her. He had always adored and supported her – her very education was proof enough of that.

This was something different though. There had been a set to Erold Sr.’s jaw which had told her that he would not change his mind. She had seen the pain behind his eyes when he had announced that she was to marry. She had seen his fear for her. But he was wrong. She would not marry a man who she

did not know. She would own her fate.

Iris grabbed her book from the vanity and stuffed it into the carpet bag. She would need a comfort read in the coming days.

Quickly, Iris stripped out of her day dress and slipped into the brown one that she had set aside. She might not know what Tilda Veil looked like, and hopefully Tilda faced the same quandary. The two women had never met. When the shadewalker searched for Iris, she would be seeking out a wealthy

woman. That was a role which Iris would no longer be playing. She would leave Felise, and then, she would reassess. And perhaps, when the smoke cleared and all was calm once more, she would find a way to see her family again.

A Dearth of Linens

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