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It had been laughable that the king thought to lock her away like a wayward child.

The first thing Mer had done was create her rope.

Hundreds of balconies covered the face of the mountain. And twice she’d been able to sneak out using her new rope to explore the palace under the guise of a nap. It was a labyrinth of hallways. She’d imagined the Palace of Skigara would have been gloomy as it was carved literally from the mountainside. But surprisingly, she’d found the gothic palace warm and charming.

Unlike its king.

She didn’t remember much of the flight from Laos Keep. The numbness that had settled over her had combatted the fear of flying. They’d flown for hours, and the king hadn’t said one word. He hadn’t even looked at her.

Mer knew this because she’d stared at his face the whole time. Much to her shame, he’d become her lodestone in that moment. He’d kept her curled in his lap, safe and secure.

Forget him.

With the rope hanging from her forearm, Mer made her way outside. She secured the rope on the stone balcony and gave it a couple of expert tugs. It held, thanks to Lilja and Hayjen. As a child, she’d been fascinated with nautical knots. Her aunt and uncle tirelessly taught her knot after knot.

A true smile lifted her lips at the memory, and she threw the rope over the edge.

The wind ruffled her hair, and she tipped her face up, eyeing the clouds. They hung low and were dark gray as if rain would break any moment. Not a second to lose. And if memory served, she could drop down onto the balcony below, skulk through the rooms and into the hallway, take the stairs down several flights, and then make her way to thefiileenests.

A full grin broke across her face.

There was no trapping a daughter of the sea.

Mer peeked over the balcony and calculated the distance from the end of the rope to the balcony. It would be close to a ten-foot drop. She looked to the left, eyeing the mountain. True, she could have climbed down the mountainside, but she wasn’t that stupid. One small mistake or a change in the weather could mean the end for her.

A long jump it is.

She took a small breath, swung her leg over the railing, and began to shimmy down the rope before she could talk herself out of it. The wind swayed the rope back and forth, but Mer kept moving hand over hand.

A raindrop hit the top of her head.

“Not now,” Mer grumbled, trying to curb the anxiety rising in her chest. “Please hold off.”

As if the heavens mocked her, the sky opened up, and the downpour began.

“I’m cursed,” she huffed, moving quicker, her breath puffing from her lips.

The rope dampened, and her hands became slippery. Mer peered over her shoulder. She still had so much distance to cover. Her fingers ached as she clung to the rope. They gave the tiniest bit.

No, no, no, no, no.

This had been a bad idea.

Her fingers gave out, and a scream caught in her throat as she slid down the rope with no sign of stopping. Mer wrapped her leg in the rope and squeezed. It burned the inside of her thighs, but she jerked to a painful stop.

Her heart pounded and she swallowed hard, swaying in the wind. Mer leaned her cheek against the rope and stared down at the balcony beneath her.

Only a few more feet before she made the jump.

Move now.

Ever so carefully, she edged down until her legs hung from the rope, only her arms holding her up. The wind tossed her backward until there was nothing but a thousand-foot drop beneath her. Mer squeezed her eyes shut and shuddered. Depths, she hated heights.

You can do this.

Swallowing hard, she forced her eyes open and waited until the rope swung back to the balcony.

Now.