Her fingers itched.
From behind them came a soft giggle, and the guard, whose name Roana still couldn't remember, turned.
"There you are," he beamed, and Roana looked back to see a slender woman wearing a fresh kitchen smock clutching the corner of wall, a playful look on her face. Her eyes flitted over Roana briefly before running back to the guard.
"Come and play?" she whispered to him.
Gag.
The guard's grin turned into a sneer; he fisted the pommel of his sheathed sword and took a step toward her. He hesitated, remembering Roana, and for a moment his eyes dragged down her, as if assessing whether or not he could take her along.
Before Roana could say anything, the woman came and pressed her slight form against the guard, whispering something in his ear while a hand caressed his face.
"Is that right?" the guard said, grunting when her hand trailed down and groped him. His eyes turned wide and dumb like a cow's.
Roana crossed her arms.
"Just take her to the servant door," the woman muttered. "It's closer."
The guard motioned to Roana to keep moving. They took a left into a wider hall where the floor was hard and scuffed from years of servant traffic.
"You can leave through there." The guard pointed at the arched door at the end. His attention was already behind him, where the woman stood with pursed lips.
Roana moved toward the door, ears pricking at the sound of kissing behind her. She glanced back, noting that the woman had attached herself to the guard like a squelkin to a fish. They whispered to each other, and Roana could just make out their words.
"Are you needed back at the gate?"
"No, Gregory will have taken over by now. I have time to sup."
"You can"—a gasp—"sup with me."
The guard glanced at Roana, eyes glazed. Roana gripped the door knob, twisted.
"But I thought you were watching the egg—"
The woman shushed him with her finger. "It's fine. Nothing will bother it. This will be quick. Here, I think this one's empty—"
Roana opened the servant door, noting that no one stood guard outside. She glanced at the pair down the corridor, slid through the gap in the door, and shut it loudly behind her.
She counted to ten.
Her fingers felt cold and stiff as she turned the knob again. The door cracked open, easing wider as Roana strained to hear over her own pounding blood.
The corridor stood empty. Noises came from one of the rooms, and Roana hoped it was enough to blanket the sound of her footsteps racing down the hall.
She turned away from the servant's rooms, down a dark hall enveloped in shadows. The stone encased the sound of her breath and the soft scrape of her sandals against the smooth floor. More doors appeared, thick and polished with oil.
She glanced behind her, but she was alone.
Should she try to find that pearl-studded blanket? The little pearls were the perfect size for snatching away in a pocket. Where had she seen it?
A heavy tread approached in the distance.
Roana tried the handle of the first door. Locked.
The second door opened with a quiet snick, and Roana darted inside. She stood with hands splayed against the door, barely daring to breathe. After a few moments of silence, she turned her attention to the inside of the room.
A great crackling fire in the hearth spilled gold light over the sparse furniture. Roana held her breath, searching for whomever slept there, but it stood empty. The bed was made, the tables bare but for an unlit candle, and a tapestry hung above the hearth. No valuable trinkets anywhere in sight. Was this a servant's room?
Sweat gathered on her lip as she crept to the hearth. The tapestry had a great tree sprawling over it, with thousands of leaves in shades of yellow and amber, arms reaching for the sky. Some of the threads even appeared to be gilded.
How much was the tapestry worth? She moved closer, inspecting its length and width, assessing whether or not she'd be able to fit it rolled in her sleeve—
Her foot tapped against something.
There at the foot of the hearth, where the air shimmered with heat, lay a basket. The soft linens inside of it cushioned a huge oval egg speckled with gray.
"Oh, wings," Roana murmured. She knelt and touched the hard shell that could only belong to one animal on the island.
The Ikari.
The giant birds ruled the northernmost cliffs of the island, hunting in the frigid waters of Skye Lake and nesting in the enormous crevices that fractured the cliffs. Said to be vicious and cunning, the Ikari hunted down any humans that dared come too close. No one ventured to the cliffs where the Ikari lived unless they wanted to die.
"How did you get here?" Roana whispered. Was it possible that Xetsa had stolen the egg to trade? Who would want the egg of such a massive, treacherous creature?
And most importantly, what was the egg's worth to the merchant? The servant and the guard had mentioned something about an egg. Was this her room? Surely, Xetsa wouldn't leave a priceless item in the care of a lustful, slipshod servant.
Roana rubbed the warm shell with her fingers, thinking of the helpless creature stuck inside. Stolen from its parents and home. Forced to live in a world it hadn't been made for.
Xetsa would likely sell the egg to the highest bidder, and the bird would be raised in confinement, locked in a cage as mere entertainment. Unless it landed in worse hands. They might torture it, make a sport of killing it.
The thought of such a life for the little chick made her stomach turn. Ikari were feared, yes, but also greatly respected for their intelligence. To snatch one from the wild was not only cruel, but contemptuous. Would she be any better than Xetsa if she left the egg to a fate of captivity?
Footsteps echoed in the hall outside.
Roana rocked back, ready to scramble beneath the bed if she had to. But the passerby didn't enter. Roana breathed out, slow and steady. She needed to move, and quickly.
She stood, stretched a hand toward the tapestry, the fine fabric so solid and cool and rich against her fingers.
Nothing like the warm egg waiting below.
Come on, come on!
The tapestry might be her only way off the island. But how could she possibly leave the egg behind? There was no way to take both—they were equally burdensome and she simply didn't have the time to think more—
Abandoning the tapestry, Roana wrapped her hands around the egg and hefted it up under her shift, planting protective hands around it as the heat penetrated her belly. Stay warm little one, she encouraged, waddling toward the door. She backed her way into the hall with careful feet, grimacing at how much the egg bulged out.
For a moment, she remembered the blanket with the pearls. It would've certainly been a less ludicrous thing to try stealing.
She cursed herself for being so impulsive, for caring too much about things that didn't do her any good, but there was no going back now. She had the egg and was halfway down the hall, ears straining for any sound of footsteps approaching.
Making her way back toward the servant door, Roana passed the room where the guard and servant were still at it. She was lucky they hadn't been so quick after all.
Her hand shook as she eased open the servant door and closed it silently behind her.
acknowledgements
Ember’s story would not have been possible without the long-standing support of my family and my writing group. I am eternally grateful to my mother for teaching me a love of reading, and to all of the numerous authors who inspired me to become a writer at a very young age. They gave me the courage to take that dream and fly with it. I also must give credit to my grade-school and high-school English teachers (and one substitute teacher) who encouraged me to write more and better. They had more impact than they could possibly imagine. Special thanks to David Farland, whose invaluable class taught me how to make a strong outline. Also thanks to my editor, Katrina Kittle, for her encouragement and willingness to giv
e me more feedback when I needed it. Great thanks is also needed for my illustrator, Leesha Hannigan, whose amazing talent has given Ember’s story a beautiful and captivating face. And finally, thanks to my husband Adam for suffering old drafts, bouncing around ideas with me, and tolerating my swings of doubt and elation over the years. I am so incredibly lucky to have him with me on this journey.
about the author
E.A. Burnett is an author of teen epic fantasy. She has published two short stories and two novels, all of which take place in the Silverglen world.
Burnett grew up devouring works by Garth Nix, Robin McKinley, and Philip Pullman, among many other authors. She began her first novel in grade-school, with her youngest sister as her primary audience, and hasn’t stopped writing since.
Today, Burnett lives in Ohio with her husband, two Labradors, two corn snakes, and two little people. When she isn’t writing, reading, or caring for her boys, she is often out in nature or enjoying her husband’s delicious cooking.
Visit her and sign up to get a free story, giveaways, and special announcements at www.eaburnett.com
Silverglen: A Young Adult Epic Fantasy Novel Page 30