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3. Hide

Ilane dragged herself to her feet and scrubbed her face on her tunic, damp with snow from the training ground. She started to doggedly pace the narrow aisle, turning sharply before she reached the altar of Mithros, with its burnished gold sun disk glaring at her accusingly. She didn't like to imagine what Mithros, god of law and justice, would say about her recent actions. She hoped that he wouldn't say anything. If he did, she would be in big, big trouble.

She would have to go back out there. Eventually. Even with her mind as it was, numb with shock and panic, she realized that she couldn't hide here forever. Although if she had her way, she'd be staying a very long time.

But for now, she could only think. And there was one thing Ilane was worried about – apart from the obvious fact that she had attacked the training master and was in a huge lot of trouble.

She was worried about Markel.

Ilane had the most awful feeling that he knew where she had been disappearing to so often. He had never said anything to her, but she thought he might have followed her once. If he did know, this would be the first place her would look for her after discovering she had left her room. And that meant she had nowhere left to go.

By now the whole palace would have heard of the disgrace of Ilane of Masbolle, and wherever she went she would be ambushed by those seeking her. Not for the first time, she realized just what a mess she was in.

Ilane walked, slowly and reluctantly to the Chapel door. Cautiously she opened it a crack, and, pressing one eye to the slit, peered out into to the dimly lit passageway. It was empty, and she could see nothing moving up the substantial straight section, before it rounded a gentle curve. She opened the door a bit wider and stuck her head out. She listened carefully, and at first could hear nothing but eerie silence. Then, ears straining she caught the distant sound of running feet, echoing down the passageway.

There was no reason for anyone to be down this far in the sub corridors of the palace. They were usually deserted, devoid even of the usual scattering of servants that were a common sight around the place. It had to be Markel.

Ilane quickly shut the door and leant once again with her back against it. Her heart was racing in her chest, beating out a double time that matched her suddenly quickening breathing. She was trapped.

The Chapel of the Ordeal was a dead end. There was nowhere left to go, unless… but no, she put that out of her mind. At least for now. It wasn't that she was afraid – there wasn't much Ilane was afraid of – but it would be a last resort. For now she needed a plan of action. Most of all she needed a place to hide. She stood up straight and looked around the room. The Chapel was plain and bare. The simple benches stretching from the door to the altar gave no cover– they were too meager to hide behind, and a quick search would easily reveal her if she did. The altar gave no shelter, and her eyes then passed over the iron door to its right. The Chamber of the Ordeal. She felt the tiniest twinge of fear, which quickly passed. She would if she had to.

There was nothing else in the room. She could hide behind the door, but that deception wouldn't last long, and she might get squashed. Also, it would be too close to the incoming people, and Markel might not be alone. She quickly moved down the aisle to the far end of the room. Suddenly the Chapel seemed small and claustrophobic, a deadly trap that was about to close on her. She cursed herself for coming here. Surely there had been dozens of other places she could hide, that weren't dead ends and had escape routes. But her feet had automatically led here in her distress, and it had seemed sensible enough at the time. It was the last place anyone would look for a page. Anyone except for Markel, that is.

Ilane walked down the length of the room, coming to a halt just in front of the Chamber door, with the aisle ending to her right. There was nothing else she could do now, but wait.