Blood dripped from her fingertips and her forearms when she scraped the mud from them. Every inch of her was covered in that thick black muck, the mire washed from the streets above. It coated the cuts and bruises on her arms, her knees, her chest and thighs, making movement difficult if not near impossible. Yet, she ignored it, the feel of it and the smell of it. Reaching out, she settled the weight of her upper body on her forearms, feeling the strain in her shoulders as she dragged her body forward, her toes digging in and scraping long lines in the muck behind her. She reached and pulled again, and then again. At least she had boots. She couldn’t have done it without boots. Not this time, anyway.

It wasn’t the first time she’d crawled through the aqueduct running below the palace. Dragging herself forward again, Stasia prayed it would be the last. Yet, deep down inside, she knew that prayer wouldn’t be answered. There were only two ways out of the palace city. The main gates and the aqueduct. And there was no way they would let her simply walk past the gates again. She could sneak through, but that would be too dangerous, too costly. Despite the mud and smell, despite the agony of the crawl, the aqueduct was and would always be the better route.

Finally giving into the pain in her arms, she rolled onto her side and rested. Though she tried to control her breathing, she still gasped for air, sucking in deep lungful after deep lungful. The air smelled sweeter there, tell tale of her position both in the tunnel and under the city. She was past the main gates, out in the bazaar now. One more day until she reached safety.

The first time had been easier in some ways, harder in others. She hadn’t known the length that first time, hadn’t known it would take her three days from one end to the other, hadn’t known that she would emerge miles from the palace walls beyond the borders that surrounded that accursed land. But then, she didn’t have bruised ribs that time. Or were they cracked?

Two days down, one more to go. As long as she kept going. The first time, fear had driven her. It had pushed her beyond her limits, beyond the unknown and beyond hopelessness. This time, two thoughts drove her. Or rather, an understanding of how the aqueduct worked and a resolution born the first time she’d crawled through and reaffirmed two days ago. She had to reach the end, had to keep going. She also had to crawl only a few more meters before she really, truly could rest. Her life depended upon it.

Stasia rolled over and resumed her crawl. Time was short. She had to reach the marker before the next flushing. Her body shuddered at the thought of the filthy water, frigid and carrying with it all the garbage and waste cast into the aqueduct. It wasn’t really an aqueduct at all. It was a sewer. She knew that. Others knew it. But the prince called it an aqueduct. Everyone else must follow suit.

Regardless of what it really was, three times a day they released the river into it. Three times a day a blast of water would wash away anything in it, leaving only a thick, slimy film of muck, the very muck she crawled through.

The first time she had found her way into the confines of the tunnel, she hadn’t known about the markers, small grates that let in light and offered a handhold to those below and offered a place of waste disposal to those above. The first time the water came, she’d nearly drowned. At first, she’d thought to ride the surge. It was, at least, going in the right direction. She hadn’t realized then that if she managed to hold her ground, the water would rise and then fall quickly, flooding the tunnel for only a few minutes. When the water had carried her, the flood lasted a lifetime; there was no reprieve. That was how she’d found the first marker. Her hands had happened upon it just as the last of her air ran out. She’d barely survived. But then, there were so many instances where she’d barely survived in the last year. Her near death in the prince’s aqueduct seemed small in comparison. So very small.

Her thoughts and memories of the surge turned into reality as the sound of rushing water reached her ears. She turned her head to see, scraping her hair against the muddy ceiling. Less than a minute before the water reached her. Turning again, Stasia pulled, scraped, and struggled to move faster in the tight confines. The sounds grew louder, becoming like a freight train bearing down on her. Ahead, just a few yards away, she saw the grate, pale morning light streaming through it.

She pushed up onto her knees as far as the tunnel would allow, her back against the ceiling. Gripping the mud with her fingers, she crawled using every part of her body. Water trickled under her, warning of the blast that would come. At last, she maneuvered under the light of day. The water hit her full force just as she reached for the grate. Her knees slipped and she lost her grip.