Isolde's Wish by Em Petrova

she’d hidden in every crevice at least once.
    She hit the bottom of the stairs and took off running. She sailed past groups of servants and into the kitchens. The scents of fresh stew and bread made her stomach cramp with hunger. She would have liked to sit at the scrubbed table and be given bread smeared with butter and honey as she had when she was little.
    Beyond the back kitchen door, the gardens slumbered in the afternoon heat. Blue smoke hung on the air still, but the garden paths were empty of people.
    “Slow down, Isolde,” the cook cried, but Isolde’s muscles bunched, and she sprang the last six feet, propelled through the doorway and into the garden.
    The hot, muggy air settled over her like a blanket. All at once, she was exhausted from several sleepless nights. She began to weave through the fragrant plants. Bees hummed. An airship lumbered overhead, a long scope projecting from the front where the captain stood, searching the grounds for signs of Sadler.
    Would he be in disguise? She hadn’t bothered to search the faces of the servants she ran past, but perhaps he had concealed himself in their numbers. Being the son of a stable master, he was most comfortable around android horses and bits and straps—could he be hiding in the stables?
    Isolde followed the path to the rose garden where she and Sadler were supposed to meet. The bushes were heavy with blossoms, and their cloying scents hung in the air. How would it have felt to be kissed by Sadler here in the dark, among the heady smell of roses?
    As she approached the tree where she’d huddled in her cloak and waited in the rain, her steps slowed. She touched the rough bark of the wide oak tree, thinking of the velvet scrape of Sadler’s jaw against her sensitive skin. She circled the tree, listening hard to the world around her—the chirp of birds, the faint breeze toying with the grasses in the orchard beyond.
    She trailed her fingers over the trunk. Suddenly she felt a smooth spot. The area had been freshly carved out, exposing the creamy white wood. With a gasp, she lifted her trembling fingers. Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a cry.
    S is sorry , it read.
    She whipped her head from right to left, searching for him. Her throat burned to cry out his name, but to do that was insanity. Where had he gone after carving an apology into the tree where she’d sat waiting for him? At her feet, tiny shavings lay. She could still smell the sap.
    She wished she could bury her nose against his chest and inhale him, as she had on the shore of the loch. “Where are ye, Sadler, son of Corbet?” she whispered. “Come to me.”

Chapter Six
     
    A low growl penetrated the hay-fuel where Sadler lay hidden. Suffocating from lack of airflow within the deep haystack and straining to discern what machinery was making that noise, he threw out his senses. He peered through the oily hay strands, into the dusty darkness of the stable. The only movement he saw was the slow whip of an android horse’s tail. He pressed his fingertips to the earth and felt for the vibrations of footsteps or churning wheels or hoofbeats.
    All still. All quiet. Except for that whiny, gravelly growl, which could only be a zeppelgonger—a steam-powered vehicle with eight-feet-long legs hinged like a man’s. The main torso was as broad as five men, the extendable arms possessing the might of ten.
    The noise spread, drawing closer, until Sadler could feel the heavy steel thump of the gigantic feet striding the ground. After another quick look into the stable, he shimmied from under the pile of hay-fuel. Sticky bits of it clung to his bare chest. They’d worked into his waistband and itched abominably, but he had no time for scratching now—the zeppelgonger lumbered into view.
    Sadler’s face tingled with adrenaline. Strapped to the torso was a cadence detector. And it was pointed right at him.
    He dived into the tunnel and began to sprint, legs eating up the dirt floor, turning the