The Captive King

by Susan Copperfield

  He might not have been involved.

  I hoped he wasn’t. Once again, I blamed my traitorous heart for my desire to have someone in my life I could trust, however foolish, impulsive, and misguided my trust was. We didn’t know each other. We hardly knew anything about each other, except we could debate without hating each other when it was over, win or lose. I wanted to spend many a night arguing with him.

  I didn’t even care what we talked about.

  For me to feel that way, there had to be something wrong with me.

  The hours slipped by, and still no one came, so I began again in Mayan, the same story but written a little larger and a little bolder so it could wrap around the whole. The meanings didn’t change although the language did.

  It pleased me there was so little variation, the nuances so minor they felt more like dialect shifts rather than entirely different languages. Their cultures differed, but their hearts remained the same. I supposed they would know better than anyone else.

  They’d seen so many human hearts exposed to the sky and offered up to their gods.

  Long after I finished, hunger ate away at my stomach, as did thirst, but no one came. I wondered at the tactic. Did Stanley Hauser mean to abandon me to my fate and test my claims I’d bust out of prison?

  I wrinkled my nose. Without the security of knowing I could break out of my cell at any time, I might’ve panicked. Without food, I’d be able to live for several weeks, assuming I had water. While I wouldn’t like it, I could drink out of the bathroom sink as needed.

  I refused, however. After I finished vandalizing the cell floor with Nahuatl, Mayan, and Ch’olti’, I’d make my escape, head out into the wilderness, and hike to a saner climate if necessary. The idea of abandoning the hope of a warm bed and a sharing a lifetime with someone bothered me, but I wasn’t going to sit around and wait.

  I’d been rescued a few too many times already, and if someone was going to be bailing me out again, it would be because I stood on death’s door.

  I turned my attention back to my work, and when I finished translating the life story into Ch’olti’, I stood on the cot so I could admire my work. Few would be able to tell the differences between the three languages, but something about how they layered on top of one another seemed just right, like the three cultures were better together than separate.

  I supposed it played in with my belief that once upon a time, many of the ancient tribes had much closer ties than historians believed. I’d never be able to prove it, but I found satisfaction in my work all the same.

  Taking the blanket and sheet off the cot, I tossed it on the floor to cover my work and sat on it, thinking through how I’d escape prison and march through Alaska to freedom. I’d told Landen my methods, but my talent would make me difficult to find.

  When I made my shelter, I’d dig it deep enough to protect me from the weather, and I’d redirect the smoke to mislead anyone searching for me. It’d be easy enough to set traps for anyone searching for me, which would alert me to any intruders.

  If Landen cared enough to find me, I’d be happy, but he’d have to do a lot of convincing if he wanted me to stay. The next time someone asked me if I had allergies, I’d immediately list prison cells as my top allergen with cinnabar as a close second.

  That I didn’t have any real allergies didn’t matter.

  Before I left, I’d need to prepare for a venture into the wilderness. First, I needed better clothes. If I stayed in the shorts and shirt I’d been wearing since I’d been yanked out of Nevada, I’d alert the local wildlife I was in the area with my stench. I’d also freeze to death within a few miles.

  Clothing topped my list of things to pilfer after I busted out of prison. Once dressed for the weather, I’d need a pack, which I’d load with basic supplies, including a good knife. If I could find a kitchen, I’d make off with enough food to get me through a few days before I lived off the land.

  If I could figure out where Landen lived, maybe I’d get some petty payback and steal his blanket for my venture into the Alaskan wilderness. While the thought intrigued me, I abandoned it.

  I wouldn’t have time to find him if I wanted to make a clean break. Realistically, I wouldn’t have time to do anything other than grab the first decent coat I found, hope to find a pair of boots, and make a run for it.

  If I could find a good place to hide, I might be able to buy myself time.

  There were too many ifs and not enough certainties. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about light; my bracelets still glowed. Being alone in the dark and cold bothered me far more than the idea of hiking across a kingdom.

  I had issues, and some of them concerned me enough I might make an appointment with a shrink upon returning to a civilized kingdom. After so many years, would my parents welcome their failure of a daughter home? I could regroup in New York.

  I could also get a doctorate in ancient languages from one of three universities in New York City, and I’d have no trouble proving my expertise. I’d whip out my skills with Ch’olti’ and pass my first try.

  The idea of crawling home amused a giggle out of me. I’d never considered it as a viable option, but walking across the entire continent and illegally sneaking across the borders of at least two kingdoms appealed in the same way learning a death temple’s secrets did. Only the insane or foolish would try.

  How long would it take? Would my parents even be alive by the time I made it back to New York? Would the bracelets yank me somewhere else at their whim?

  I eyed the obsidian bands warily.

  Until I figured out what made them tick and prevent them from teleporting me somewhere again, I definitely needed to keep a survival kit around suitable for any climate. The Nahua had more tricks up their ancient sleeves than I did, but I wouldn’t be caught off guard again.

  Footsteps warned me of someone’s approach, and I sat crossed legged on the blanket, checking to make sure my carvings were hidden. They were.

  Instead of the old man I expected, a teenaged girl with long, curly brown hair cracked open the door, pressed a finger to her lips, and said, “Shh.”

  Alaska was a strange place.

  When I didn’t make a sound, she slipped inside, took off her shoe, and used it to prop open the door. “Hi. I’m Elise,” she whispered. “When the maid told me that old bastard had brought a girl down here, I hadn’t believed it. But he did! You’re no girl. You’re a woman.”

  “Hello, Elise,” I replied, careful to keep my voice quiet. “You mean Stanley Hauser.”

  The girl nodded. “I’m one of his aides.”

  Both of my eyebrows shot up towards my hairline. “You’re one of his aides?”

  What the hell was an old fart like Stanley Hauser doing with an aide who couldn’t possibly be a day over fifteen? After my experience with his eyes locked on my chest, I didn’t like the answers I came up with one bit.

  All of them involved young Elise being a victim of some sort.

  Elise gulped. “Yes.”

  “I’m going to be blunt, Elise. If that limp dick even looks at you the wrong way, I’m going to beat the fucker within an inch of his life.”

  She froze, and I viewed her reaction as a confirmation of my fears.

  “But you can’t do that!”

  I crossed my arms and narrowed my eyes. “Why the hell not?”

  “He’s an advisor.”

  “So?”

  “He runs Alaska.”

  Huh. Interesting. “Doesn’t a king rule over Alaska?”

  “The king? I mean, yes, of course. His Majesty is the ruler, but Mr. Hauser is an advisor. Advisors guide the king. That’s Mr. Hauser’s job.”

  “Unimpressed,” I informed her. “Oh, look. I seem to have lost all of my fucks, so I have no fucks to give about what his role is, and I have a serious problem with abusers.”

  Never again had been my motto since my first—and last—experience with an abuser, and since I could protect myself, I made it my mission to prote
ct those who couldn’t protect themselves.

  The thought of young, impressionable girls under the power of lecherous old men pissed me off enough I considered murder. I’d begin with Stanley Hauser, if I could get even a speck of proof.

  If I thought I could get away with it, no one would ever find his body.

  “Why would you jump to such a conclusion?” she whispered, and she looked over her shoulder towards the door.

  Fear strained her expression even more than her breasts stretched her shirt. I’d seen the expression too many times in male-dominated fields.

  It reminded me I’d become one of the lucky ones, an untouchable because of my talent and ruthlessness in using it. Killing wasn’t my way, but I’d consider an exception.

  No one deserved to look so afraid.

  I drew a deep breath to calm myself. “I saw how he looked at me, and you’re a prettier girl than I am, and you have bigger breasts.” I pointed at her chest, which was barely restrained in a shirt too tight for her. “Asshole men are easily distracted, and they have to be taught they can’t just walk over women. Here’s a piece of unasked for advice: get your ladies covered up with a sweater before you poke an eye out, then find a bra that actually supports them instead of putting them up on offer for any man who wants a visual buffet.”

  I canted my head and considered her breasts. “And maybe tell me who makes that bra, because I think I could use one like it.”

  Elise’s face turned red. “Uh, I, I mean, it’s custom. They…”

  Right. With a bust her size, she’d need to pull out all the stops to get a bra, period. “They don’t make them in your size, so you have to special order them. And I thought mine were bad. You have to be packing Fs.”

  Elise’s face turned even redder. “G.”

  “Your poor back. I just want a straight answer from you Elise, because I’m about to waltz my way out of here, and I’ll be breaking as many laws as I can on the way out. Has that limp dick ever touched you?”

  She burst into tears, which was the only answer I needed.

  My heart hurt for her. “Did he rape you, Elise?”

  I would never forget her stricken look for the rest of my life, nor would I forget her whimper. Guilt over my callous handling of the situation hit me as deep as her gulped breaths as I exposed the truth—and her shame.

  I knew that shame. I’d carried the same shame with me for years before I’d buried it, hiding it as deep away as I could, treating every man the same, expecting the worst and refusing to allow any to get near me.

  Until Landen.

  He’d broken the physical barriers and had punched through the emotional ones, too.

  My heart wasn’t safe and sound anymore, and I remembered what it was like to fear the pain, hating myself for a man’s crimes.

  I’d worn sweaters, too, until I’d learned my breasts could be a weapon and expression of confidence. Her shirt and bra weren’t the culprits.

  Men like Stanley Hauser were.

  Instead of breaking as I expected, Elise lifted her chin, looked me in the eyes, and replied, “Yes. He did. I came down here because I thought he’d done the same to you, too.”

  When I buried the asshole, no one would hear his screams. Rising from the ground, I kicked the blanket aside, took hold of Elise’s elbow, and pointed at the Maya calendar. “See this?” I tapped the start of the Maya calendar with my toe. “This is the start of the Maya calendar. It means life, renewal, and rebirth. July 26 is the start of the Maya calendar according to ours. That’s my birthday.”

  Shifting my foot counterclockwise, I tapped the last day of the Maya year. “I have a serious issue with men forcing themselves on unwilling women, and I already had an issue with that asshole for looking at me like he did. This isn’t my kingdom, so it probably isn’t my problem, but I can’t just leave it be.”

  “But that’s just how—”

  “Excuse me?”

  Elise snapped her mouth closed.

  I inhaled, held my breath until my chest hurt, and exhaled. “What is today’s date?”

  “September 28.”

  I pointed at the equivalent on the Maya calendar. “If that limp dick values his life, today’s the last day he touches an unwilling woman ever again.”

  “But how can you even do that?”

  “I hit harder than he does,” I replied, and I unleashed my talent, directing my ire at the door. “Only a weak, pathetic man who doesn’t deserve to be called a man forces himself on someone else.”

  Like the Nahua altar, the metal exploded into fine, harmless powder, which rained to the floor. Elise gasped and shied away from the destruction. “Oh my god!”

  “This prison is made of stone, and I’ve had it with this damned kingdom,” I snarled, lifting my chin and slapping my hands together to clear them of any stray dust. “Where can I find Stanley Hauser, Elise?”

  “The king’s audience chamber,” she whispered. “The guards…”

  “Will only wish they could deal with me.” What did I have to lose? I was already up a shit creek without a paddle, and my other plan involved testing nature at her worst, which wouldn’t end well for me no matter how much I liked to pretend I could survive through a bitter winter. “I’ve got nothing to lose. I warned him not to mess with me. The guards are of no concern.”

  “They might kill you.”

  I suspected I’d been left to die and rot, leaving me with few realistic options. Death came to everyone, but if I had to choose between a prison cell, the wilderness, or striking fear into the hearts of abusers, my choice was a simple one.

  I’d risk death to do the right thing, however illegal.

  Some confessions were easier than others, and I wasn’t about to lie to her, not really. “I’m not going to live forever, Elise. I have medical problems. If I’m going to go out, I’d like to go out with a bang. I’ll make an impression they’ll never forget, but I need one thing from you.”

  While I wouldn’t like it to be a literal bang, I could expect that. It beat doing nothing.

  “What?”

  “The courage to tell the truth, no matter how they try to knock you down or beat it out of you. There’s never just one victim, but it only takes one to lead the charge.”

  The fear made way for fire, and Elise lifted her chin a little higher. “I can do that.”

  “Request a truth seer, so he can’t bury the truth with his lies. No, don’t request. Demand, and keep demanding until you get what you ask for.”

  I hated men who turned girls into frightened women. I hated them so much.

  “I will,” she promised.

  The prison was actually a dungeon, one that had been converted to have three cells like mine. I disintegrated the metal doors, leaving powder in my wake. If they wanted to hold anyone else prisoner, they’d need to do some repairs.

  Elise watched me with a slack jaw, her eyes so wide they were at risk of popping out.

  “I’m probably crazy,” I told her after destroying the last door. “The last time I lost my temper, I cleared out an entire Nahua temple in a few seconds. Not one of my better moments.”

  “Na-what?”

  “Nahua. The Aztecs. I’m an archaeologist.”

  “You’re a what?”

  “I dig in the dirt looking for treasure under the guise of studying history.”

  “What does Mr. Hauser want with an archaeologist? Why would he lock you down here? That doesn’t make sense! He’s insane. He has to be insane.”

  “It probably has something to do with my choice of men. I don’t have relationships. I have disasters.”

  Her expression twisted from horror. “Were you…?”

  “No.” I heaved a sigh. As I’d trampled over her emotions, I began paying back the debt with a little honesty on my part. “I meant Landen. He’s nothing but trouble.”

  Elise recoiled as though I’d smacked her across the face. “What?”

  I indulged in a hearty stomp of my foot. “The audacity
of that man. First, he buys the damned necklace so my dig team could keep working, but he dared to make dinner a part of the bid. How… how evil. He used my weakness against me. I can’t resist a good dinner. I guess it was payback. I made him buy me a coffee for a quarter. At a damned charity auction. He didn’t know I had a twenty to my name.” I hesitated. “If you ever meet someone named Landen, do not tell him I told you that. He’ll never let me forget it.”

  Elise waited, her mouth opened.

  “What? Is it that surprising someone would want to buy me dinner? I mean, it is. I’m not relationship material. I dig in the dirt for a living. Want to know what a rock is? I can probably help you with that. But men? Hell no. It was years before I could go near a man without throwing up on him—or burying him neck deep.”

  “Why would you throw up on him?”

  “I have issues.”

  “What sort of issues?”

  “Male trust issues.”

  “You were raped, weren’t you?”

  Turnabout was fair play, however uncomfortable. “It was an attempt, but it was a violent one. I got lucky. My talent helped. I flared. I got away, and after that, I learned to always be prepared. But I never lost the fear—or the anger.”

  Elise swallowed, looking both ways down the hallway, as though fearing someone would hear her. “Even with…” Her hesitation caught my attention, and she gulped before asking, “Landen?”

  I hoped she wouldn’t be as damaged as I was, although I usually viewed my issues as being strong so I would forget I’d been weak—and still was in many ways. Attempting levity, I forced a giggle. “Landen would lock me in his bedroom to keep me out of trouble if he could, and he’d probably make me like it.” I smiled, hoping my words—and laughter—didn’t sound as fake to her as it did to me. “Landen doesn’t scare me. He never did. I’ve been with a few men, but not many. Most men are too annoying, stupid, or aggressive for my liking. Landen doesn’t annoy me, he’s not stupid, and he’s the antithesis of aggressive.”

  “He’s pacifistic.”

  “You know Landen?”

  She bobbed her head. “I’d heard a rumor he had met someone. Is… are you her?”