by Hope Hart
Unfortunately, each plan requires one final step: Use our ship to get us off this planet.
At one point, I find myself turning and stalking back toward Meghan, unaware of my actions until I recognize a particularly unique rock that I’ve already walked past.
Focus.
It takes me five days to locate our ship, and I survive by hunting small animals and drinking from streams. My thoughts are consumed with Meghan, and it’s a miracle that I manage to find the ship at all. It is only after noticing tracks that disappeared into a forest that I stumble across a hidden trail. I rip pieces off my shirt and leave in strategic spots, tied up high in tree branches so I will be able to find my way back to my mate.
Finally, I’m staring at the piece of space junk that landed us in this situation.
The ship has largely been left alone, likely because the people here have no understanding of what to do with it. However, it is also likely that they will eventually begin taking parts, if only to prevent us from leaving.
I take in the ship in front of me and close my eyes, almost unable to look at it and the reminder of Meghan, working hard, determined to get us off the ground. Meghan flirting with me, peering up from beneath her lashes. Meghan gritting her teeth in frustration as I pretended I did not want her.
I work on the ship for three days. I feel half-crazed, sleeping only when I can no longer hold my eyes open long enough to hold the tools. I have fixed the thrusters but cannot continue with the landing gear until I see for myself that Meghan is safe.
I follow my trail back to the main cave, relieved to find that it is just two days of travel and not the five days it took me to finally locate the ship. I spend a few hours watching the entrance, making a mental note of how many guards are placed and where. Later, I will determine how long their shifts are and how often they are replaced.
Male Lahmu come and go, soaring into the air at every opportunity. The females, however, do not leave the mountain, perhaps preferring the safety of their dark home.
The guards attempt to block my entrance into the cave, and I snarl, preparing to kill them both until they freeze at a soft voice.
“The King has allowed him free passage,” the voice says from behind them, the tone entirely devoid of life, and I know instantly that it is the Queen.
They nod and move aside, and I stalk inside, desperate to get even the smallest glimpse of Meghan.
I do not thank the Queen but nod at her as she also moves to the side. Her head tilts as I pass.
Meghan is slumped in her cage, staring at the Princess. It is as if she senses me when I enter, and her whole body jolts, even as her eyes snap to mine.
I imagined that I would see accusation in her eyes for leaving for so long, but I only see relief and the same longing that I imagine is reflected on my own face. For a moment, everything else ceases to exist, and all I can see is her blue eyes, still burning, promising retribution against anyone who keeps her caged.
The Queen has followed me, and she appears lost in thought as she looks up at the ceiling. It takes me a moment to realize she is murmuring to me.
“It is a mistake to wear your feelings on your faces in this place. Happiness and love cannot survive here.”
“Perhaps happiness and love are worth surviving for.”
“I was like her once,” she nods toward Meghan. “Innocent, young, carefree, certain my life would be one adventure after another. There are certain types of males who take that innocence and break it. Are you one of those males?”
“I do not know.” I come from one of those males. Perhaps his blood runs true.
She is silent for a long moment.
“I can give you two minutes alone tonight after everyone has left.”
I snort, unwilling to believe that she would help me.
“Why?”
She keeps her gaze off me, staring blankly over the crowd. No one looking at us would think we were having any conversation at all.
“There are many different types of cages,” she says, walking away.
Chapter Fourteen
Meghan
The Princess is spoiled and petty.
With nothing else to do, I watch her from between the bars of my cage. She plays her court like a piano, turning them against each other and watching them fight it out.
“What are you looking at?” she asks me at one point, and I simply stare at her.
She snorts. “Stupid human.”
Her boredom and frustration with her life is evident with her every action. She has no power to leave this place. No ability to choose her own destiny. So she takes what little power she has, like a kid burning a line of ants with a magnifying glass.
I hate her. Sure, I hate everyone who keeps me in this cage as I slowly go out of my mind, desperate for freedom. But I have a special hatred for her and she knows it, meeting my eyes defiantly as she practices her cruelties.
Her father seems to alternately indulge and berate her, depending on his mood. She ignores him for the most part, but it’s the Queen I feel sorry for. As I watch everything and everyone, I notice her small kindnesses, which seem to be almost automatic, as if she can’t help it.
The Queen is careful to never let anyone see that kindness, even as she picks up a crying child, gives a blanket to a shivering woman, or slips extra food into our cages. It’s her that I find myself watching the most, wondering how she managed to keep any goodness at all in this place.
Maybe she’s not really here, I think one day, as she sits beside the King and he squeezes her arm, his hand leaving white marks on her skin as he hurts her for no reason other than he can.
I meet the Princess’s eyes, and I make sure she sees the judgment in mine while she sits and ignores the King hurting her mother. Her eyes narrow defiantly, and I’m certain she’ll make me pay at her first opportunity.
I don’t let anyone see how lonely I am, or how increasingly desperate I’m getting for a chance to walk outside. My trips to the bathroom are the only exercise I get, and they’re also the only time I can stand up straight. Unfortunately, the bathroom is located even deeper within the mountain, further from the entrance.
My one solace is a tiny piece of sky, which I can see if I sit in the perfect spot, in the far left corner of my cage. The entrance to the cave is tall and wide, and I can see the tiniest glimpse of the sky, carved out of the thick rock. In my worst moments, when I wonder if I’ll ever get out of here, I look up and crane my head, thankful that I can at least see white clouds on a blue sky or the twinkle of stars calling to me at night.
I try not to think about Methi. At first, I assume he’s searching desperately for a way to get me out of my cage. But five days after he leaves, I have a particularly bad few hours in which I have a gasping panic attack, curled into a ball as I become convinced that he’s dead, killed by one of the guards and buried out in the wilderness.
Not only is it exhausting to fall apart, but the spiteful court enjoys the sight, snorting and hissing at me. When I finally wipe my cheeks and get to my knees, I catch a small smile dancing around the Princess’s face.
I ignore her. I refuse to believe that Methi is dead.
I watch as the men come and go as they please, returning with fresh air lingering on them, as if mocking my longing. The women never leave, and I wonder why. How could they not want to take flight? If I had wings, I’d never land.
Then, one day when I’m watching the Princess, a look of intense envy crosses her face. Her eyes follow one of the Lahmu males as he walks toward the entrance, his wings stretching as if in preparation for flight.
It’s not his body that she’s gazing at so avidly. No, her eyes are locked firmly on his wings.
I don’t understand.
I put my chin in my hand as I compare the female and male Lahmu. They both have the same types of wings— long and gray, webbed like the wings of a bat. I freeze, ignoring everyone except the Lahmu, and study them intently. The rustle of wings is common amongst the
males, and they seem to be continuously shifting, stretching, and adjusting their wings.
The females, on the other hand, never seem to move their wings at all. They never stretch them, and it’s almost as if they’re there for decoration, or they’ve forgotten they have wings at all.
Or maybe they want to forget they have them.
The answer comes to me when I watch the Princess walk toward her throne, her back close to my cage.
“Oh my God. He clips their wings,” I breathe out softly, but she whirls, incensed.
“Watch your mouth,” she says softly, voice like a knife.
Then she turns, straightening her shoulders and raising her chin as she resumes her walk. I study her wings, swallowing back bile as I see the evidence of what was done to her, to every woman here to keep them grounded, stripping them of their birthright. The membrane of her wings has been cut, and long, twisted scars show where it’s healed, knitting the wing together in a way that ensures it will never be able to be used for flight.
From that moment, I compare every female Lahmu’s wings. The Queen has it the worst, and hers have healed so poorly that I wonder if they hurt. They remind me of an accordion. One that will never play music.
I slump in my cage, released only for occasional bathroom breaks, and I can see how easy it would be to lose myself, trapped within this mountain with beings who have been caged for centuries.
He’s not dead.
I repeat it over and over again. It becomes my mantra.
And then one day, Methi really isn’t dead, and I feel him nearby, like a wolf scenting its mate. He looks exhausted, his eyes slamming shut in relief when he sees me, still alive.
He stays for hours, just staring at me— never daring to get too close. I wonder which is worse— not seeing him at all, or just seeing a glimpse of him and not being able to feel his touch or hear his voice.
Methi
My mate is strong and fierce, and the universe is cruel and hard.
I wait in the dark as the King finally waves his hand, allowing his courtiers to leave. I see relief on more than one face as they are permitted to sleep after a day of spending every second on edge. I feel no sympathy. If they truly hated him, they would find a way to kill him.
The Princess follows behind her father, and I bare my teeth, well aware that the viper is making life even more difficult for Meghan, She watches her with hatred in her eyes, but I see it for what it is— a deep envy that can easily be twisted by a female who enjoys her small cruelties.
The Queen gets to her feet, scanning the area as she takes a moment to linger, casually brushing a hand down her long gown. The last of the courtiers have left, and Meghan has curled herself into a ball, likely for warmth, with no pillow or blanket in sight.
I rage silently but wait until the Queen looks up at where I’m hidden in the shadows and nods, even as she turns.
According to her, I have two minutes, and I mentally begin counting, even as I sprint to Meghan’s cage, reaching through and grabbing her hand.
She jolts up, mouth opening to scream, and then her face clears as she realizes it’s me.
“What are you doing?” she hisses. “If the King catches you, you’re dead.”
“We have two minutes,” I say, basking in the sound of her voice, the feel of her hand under mine.
“Where have you been? Have you got a plan?”
“I found the ship. I have fixed the thrusters. I could not leave you for any longer, but I will soon return to finish fixing the landing gear. Then, I will search night and day until I find fuel, and we will leave.”
She nods, but I can see her eyes darkening at the realization that she will soon be left alone again.
“How long will it take to fix the landing gear do you think?”
I shrug. “I do not know. But I will return to you every three days.”
“How long does it take to get back here?”
“Two days.”
She frowns. “Don’t come back until you’ve fixed it. I know,” she says as my horns straighten, “it sucks. But I’d rather know that you were working on getting us out of here than watch you while I’m trapped in here.”
I am proud of my brave mate, but the last thing I want to do is leave her again.
“Before we leave, I will kill the King,” I vow, and she bares her teeth in a fierce grin.
“Not if I kill him first.”
Meghan
Time slows to a crawl. I count the days by the glimpses I have of the sky, and the only thing getting me through is closing my eyes and picturing Methi working on the ship. I keep my ears open, hoping to hear someone talking about where to find fuel on Huldra, but all I hear are snippets of gossip and the misery of whichever poor creature is providing the day’s entertainment.
“Hey asshole,” I say to one of the courtiers who likes to stand near my cage and stare at me. “Take a picture or fuck off.”
He ignores me, tilting his head as if fascinated.
One day, the Princess gets frustrated with me staring mutely at her.
“Out,” she orders her courtiers, who hightail it out of the wide throne room. Her father is away, likely enjoying the freedom she will never have.
“You will tell me about the other worlds.”
I ignore her. Make the bitch work for it.
“I can make things worse for you,” she says softly. “Or I can make them better. Speak.”
I sigh. At this point I’m so desperate for conversation that I’ll even talk to her.
“What do you want to know?”
“What is it like traveling between planets?”
“Well,” I say awkwardly, certain I can never do the experience justice with my words. “It’s like being wrapped in the darkest blanket, with tiny beams of light shining through. You realize how small you are, but at the same time, you feel…necessary. It makes you want to roll your eyes when you think of all your small worries and petty, everyday problems. You realize that there has to be something after this life. That the universe is too big, and exciting, and beautiful to not have been planned in some way.”
She stares at me for a moment, and I see it in her eyes. That same lust for life and adventure I see in my own eyes every time I look in the mirror.
I may be trapped in a cage, but so is she. And I have memories of being among the stars to keep me company in here. She has nothing.
The Princess begins to demand more time in my company. Some days she ignores me completely, while other days she questions me. With nothing else to do, I talk to her, hoping that maybe one day I can convince her to have mercy and help us escape.
I have a feeling that she’s well aware of that hope and she’s playing with me, but fuck it, I need some form of conversation that doesn’t involve talking to myself.
“Tell me about your world.”
“Um, I think some parts are kind of similar to this planet. But we’re not ruled by one King. The planet is divided into different countries… territories, I guess, and each territory chooses how it rules itself.”
She raises an eyebrow. “What would be the point of that?”
I shrug. “A fair distribution of power?”
“For what purpose?”
I gaze at her blankly. “Because absolute power corrupts absolutely.” I flick a glance at her father, who is currently lounging on his throne, a glass of wine in his hand as he enjoys his latest entertainment, a fight club with entirely unwilling participants.
Her wings rustle as if she would flare them in annoyance if she could. What would it be like, to have the power to fly, only to have it stripped from you?
“Have you ever flown?” I ask her, expecting her to snap back.
“No,” she says softly. “We are altered as small children.” She turns her gaze to her mother, who as usual, sits next to the King, appearing completely oblivious to the pain and suffering of the people fighting and dying in front of her.
“They failed with my mother. Her wings h
ealed enough that as a child, for a few short minutes, she was able to take to the air.” She doesn’t need to say anything else as we both gaze at the Queen, her wings a twisted mockery of flight on her back.
“They found her and made certain that she would never again think to use her wings, brutalizing her for daring to fly.”
“They steal your freedom.”
“Freedom is an illusion,” she says, and I shake my head.
“Freedom is something you fight for.”
She sneers at me and walks away.
Conversation over.
Methi
My mate is struggling. It has been a month since we arrived. A month of her life spent in a cage not even big enough for her to spend time on her feet. The ship is fixed, and the only things keeping us from leaving are the lack of fuel and her cage.
For reasons unknown to me, the Queen ensures that I can have a few minutes with Meghan each time I return from my hunt for fuel. It kills me to see the hope in my mate’s eyes when I arrive, only to watch it turn to defeat when I tell her I have not yet located what we need. No one on this planet has said a word about fuel, likely under orders from the King, who would make them suffer excruciating pain before they died.
And Gods have I tried.
All it took for my pride to desert me was the wavering smile on Meghan’s face when I last saw her and told her I haven’t yet found fuel. From that moment, I became a beggar, promising untold riches, a life on Arcavia, and all manner of things to anyone I would meet, if they would only breathe a hint of where I could find fuel.
Sneers form, eyes dart, and people shake with fear.
No one is willing to give me what I need.
Frustration and fury ride me, influencing my every thought. There is no greater torture than watching my mate stare out between the bars of a cage.
And so I begin to make plans. I study the King’s guard, looking for cracks. I vow to make his death long and painful, torturing him until he gives us the fuel we need to leave this planet behind forever.
