The Mountain

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—

He gave her something to make her sleep. After the humiliating ordeal of being stretched out on the bed, tugged and pinched and poked, he had lifted her head and forced a glass of juice down her throat. She didn’t remember anything else until she woke up, alone, curled in a tight ball on the same bed. For a panicked moment, she wondered if he had violated her while she slept. She inventoried her body, trying to feel if anything was different. But slowly, she convinced herself that this, at least, he had spared her.

He also must have been the one to drape the thin blanket over her naked body. The room was bitterly cold. And the temperature aside, she couldn’t stand to lie here naked, alone, knowing that that man was likely to come back. She counted to five and then she leapt off the bed. The blanket pooled on the floor at her feet and she picked it up and draped it around her shoulders. She surveyed the room again to ensure that the warrior was not here, lurking in some unseen corner.

Her clothes were nowhere to be seen.

There were no windows–with a shudder, she remembered that.

There was a large, metal door on the far wall next to a wooden bench. She ran to the door and tried the handle. The knob creaked slightly at her touch, but it didn’t budge, even when she grasped it with both hands and twisted and pulled. Flakes of rust came off on her hands, streaking her palms reddish brown. Impatient, she wiped them against the blanket.

Another scan. There were no more entrances or exits that she could see.

What if they had a fire? she thought. Okay, maybe mountains couldn’t burn. But the things inside these rooms could. And if smoke filled these corridors, people would surely suffocate. Of course, there must be ventilation. She could breathe, even if she was still wracked with the horrible, heavy feeling that this would somehow cease to be true so deep inside the stone.

Shaking off thoughts of imagined disasters, Lucy focused on the one at hand. She was trapped in the room for now. But it was full of things that might be used as weapons. Perhaps of greater interest, there appeared to be a chest of drawers on the other side of the sleeping area that she reasoned might contain clothes. Determined, she walked towards it, realizing as she got closer that the door to a small, tiled bathroom–also no window–was open just beyond it. She opened a middle drawer of the dresser, reasoning that more personal items would be kept in the smaller drawers at the top. The third drawer she tried yielded a messy pile of worn, button-down shirts in a soft, flannel-like fabric. She picked one up and fingered the material, confident that it was thick enough to help ward off the worst of the chill. She didn’t like the idea of wearing his clothes, but she liked the idea of being naked when he returned even less.

Before she could think much more about it, she pulled a shirt over her head, doing up the last of the buttons. It hung past her knees. Despite the disarray of the garments inside the drawers, they appeared to be clean. They carried the smell of soap. And underneath, faint but certain, the same spicy, earthy scent of the warrior.

She tried the other drawers, but there was nothing remotely capable of being fashioned into pants and his socks were so huge they wouldn’t stay on her feet. On the mountain today, she and Sheera had been barefoot. It was common on the island. Resources were scarce and the weather was warm ten months out of the year. During the short, brutal winters, no one ventured outside if they could help it. Yet, inside the mountain, it was colder than the worst, snowiest day of the last winter. How did these creatures stand it?

She examined the rest of the room, poking into corners and pressing her palms against the stone walls due to the faint possibility of some kind of hidden tunnel or other escape. She made quick use of the tiny bathroom, using the toilet and splashing water on her face. There was a small nook past the living area with a table and chairs, but no sign of food. The space was sparse, but lived-in. It was messier and softer than she would expect from such a frightening person. Inside the desk, she found files and notebooks scrawled edge to edge in a language she didn’t understand. Yet, in a bottom drawer, she also found a small collection of crayon drawings and a pile of letters tied with string. On top of the desk was a formal-looking fountain pen along with a collection of small plastic toys. One, she thought she recognized from a library book.

In the living room, there was something recessed into the wall high over her head. She was considered pushing over one of the chairs to examine it when the doorknob creaked. Startled, she darted back towards the bed like a rabbit disappearing into its hole at the shadow of a hawk. Unwilling to sit on the bed, she wedged herself against the footboard, trying to disappear into the wall.

Meek. Soft. Afraid.

It was only a little bit pretend.

The door opened on creaking hinges and the warrior came into the room. His eyes leveled on the bed and for a moment, his face registered surprise. A moment later, he found her hiding place and came towards her. He crouched at her level, boxing her in and surveyed her. His face showed little emotion, but she had the distinct sense that he was reading her and the wild thought that, somehow, he knew everything she had been doing and thinking since he had left.

“I thought I would be here before you awoke,” he said finally. “But I see that I was not.” He gave a small smile, taking in the shirt she was wearing. “You are not permitted to wear clothes without my leave,” he continued easily. “I will decide what you wear and if you wear it. And being naked makes it more difficult for you to try to escape. But I find I am pleased to see you wearing my shirt.” As he spoke, he reached out and fingered the collar, slipping his hand underneath for a brief moment to grasp her shoulder. “You’re too thin,” he said, standing up and abruptly changing the subject. “Are food supplies so low on the ground?”

She watched as he took off his jacket and tossed it over the chair at his desk. He untied his hair and let it fall loose, scratching idly at his scalp, as if relieved to be free of this aspect of his uniform.

“That was a question,” he said, focusing on her again. “You will answer.”

She couldn’t tell him anything about the island. The warriors had not attacked in over a decade, but still, her people were virtually their prisoners. Not perhaps so profoundly as she was at the moment. But near enough.

“You must know how little food we are provided,” she said finally.

“I know, too, that you supplement our generosity,” he said, a warning note in his voice. “Tell me something more.”

Feeling oddly certain that he would know if she lied, she offered a half-truth. “My family is poor,” she said. “We hunt for most of our food and we haven’t been lucky lately.”

“Lucky,” he said. “Hmm.”

Lucy thought of Gino, her friend Harley’s father, who was in charge of tending and distributing their food stores. He worked hard to try to ensure that everyone had enough. He had to make agonizing decisions–did a child deserve more? Or his ailing grandmother? The warrior’s dismissal of his efforts made her angry.

“Are you hungry?” he asked.

If he had commanded her to eat, she might have allowed herself to do it. But to admit any weakness seemed impossible. She shrugged lightly, hoping that this would satisfy him.

“Speak,” he said, snapping his fingers at her. “And don’t lie.”

“I suppose I am hungry. I can’t really feel anything.”

This he accepted.

“Food is on its way, in either case. You will eat.”

The question had never been about whether she was to be fed or not. The room was silent for a while. Lucy stayed still in the corner, hoping he would not ask any more questions. The warrior rifled through a drawer in his desk. He raised an eyebrow and shot a look in her direction. Remembering looking through that same drawer earlier, Lucy flinched.

“Did you understand any of it?” he asked, gesturing to one of the notebooks.

Lucy shook her head.

“Good.”

A knock sounded. “Go into the bathroom and shut the door,” he told her. She sat still for a moment, surprised at the command. “Go,” he snapped, and Lucy realized she had forced him to repeat himself. She jumped up and did as he bid her, relieved to be away from him. She stood in the center of the room, waiting, and rubbing her hands over her arms. It was colder in here than in the main room. She heard the faint sound of voices in the other room and then the creak of the door closing. A moment later, he opened the door and gestured for her to follow him. She did, quickly, undecided as of yet if any rebellion was advisable. When she failed to obey him, it was out of fear or surprise. She was not feeling brave.

There was a bowl of soup waiting for her at the table. He watched as she ate. She went slowly, despite the hunger that rose up and raged in her at the sight of food.

“You can eat more later. It isn’t safe to eat too much when you’ve been very hungry.”

He watched her eat, and she ignored him. When she was finished, she didn’t know what to do. She would have liked to go back to the corner near the bed, to hide as much as was possible and to think. But she sensed that he intended her to wait for his next command, like a doll placed on the shelf.

“Can I ask questions?” she asked.

He steepled his fingers and sat back in his chair to look at her. “What is it you want to know?”

She remembered his fingers, caressing her endlessly, pushing up inside her where no one–

“My friend who was with me picking berries. What happened to her?”

“My second in command took her back down the mountain. Assuming she did not fight him too fiercely, she should be completely unharmed. Although I would not be surprised if he was forced to knock her out to keep her from trying to climb back up. The fence is repaired now, so I suspect she fares well enough.”

The fence in that section of the perimeter around the mountain had been damaged for as long as Lucy could remember. Others had gone to pick berries, although never very many and never as high as Lucy and Sheera had ventured. If the fence had been repaired already, she must have been asleep for quite some time.

“No more questions?”

The girl had fallen silent at his answer. He knew where her mind would likely go. He had admitted easily that her friend was safe, released back to her people. She would want to know why her own fate was different. But to ask it might incite him to hurt her friend or herself. It didn’t make sense to her. It couldn’t–yet. And she was trying to figure it out.

“Did she talk you into your adventure today?” he asked. “Perhaps she was the mastermind? I could find her easily enough. The treaty still allows me to have her.”

“You’re looking to punish whoever decided we should climb the mountain?” she asked. “It was me. I told her it would be safe. Everyone knows it has been years since we’ve seen anyone on that side of the mountain.”

“You confess?” he asked.

Slowly, she nodded. He admired her for taking the blame for her friend. Her loyalty to the blonde also rankled. Lucy did not seem to know what she was. Did her friend? He would inquire, make use of his spies on the ground. He had already tasked them with providing a report on Lucy–her life and her family. And he had sent word via messenger that her belongings would be accepted at the mountain gate if her family wished her to have them. When Rader had dropped off dinner, he said that a convoy had been sighted traveling back towards the mountain. Another mob forming, or, more conveniently, safety in numbers as someone brought Lucy’s things. —

The girl bowed her head towards the table, letting her dark hair fall in front of her face. Her shoulders were tense again. He had noticed immediately that her posture telegraphed everything she was feeling. If she were to decide to speak, she would square her shoulders first. When he had examined her on the bed, her shoulders had been up around her ears, tense and tight. Quickly, it had become a challenge. Even the slightest relaxation of her thin frame was a victory.

Now, she was trying to shut him out again. Closing him off visually and mentally. Despite her fear, being allowed to ask questions had drawn her in. She was inquisitive, intelligent, desperate to understand her situation and regain some ground. But the questions were the opening salvo in a back-and-forth developing between them that she was determined to reject.

Lucy had been thinking about Sheera and their mission. Now that she had been captured, was there any hope of completing the task she had set out to do? If Sheera were to try, would she be so lucky to escape again? And what if her people on the ground came after her? They would be murdered, as the islanders were years ago when they tried to take back the mountain. She needed to escape before it could happen. And if there was some way to bring with her knowledge that would help the islanders to regain some power–

She was shaken from her reverie when the warrior reached out and grabbed her around the waist. In a single motion, she was scooped up out of her chair and deposited unceremoniously onto his lap. She let out a small cry of fright and he laughed, settling her sideways so that she was trapped against his chest, her legs dangling above the cool stone floor. She was keenly aware of her meagre clothing.

“If you won’t look at me, you can touch me instead,” with that, he lifted her hand, capturing it beneath his own and pressing it possessively to his chest.

“Why should I think of you at all?”

“Try a different question,” he said. “And keep in mind that you won’t always be allowed free reign to question me.”

“I don’t know your name,” she said.

It wasn’t exactly a question. She didn’t need to know it to hate him. Briefly, she indulged in fantasies of doing him injury, bringing an army against him and his people that kept her own loved ones virtually enslaved. Did she have questions? Of course. But they weren’t easy ones to ask. Why was she being kept here alone with him? Except for the five blank, stoic warriors who had help her captive at his command, he was the only one of them she’d seen. From the stories she’d heard about the mountain people, she had expected to be violated–raped, tortured, murdered. So far, he had humiliated her and sought to dominate her, but she was otherwise unharmed. Why? Was this way of interacting normal in their strange culture? Or, more likely, was there some reason that he was waiting to allow the other shoe to drop?

“That wasn’t exactly a question,” he said, echoing her thoughts. His voice was deep, musical. She could feel the vibrations from her position against his chest. “And I’ve already lost your attention again. Would it surprise you that I know your name? Lucy Marie Cantor. Twenty three years old. A lifelong resident of the island. But, of course, you’ve had little choice in that. Your parents are Richard and Emilia Cantor. You have no siblings.”

“What is your name?” she asked. She understood what he was doing. If she would not ask him questions, play his game, he might tell her things she didn’t want to know. Now, she knew that he had the power to access information about her family and probably the other islanders, too. He probably knew where they lived. Probably, he could capture her family easily enough. Or worse.

“My name is Warder,” he said.

It was so close to what she had called him in her mind. Warrior.

“My name pleases you?” he asked.

“What?”

“You smiled.”

“Oh.” Quickly, she smoothed her features.

“Why?”

“I guess because–because I had been calling you ‘warrior’ to myself. It’s what you look like.”

Secretly, he was pleased. To have insight into what she had been thinking about him and by the name she called him. But he did not betray his feelings as she did, with a smile. “You have not seen war, but you know what a warrior looks like?”

This, of everything, gained him her full attention. She raised her head and looked him in the eye, despite their proximity. He could feel her breath on his neck.

“I have seen war,” she said. “We are at war all the time on the island. Trying to survive. Trying not to provoke you while we limp along with what little we have been allowed to keep. You’re right that I haven’t seen a warrior like you–I’ve only read about them. But every islander I know is a warrior. Or a soldier, if you like, enlisted into a harsh existence for no reason I can understand.”

He hadn’t yet seen this fire. It didn’t exactly surprise him. He had sensed something in her. Been drawn to her, instantly, and if he had been instantly tempted to take a weakling for his mate, he would have surprised himself. A shame, perhaps, that this display of temper and bravery accompanied a healthy disrespect for his people. But good that it was there, as he had expected.

He smiled, then, and her eyes widened in anger before she turned her head.

“You’re not entirely wrong,” he said. He reached out and grasped her chin, turning her, gently, but forcefully, to face him again. “But your perspective has thus far been limited. And–” he added, waiting for her eyes to meet his own, “–you’re correct. I do look like a warrior. And I am. A very good one.”

He let her go and she lowered her head, ashamed that she was unwilling to face him, to stare him down. His large hand went to her back and he pressed his thumb into the space between her shoulder blades, sending a shiver down her back. Slowly, he began to massage her shoulders. His hands were huge, powerful. He spoke of being a warrior while touching her in a way that seemed impossibly gentle. The juxtaposition was confusing and frightening. She turned out of his grasp and to her surprise, he allowed her to slip to the floor.

“Get into the bed,” he said.

She turned on him. “No.”

In an instant, he was on her. He dragged her to the bed and pushed her down onto her back. Then, he slapped her, hard enough that she felt red rise instantly on her cheek. She stayed still, stunned into silence, her face pressed against the blanket.

“I’ve told you that I will not repeat myself. You are learning to expect it of me.”

“You hit me,” she said, raising a hand to touch her stinging cheek.

No one ever had before. Her parents were strict, but corporal punishment was not something they ascribed to.

“Get under the covers,” he said. “Or I’ll do it again and I won’t be so easy on you.”

Easy, she thought. Easy? He was crazy.

Summoning every ounce of strength she possessed, Lucy crawled under the blanket, scooting instinctively towards the wall and curling up on her side. After a brief pause, the bed dipped as the warrior–Warder–climbed in with her. He didn’t lift the blanket. Instead, he laid on top of it, effectively trapping her. She held her breath, expecting him to reach for her, to torture her as he had last night, or worse. Instead, slowly, his breathing evened out and she realized that he was asleep. He took up most of the bed and the other end of the blanket was tucked in between the bed and the wall. With her hands as they were, it would take some maneuvering to shift it. And any movement would risk waking him. So, she lay still, listening to him breathe. Eventually, she realized that she wasn’t shivering anymore. Her cocoon-like blanket prison was warm and so was Warder, radiating heat next to her as he slept. It seemed like hours before she drifted off into a troubled sleep.

#

Sheera needed a plan. Without Lucy, she was at risk of acting without thinking.

Sheera was the brave one, the schemer. Lucy was the counter-weight.

Ever since they were kids, it was Sheera who would map out grand ideas and march off into action when they were half-completed. Lucy would listen—she had a way of listening that really was listening—and then, just when Sheera was about to blow everything up, she might say quietly: “Have you thought about it like this?”

And she would. Because she didn’t like upsetting Lucy. And often she could see things Lucy’s way once she calmed down.

In Lucy’s absence, Sheera tried to find her own kind of reason in the emotions swirling through her mind.

Her first impulse was to storm the mountain.

The soldier who had taken her back to town had warned her what would happen if she did, right before he knocked her out, leaving her just outside the busiest part of town. She would be taken prisoner and the treaty allowed a death penalty for those who disobeyed that law twice.

The other choice was to go to her father. It had been his plan in the first place to try to breach the mountain. His calculations had led him to believe that there were certain locations where even a rudimentary antenna might give them a hope of reaching the outside world—the world that they had once had access to by boat, plane, computer, telephone before the mountain people descended. He seemed to think it was best to leave Lucy where she was, despite the many dangers, in hopes that she might complete her mission. Still, he might be talked around.

So why didn’t that idea have any appeal?

In the end, she tried to channel her friend, her heart, and chose what she considered a middle ground. She would dust off an old plan of her father’s, one she believed had been abandoned too soon. And she wouldn’t tell him what she was doing. Instead, she would tell Miles. Pliable, handsome, strong Miles.

If that didn’t work, there was the nuclear option. But Miles would be plan A.

#

Lucy woke up disoriented to the sound of someone knocking. The sound rebounded off the metal door, filling the bunker-like room. She tried to roll over to see what it was, but something blocked her.

Warder.

His body was wrapped around her, radiating heat. The cold air stung her ears and her toes where they had escaped the blanket as well as his intense warmth.

The knocking sounded again and the arm slung over her waist twitched. As the fog slowly lifted, Lucy realized that her legs were trapped, too. His leg was slung over hers, pinning her to the bed. She tried to roll away from him and he instantly pulled her back in, pressing himself full-length against her. She could feel him through the thin blanket–the hardness between his legs. She tried again to get away and he let out a soft chuckle, slipping his other arm under the blanket and hugging her almost painfully.

“Good morning,” he spoke softly into her hair.

“Someone is knocking at the door,” she told him, praying for something to drag him away.

He laughed again. After what seemed like forever, he stood. She was relieved and, a moment later, she was freezing. Teeth chattering, she sat up, pulling the blanket with her. Warder answered the door wearing only a pair of sweatpants. He greeted the person on the other side with a brief, “You’re late.”

“Your security measures made me late,” the visitor answered. A young woman walked through the door. She was carrying two baskets stacked on top of each other and a bag slung over each shoulder. She stalked past Warder and placed the baskets on the table on the other end of the room from the bed. Next, she shrugged off one of the bags and left it lying on the stone floor. The other, she kept as she walked back towards Warder. She flung it at him with a shake of her thick red hair. “This was all I could get.”

“All right,” said Warder. He turned and set the bag down on his desk and closed the door she had left open. “Make breakfast.”

The woman murmured something and headed back towards the table. She busied herself unpacking the smaller of the two crates, shifting the other to the floor. Lucy watched her, wondering despite herself at the relationship between this girl and Warder and what their easy interaction meant about life inside the mountain.

As she worked, Warder sat at his desk, pushing the bag to one side and taking out one of his notebooks. He wrote with intense focus, seemingly ignoring everything around him. The girl, too, seemed absorbed in her task. Lucy wondered if she even realized that she was there.

She sat quietly, listening to the scratching of Warder’s pen and the sound of the girl mixing some kind of breakfast in metal bowls. After a while, Warder snapped the notebook shut and leaned back so that he could see the table.

“Set three places, Persephone,” he said.

The woman, who had been occupied humming to herself, shot an annoyed glance over her shoulder first at Warder and then at Lucy. The quick way she leveled Lucy with her disapproval let her know instantly that her presence in the room had not gone unnoticed after all. She kept as still as possible, determined not to shrink away but also eager not to provoke a confrontation.

“Three?” the girl asked.

“If you wish to eat,” Warder answered her, a warning note in his voice.

After another few minutes of loud clattering, the woman stepped back from the table. “It’s ready,” she said, flopping into a chair.

Warder had crossed the room and was now reading something that he had retrieved from one of the baskets. He finished reading it before taking his seat. “Come here,” he said. He didn’t even look in her direction.

Lucy took a deep breath. One. Two. Three. Four.

“Lucy?” he said sharply, interrupting her before she could get to five. She got up, leaving the blanket. She was still cold, but the shock of losing the heat of his body had dimmed and it was bad enough to face yet another person wearing one of Warder’s shirts, much less wearing a blanket wrapped around her like a child.

She sat in the empty seat in front of a bowl of what looked like oatmeal. She wondered if the soup last night has been drugged like the juice. It must have been, because she could not imagine how else she could have slept for so long. It seemed unlikely that the woman–Persephone–would have doctored her breakfast. At least, if she had, the vitriolic look she had sent in Lucy’s direction suggested that she should worry more about poison than a sleeping draught.

The three of them began to eat, each ignoring one another. Persephone’s refusal to acknowledge Lucy telegraphed obvious disdain. Warder’s distance was less intentional. He was actually ignoring them, absorbed in another piece of mail, unworried by their presence and his lack of interest in it. Persephone watched him closely, which gave Lucy an opportunity to watch her. While the woman had worked, she had been scowling, but now, watching Warder, she looked very young and very pretty. A thought occurred to Lucy. The way Persephone was watching Warder–it looked as if she cared for him deeply. Perhaps she wouldn’t approve of the things Warder had done to her. Perhaps, despite her scowl, this woman could be an ally.

As if she were aware of her thoughts, Persephone looked in Lucy’s direction. Lucy ventured a small smile. “Are you–are you his wife?” she asked, trying to keep her tone conversational.

Persephone looked as if she had been slapped.

“Of course not,” said Persephone. “And anyways, we don’t mate as you do, taking husbands and wives and pretending that two people can be everything to one another. We–”

“Quiet, Persephone.” Warder didn’t even look up from his mail.

Persephone snapped her mouth shut, her face flaming red. Lucy quailed at the hatred in her eyes and lowered her gaze to her plate. When she chanced another peek at Persephone, she saw that the woman was ignoring her now, too.

She was finished eating and with no one looking her way, she decided to chance leaving the table. If no one stopped her, she thought she might leave the room and keep walking until she was outside again and this nightmare was over. Her chair had barely scraped the floor when Warder’s hand clamped over her wrist. “Stay,” he commanded, as if she were a dog. He put down what he was reading and pushed back his chair. Persephone watched his every move, jabbing her spoon back and forth into the oatmeal left in her bowl.

Warder stopped at his desk and rifled through the bag Persephone had delivered. He took out a scrap of white fabric and shook it out, revealing a summery white dress. “She’ll freeze,” he said, looking at Persephone.

Persephone shrugged. Warder raised an eyebrow. Then, he tossed her the dress along with his jacket that had been draped over the desk chair. “She can wear these,” he said.

Persephone looked at the jacket with dismay, running a finger over the fabric. She glared at Lucy and wadded the dress up into a ball, slapping it onto the table. Then she set the jacket next to it, more gently, folding it so that it wouldn’t fall onto the floor.

“I have to go,” said Warder. “You know what you’re supposed to do, Persephone?”

“Yes,” said Persephone. “Although I don’t know–”

“Stop,” said Warder. “The limit has been reached.”

Persephone snapped her mouth shut. Then, she looked at him beseechingly. “It’s all very strange,” she said.

“Strange that I should ask you to follow my orders?” asked Warder. “It seems very much the same to me.”

“Yes, Warder,” said Persephone. “I’m sorry.”

“All right,” he said. Without another glance at either of them, he left, locking the door from the outside.

The room was silent in his wake, more tomb-like than ever. Lucy opened her mouth, thinking that she might speak, and closed it again realizing that there was nothing at all to be said. She wasn’t accustomed to living without any idea of how things worked. The island had rules and a rhythm. Everything was clear. Everyone knew their place–among themselves and in relation to the ghost-like warriors inside the mountain, unseen but ever-present in the fear they provoked in the people below. Now, she was inside the mountain and nothing made sense. Not being there. Not the way she was treated. Warder and his menace and distance. And now, this strange girl who–

“I hate you, just so you know,” said Persephone, cutting into her thoughts.

“Okay,” said Lucy. At least that was one thing firmly in place.

Persephone sighed loudly and shook her head, as if this perfectly stupid response only confirmed her feelings. “Stay out of my way while I work,” she said. “And don’t talk to me.”

I don’t want to. Lucy thought. But she decided to keep that to herself. Persephone was bigger than her–tall and strong as all the mountain people were, if the ones she had met were any indication. And she was near-naked, freezing and alone. If she had no hope of making friends, out of the way was exactly where she wanted to be.

#

The abandoned power plant was a good distance from the islander’s homes. And that was at least twice as far as Miles was willing to go without complaining, even for the possibility of sex.

“You know this power plant has been dead for years,” he said, picking through a boggy stretch of the path and then reaching out to lift her over it.

Sheera ignored his outstretched arms and leapt nimbly over the mud, skipping gracefully between two conveniently placed stones.

“Abandoned places are interesting,” said Sheera. “Tourists loved the old lighthouse.”

“You don’t remember tourists,” said Miles.

“Neither do you.”

“I’m older than you,” he said. “I remember the tourists. And I remember when they showed up.”

“You couldn’t have been more than two, Miles.”

Miles shrugged. His gaze went to where the mountain peaked over the trees. “You don’t forget a thing like that.”

When the twisted frame of the power plant finally rose before them, Sheera was tempted to blaze forward, tearing apart the windows until she could get inside. Instead, she sat still on a stump and studied the building, trying to place landmarks using her memory of the blueprints she had stolen from her father’s files. He was fascinated by another technological and he had an archive of what little the island had to offer in that regard.

“What are we really doing here?”

Miles’s voice broke into her thoughts. He stepped in front of her, blocking her view of the power plant and she let out a low growl of annoyance. “I told you I wanted to go for a walk.”

“Yeah,” said Miles. “With you, that either means a fuck or a mindfuck.”

“Then why’d you come?”

Miles shook his head. “To try to stop you from doing anything stupid.”

That was incredibly fucking frustrating. Miles, fashioning himself as protector. And yet–in Lucy’s absence, she needed a steady hand. That’s why she had really chosen Miles instead of anyone else.

“You think you’re good at remembering things? Do you remember how the islanders boarded this place up after the island was taken?”

Miles shrugged. “Like you said, I wasn’t very old.”

“Why do you suppose a bunch of people who had just been cut off from the outside world, with winter coming, would waste every spare bit of lumber on boarding up a suddenly useless power station?”

Something flashed in Miles eyes, a hint of his easygoing demeanor giving way to a spark of avid interest. “That’s actually a good question. Why do I think I probably don’t want to think too much about that?”

“It’s because somewhere in there,” Sheera gestured to the plant, “there’s a connection to the mountain. Maybe not a good one since there’s no proof they’ve ever used it,” Sheera admitted. “But it’s there. And it’s my way in.”

“No matter how you go in, Sheera, you’ll get caught. You might as well march through the gates and make it quick.”

“No,” said Sheera. “My only chance is that they don’t know I’m coming.”

Miles shook his head and looked at her with something much too close to pity. “You’ve been caught once before.”

Sheera didn’t answer that. Because what Miles didn’t know is that Sheera had ways of blending if she could get inside that mountain unseen. Ways of becoming the enemy so that she could kill them.

#

Out of the way proved to be a harder place to be than Lucy had expected. Persephone began her work by scooping up the breakfast dishes and banging them around in the bathroom sink. So, Lucy stayed at the table. A few minutes later, Persephone returned and shooed her impatiently away so that she could wipe the table with a wet cloth. Lucy retreated to the bed, which Persephone promptly ordered her out of so that she could make up the flimsy sheets.

Eventually, Lucy chose an innocuous bit of stone floor and sat there hugging her knees and rubbing her legs in an attempt to stay warm. At the moment, Persephone was carelessly packing clothes from the larger basket into the chest of drawers. Lucy thought of the way that the clothes had looked when she’d stolen the shirt–clean, but carelessly arranged. It seemed that Persephone played some kind of housekeeping role for Warder, and did so carelessly. Was this kind of help the best that could be expected in their society? Or was there some reason Warder kept her? Perhaps, he was of low status. Or, more likely, the relationship between the young woman and the young warrior was more than that of helper and helpee. Persephone looked more suitable as a model than a housekeeper, after all, with her long, pale legs and fiery hair. If her face weren’t fixed into a permanent frown, she would be beautiful.

She said she wasn’t his wife, but her odd answer to the question hadn’t really cleared anything up. The mountain people were said to be nearly as cold and strange in their dealings with one another as they were to the islanders. Perhaps this was how partners treated each other.

Lucy noted that Persephone did a decent job of straightening all the surfaces. She picked up a pair of Warder’s sock off the floor and used some kind of sweeper on the rugs. But when she came across clutter, she simply swept it into a drawer or under the bed. It was the way Lucy had cleaned her room when she was a child–stuffing everything out of sight until the inevitable disaster of her mother looking inside of a dresser drawer or under a dust ruffle. Then, Lucy would really clean it up under her mother’s watchful eye before starting the entire cycle over again.

Attention. We are at Level Three. Operation Level Three.

A woman’s voice echoed through the room. Lucy jumped and looked at Persephone. She wasn’t saying anything. In fact, she stopped cleaning to listen.

The voice sounded again, repeating the same words. When it finished, Persephone nodded and then looked at Lucy. “It’s your fault,” she said. “Not that you’re so important, but anyone stupid enough to go climbing on our mountain would’ve caused trouble.”

“What’s my fault?”

Persephone didn’t seem interested in enlightening her. “I guess I’m done with everything else,” she said. “Let’s go.”

“Go?”

“Warder’s orders,” she said. “Fight me, and I get to physically restrain you.” Persephone waited, as if hoping that Lucy would fight her. Instead Lucy raised her hands in a conciliatory gesture and shrugged slightly.

“All right,” said Persephone. She was grinning. She picked a thin blanket out of the laundry basket, similar to the one that was now tucked in around the bed. She approached Lucy, watching her for signs of a reaction. When she reached her side, she held out a hand and Lucy took it. She was yanked to her feet and before she could stop it, the blanket was draped over her head. “He doesn’t want you to see where you’re going,” she said.

Lucy just stood there. Weak, she reminded herself. As far as they’re concerned, you’re a weak, stupid girl who was captured for picking berries too far from the path.

It was becoming difficult even for Lucy to believe that she was anything else.

#

Persephone opened the metal door with a key–Lucy could hear it and filed away the knowledge that the woman had one. Then, she grabbed Lucy’s arm through the blanket and began to drag her across a cold stone floor, indistinguishable from the floor inside Warder’s room. Lucy followed obediently, hoping to be left alone to try to remember each turn that they took. Persephone made this difficult, distracting her by frequently jostling her or “accidentally” running her sideways against walls. Only once did it seem as though they passed near another person and they were gone before she could try to peek. Lucy did have the distinct impression that they were traveling upwards, but they never took any steps. Lucy knew for certain that she was right when her ears started to pop–she had never climbed so high, of course, with the mountain being forbidden, but she had heard that this could happen. And it had happened quickly, so Warder’s room had to be high up, too.

How was she supposed to escape when she was so deep into a place she didn’t know?

Persephone nearly tripped her again and Lucy reached out to steady herself. She couldn’t find the wall and she fell, scraping her knees on the stone. Persephone sighed and dragged her to her feet. “He’ll think that’s my fault,” she said when Lucy tried to rub her knee.

“It was,” said Lucy, unable to help herself.

“Shut up,” said Persephone. She pulled the blanket away, yanking Lucy’s hair in the process. “We’re here.”

Lucy looked around, blinking in the dim light. Here, as in Warder’s room, the light seemed to come from a ledge near the top of the wall. On the island, they didn’t have electricity except in the town hall. But the houses had been built before the mountain people came and the lightbulbs were mostly left in place. Lucy had just never seen one actually working. She wanted to and she decided that she would use a chair to climb up and investigate the next time she was alone in Warder’s room. Then, she realized that she was planning for a future where she was trapped in this mountain alone, and her curiosity died a quick death.

They were in a sort of dead-end, a rounded tunnel with a door at one end and a blind curve at the other. Persephone opened another metal door. This one was intricately painted with pictures of flowers and fairies. Despite the fancy designs, Lucy could still make out rust creeping up the sides of the door. The persistent dampness–despite the cool air–was slowly eroding the strange life inside the mountain.

“Come on,” said Persephone. She grabbed Lucy’s arm and pulled her into the room.

Like Warder’s room, the place seemed to contain nearly all the pieces of a complete home–an area for eating, an office, a bed. However, where Warder’s room had been sparse, this room was decadent, full of fabric and color and more light. Lucy noticed that the light over the bed was of a different quality than in the rest of the room or the hallway. It was natural light, she realized, falling in thin stripes from slits in the rock. They were nearer to the outdoors here than in Warder’s room–perhaps near to the top of the mountain. Although she was still firmly trapped, the thought was comforting. She felt briefly as if she could tunnel through what remained of the rock with her bare hands. Instead, she followed Persephone meekly through a door and into a large bathroom.

“You’re supposed to take a bath,” said Persephone. “Then, you can put these on.” She draped the wrinkled white dress over a towel stand. It took her longer to relinquish the jacket. She checked each of the pockets as a pretense, folded the collar. Lucy was keenly aware, somehow, that Persephone simply did not want her to have it. The thought made her uncomfortable. But, she was freezing. Skirting around Persephone, she knelt in front of the massive stone tub and fiddled with the taps. To her surprise and delight, one of the taps started to flow warm, and then hot. On the ground, the water system still worked, but the water that flowed was cold. For baths, they had to heat water over a fire–or simply rely on the ocean. This was another thing that the people who remembered what life was like before had told her about, but she never thought she’d live to see it for herself. Amidst the fear of her predicament, it was a brief moment of near-joy.

Persephone left the room, leaving the door open. Grateful for relative privacy, Lucy stripped off Warder’s shirt and immersed herself quickly in the water. It was nearly scalding, but she let the hot water tap run another minute, moaning softly as the cold melted from her bones. This was–amazing. The best thing she had ever felt. Well, it was at least equal with the feeling of riding a big wave onto the shore, laughing and coughing up salty sea water. Losing access to this luxury was reason enough by itself to hate the mountain dwellers.

“Hurry up,” shouted Persephone.

Reluctantly, Lucy looked around for soap and began to wash herself instead of simply lying in the tub. She scrubbed hard at everywhere that Warder’s fingers had touched her, blushing from the heat of the water and from the memory. Sooner than she would have liked, the water began to cool. She was contemplating refilling the tub when Persephone stalked into the room. Ignoring her nakedness, she leaned over and pulled the stopper out of the tub. “Five minutes,” she said dispassionately.

Lucy quickly rinsed the soap from her hair as the water drained. Thankful that that bathroom seemed to be well-stocked with towels, she wrapped herself in two and used another to squeeze as much water from her hair as possible, realizing that she would feel the cold even worse if it stayed wet. When she had done all she could, she slipped the white dress over her head, wishing mightily for underwear. Then, reluctantly, she put on the jacket. More accurately she wrapped herself in it. The jacket was meant to accommodate Warder’s broad frame. Lucy drowned in it, struggling under its weight. She gave up on trying to extract her arms from the sleeves and tied them around her instead, using them to keep the jacket on. She looked ridiculous, but she was warmer than she had been in just the shirt. Thinking of the shirt, she looked for it, hoping to cover herself in as many clothes as possible. But Persephone must have snatched it when she came in to empty off the tub. It was gone.

The strange voice–not Persephone–sounded again.

Attention. Operations at Level Three will cease in one quarter. Level three to cease in one quarter.

Lucy looked around trying to determine where the voice was coming from.

“Don’t worry about it.” Persephone appeared in the doorway of the bathroom. “Come on, you’ve taken long enough.”

Lucy thought again that Persephone would be very pretty if her face weren’t permanently stuck in a scowl. Stumbling a little under the awkward weight of Warder’s jacket, she followed Persephone into the living area, sighing quietly to herself when the same blanket was dumped unceremoniously over her head. A blindfold would be simpler. she thought to herself. Than she shook her head slightly, amazed that she was reasoning out the best way to enforce her own captivity.

#

Persephone led her through the hallways at a clip. She was moving fast enough that she seemed less inclined to slow their progress by bumping Lucy into things and tripping her. At least, this was true until she stopped short so that Lucy tread on the back of Persephone’s shiny black boots.

“Ouch,” said Persephone. “Watch it.”

A moment later, Lucy felt a hand at the top of her head and the blanket slid down her face. She expected to see Persephone and was startled to find a strange woman staring back at her. The woman smiled at her confusion.

“Hello, darling,” she said. “What a pretty little thing.”

The woman herself was beautiful. Almost–regal. She was older than Persephone, probably around the same age as Lucy’s mother. The few people Lucy had seen during her imprisonment had all been wearing rugged, sensible clothes, like Persephone’s plain, fitted black sweats or Warder’s sturdy jacket. This woman wore a long, shimmering dress that hugged her body and pooled gracefully against the stone floor at her feet. It should have looked out of place, but something about the woman’s bearing suggested that she never looked out of place or felt it. Her thick whitish-blonde hair was piled on her head in an elegant bun and Lucy swore it was studded with diamond pins.

“I’m supposed to take her back to Warder,” said Persephone shortly.

The woman’s pleasant expression dissolved and she snapped her head towards Persephone, her mouth pressed in a thin line. “Retract your claws, brat,” she said. “I only wanted a moment with our guest. It has been so long since we had a guest,” she said, returning her attention to Lucy with a sweet smile. “I feel honored to have happened upon you.”

“Yeah. Chance, I bet,” grumbled Persephone, in a tone that suggested she didn’t believe the meeting was accidental at all.

“Look at that beautiful raven hair,” the woman said, ignoring Persephone and reaching out to touch the ends of Lucy’s dark waves. “So many of us are fair,” she said, patting her bun with one hand. “You’re a vision.”

Lucy didn’t say anything. She might have managed a “thank you” but she was still reeling from being referred to cheerfully as a “guest.” The woman’s hands returned to Lucy’s hair and she gathered it up and brushed it over her left shoulder. Lucy realized that Warder’s jacket had slipped down her arm and her shoulder was bare except for the strap of the thin, white dress. Despite the woman’s rude appraisal, she stayed very still, cognizant that even bitter Persephone had done little more than verbally spar with the stranger. She didn’t know what was happening, but she sensed it was more than a casual meeting in the hallway. Her instincts told her to be on high alert. After a thorough examination, the woman tugged Warder’s jacket back into place, patting the sleeve as if to be helpful. This only caused the jacket to slip down on the other side. To Lucy’s confusion, the woman brushed her hair out of the way again and examined her other shoulder, running one, manicured finger along her neck.

“Lovely,” the woman said. There was something odd in her voice. A kind of relief.

“You’re going to make me late, Grace,” said Persephone. She was leaning against the opposite wall, glaring at both of them.

The woman glanced at her as if she were a bug or a rat who had unexpectedly started talking. “You’re swimming in that jacket,” she said to Lucy. “You wait here, won’t you, and I’ll bring you something that fits. I know I have just the thing.”

“We’re late!” said Persephone. She gave up trying to be dispassionate and stared at the woman with dismay.

“You’ll wait,” said the woman. “I’ll only be a moment.”

With that, the woman walked swiftly away, her shoes clicking against the stone. Once her footsteps had faded, the hallway was completely silent. Each of the girls stood there, frozen, waiting. As the silence stretched, Lucy realized that she could hear the water again, trickling softly somewhere against the stone.

The woman did return quickly. She was carrying a jacket. Without comment, she slipped Warder’s jacket off and placed her arm into the other jacket. The material on the outside of the jacket wasn’t much different from Warder’s, some kind of sturdy canvas. However, this garment had obviously been cut for someone closer to Lucy’s size–probably a woman, because the jacket actually hugged her instead of gaping around her hips. Once the jacket was on, the woman came around in front of Lucy and began to do up the buttons, as if Lucy were a small child. Lucy raised a hand to try to help, but the woman brushed it away with a soft “tutting” noise.

“There,” she said, taking a step back. “Isn’t that better?”

“Thank you,” Lucy said. She was much warmer. The jacket was lined with something soft–fleece or maybe even fur. It felt amazing against her bare arms.

“Don’t thank her,” said Persephone. “Now we really are going to be late.”

“Hurry home then, little dog,” said the woman. She tossed Warder’s jacket to the floor and Persephone jumped to retrieve it. “I’m sure I’ll see you again, darling,” she added to Lucy. “I do hope my gift keeps you warm.”

Uncertain whether or not it was prudent to try another “thank you,” Lucy simply nodded. Before she had finished, Persephone was tossing the blanket back over her head and dragging her away.

#

Lucy knew when they arrived back at Warder’s rooms. She could hear Persephone fumbling for the key and the familiar creak of the heavy, metal door. It was already unpleasant to breathe in the strange atmosphere inside the mountain and the blanket made it absolutely suffocating. She was grateful that she was about to be able to remove it.

Persephone pushed her through the doorway and she reached up to tug the thing away. As she tried, her hand brushed someone else’s and she jumped. Warder tossed the blanket away from her, an odd expression on his face.

“A blindfold might have been more prudent,” he said to Persephone. “You are also late.”

Lucy recalled her own thought about a blindfold and frowned. If she were to be trapped here indefinitely, she might spend half her life being led around with without the privilege even to see.

“We would have been back if Grace hadn’t stopped us,” said Persephone.

“Grace?” Warder asked. His spoke in his characteristic unhurried drawl, but Lucy could tell that this news had him on alert. He sniffed and then his forehead creased. He looked at Lucy again, as if he were suddenly seeing her differently and placed a hand on her arm over the new jacket. “What’s this?” he asked.

Something in his voice made Lucy alert, too. She braced herself, turning to Persephone in hopes that she would provide an adequate answer.

“Grace insisted on dressing her,” said Persephone. “She brought her that and made her wear it. What was I supposed to do?”

Before Persephone had finished her explanation, Warder was deftly unbuttoning the jacket and peeling it away. Instantly, Lucy’s hands went to her arms, chafing the skin for warmth. Warder raised the jacket to his nose and sniffed it, then held it away with a grimace. He tossed it at Persephone, who caught it awkwardly. “Get it out of here,” he said. “She’ll need another bath tomorrow. And next time, be more cautious.”

“It wasn’t my fault,” said Persephone. “She just showed up and–”

“Persephone!” Warder thundered, and the girl fell silent. More quietly, he said: “you’re done for the day. Go.”

Lucy was confused. The jacket hadn’t smelled like anything to her. It certainly wasn’t dirty. It was clean and soft and, if anything, smelled faintly of soap and even more faintly of the persistent damp that seemed to permeate everything inside the mountain. Frustrated to have lost the first piece of clothing she’d been given that had actually been comfortable, she spoke. “I’m cold,” she said.

Warder turned and surveyed her, raking his eyes from her hair–nearly dry and curling without benefit of a brush–to her feet, which were bare.

“Here,” he said, handing her the blanket that Persephone had forced her to wear. “I have to go out. Eat the dinner I left for you and go to bed.”

Lucy peered around him and saw that there was a bowl of something set on the table.

“I’m not tired,” she said. “I’ve been sleeping for days.”

“Shall I amuse you?” Warder asked, his tone threatening.

Retreating, Lucy shook her head.

“Fine,” said Warder. “Do as I say.”

#

Warder stalked through the hallway. It was deserted except for soldiers positioned here and there at crossways. He nodded to one of them, noting that the woman straightened up as she answered with a salute.

He was frustrated–with Persephone, with himself. He was doing exactly what Grace had intended for him to do, stalking towards her at the provocation of the “gift” she had made to his captive. He had provoked her, perhaps, by insisting that Lucy be allowed to bathe in her private quarters. Most of the mountain shared a few large facilities for bathing and he hadn’t been eager to parade his captive naked in front of the curious public. However, Grace had the rank to have refused him and because she had agreed, she ought not to have interfered.

Grace opened the door to her rooms almost before he knocked.

“Warder,” she said, her voice sultry, “what a pleasant surprise.”

“You are not at all surprised, Lady Grace,” he said. “I came to return this ‘gift’ and to warn you against toying with my prisoner.”

As far as Grace was concerned, the girl was nothing more than that. If the woman knew that he intended to make her his mate, she could be a true danger to Lucy. He would be careful that she would not know until it was done and then even Grace wouldn’t interfere. To tease his captive was an annoyance. To threaten his mate would be an act answerable with brutal justice. Justice that would be cold even to Grace.

Grace took the jacket out of his hands and stroked the fur lining. “It’s an expensive piece,” she said. “I thought your little captive looked very pretty wearing it.”

“And Cenia knows you’re giving away her things?” asked Warder.

“Cenia has no use for pretty things,” said Grace. “You should know. She’s a dedicated soldier.”

“I did not force her into that life, Grace,” said Warder.

“Of course not,” she answered. “Except by refusing to put an end to it as you should.”

“Don’t be coy, Grace,” said Warder. “Speak your mind. What would you have me do?”

“Take my daughter for your mate,” said Grace. “You will not find a more powerful family to align yourself with. And Cenia is beautiful and well-suited to your temperament.”

“You seem to know little of my temperament,” said Warder, stalking close to her. Grace moved with him until her back was against the stone wall. “If you did, I think you would take more care.”

“Would I?” asked Grace silkily. “I know that you enjoy my…temperament.”

“Do not strain the bonds of my affection, Grace,” said Warder.

“You speak to me as if you have no awareness of my position. I outrank you, Warder. That won’t change unless you take a mate.”

“I find it distasteful that you try to force your daughter on me,” said Warder. “Considering our own history.”

“She isn’t yours,” said Grace, ducking under his arm where it hemmed her in and gliding away towards the bed. “Our own…entanglement has not been blessed with children.”

“That in itself is a blessing,” said Warder coldly. “I don’t know what I was thinking.”

“Don’t you?” asked Grace. She looked at him over her shoulder while she untied the laces of her dress and let it pool at her feet.

Warder watched her, his face betraying nothing. He had decided to end things with Grace long before he encountered Lucy on the mountain. She was grasping and needlessly cruel, unpredictable and determined to control him. She was also beautiful and available. In some ways, they were well-matched. That had been the thing that drew them together in the first place, despite the difference in their ages and their station. When their affair began, he was even less than he was now. Not a warrior. Not even a lowly foot soldier. A boy, barely grown, angry and drifting in the confined world of the mountain.

Slowly, he strode towards her, examining her naked body. It was night outside the mountain and bars of moonlight streamed through the stone vents over her bed, casting the room in an odd, bluish glow.

He desired a release. When he found that Lucy was a virgin, he had decided to wait to bed her. If she was what he thought–and he knew she was–she would ask him to take her long before his control wavered. And yet, the wait wore on him. And Grace was here.

Deciding, he pushed her forward onto the bed, forcing her to lie on her stomach. She stretched her arms over her head like a cat, settling into the position as if she had chosen it. He dropped his pants, not even bothering to remove his shirt. He fingered her passage and Grace moaned beneath him. She was dripping wet and ready for him, eager to be taken.

He leaned over her and nipped at her ear, hard. Dragged his hands down her sides, feeling her melt into his touch. Without further ceremony, he entered her, moving slowly, deliberately, watching himself disappear between her thighs. Grace pushed back against him, urging him to go harder. Instead, he pulled out and positioned himself to enter her ass.

“I want you where you were,” murmured Grace, looking over her shoulder.

“I don’t care what you want,” said Warder, pressing deeper. “This is what I want. Take it or tell me to go, but don’t think you can sway me, Lady Grace.”

Grace shuddered lightly, clearly shaken by losing control of the seduction. She breathed deeply and then stretched her arms again, lifting her buttocks towards him. “As you wish, Warder.”

Immediately, he picked up where he had left off. The lubrication from her natural juices helped to ease his way, but he knew he was causing her pain. He had taken her this way before, but she didn’t like it and he doubted she allowed it of her many other lovers. He admitted to himself that this was why he forced her, urging her to accept him on his own terms. Even to be led to do the exact opposite of what she wished was to allow her some power. It had been a mistake to give in, but now, he would find his release.

Leaning into her, he picked up his pace, tugging at the pins in her hair until it came lose and then plunging his fingers into it, tugging near her scalp. She arched her neck back towards him and turned, inviting him to bite. He ignored her, knowing she did not truly expect him to respond. He had asked her once, years ago, when she had been his first.

Let me mate you, he had begged, starry eyed at the things they had just done to one another.