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We release each other, neither fully satisfied, but neither walking away. And in this place, in this war, that is the closest thing to victory we can claim tonight.

7

ELARA

The cell walls have blurred into sameness. Black stone, dripping water. The thud of iron shod boots when guards pass by and the occasional plate of food and water shoved through the door. You’d think fear would be sharp here, ever-present like the cold. Instead, it dulls. It recedes into the background until boredom and hopelessness take their place. I lie on my back, staring at the ceiling, counting the tiny cracks and discolorations like they’re constellations.

The first days, I flinched at every sound. Heart racing, breath held, always expecting the worst. But now? Now it’s routine. Fear can only consume you for so long before it burns out, leaving only ash.

My muscles ache from lying on the cold stone. The thin blanket tangled around my legs offers no comfort. I wonder about what’s happening outside the cells. If I’d had to hazard a guess things aren’t going well for the Shaman. What about the other girls? Did they escape? Are they in cells too? Are they close?

I hadn’t thought about someone else being close by. Too caught up in my own head. Rolling onto my side I force aching muscles to move and get to my feet. I clasp the cold iron bars of the small window and tug myself up.

“Hello? Is there anyone?” I call out.

The only response is the constant, numbing drip of water. I don’t know its source but I wish with all I am that someone would stop it. I try calling out again. Just in case. In case of what I don’t really know, but it costs me nothing.

The muscles in my arms tremble and I drop, landing softly on the balls of my feet, but still pain shoots up my calf, emanating from my broken ankle. I’ve been here long enough that my ankle is better, but not one hundred percent. Limping I cross the tiny cell, put my back to the wall and slide down. I grab the thin blanket and pull it over myself.

I wonder if I’ll die down here. Forgotten. Unremarkable. The Shaman threatened with some purpose but what does that mean? I don’t know how much time has passed. There is nothing to measure it by except the sputtering torch outside the cell door and I have no idea how long one of those lasts. I do know the guards changed it once, but what does that mean? Hours? Days? Weeks?

It can’t have been weeks. I don’t think. I hope? I don’t know. My body is numb and so is my mind. I try to keep focused. Remain sharp but this unending monotony with nothing to break it is killing me. Is this the first step of torture?

My measurement of time passing is when they bring food, but I don’t know how many meals a day they bring. One? Three? Five? It’s all under their control and they could be messing with me. Changing it up so that I remain confused.

And where is Z’leni? I haven’t seen him. The guards who’ve brought my food have been different every time, but though each one is different, they might as well be the same. Every one of them has been cold, distant, looking as if they’re so caved in that they might as well be a zombie.

I close my eyes and replay the memory of when I last saw him. His eyes. Searching. Soulful. Rich and deep and sharply intelligent. The conflict that played over his face. The depth of his voice that rumbled in my chest.

Needing something, anything, to both pass the time and give myself some relief I slide one hand into my pants. No one is around. There’s no performance, no pretense. I slide my hand over my pubic hair and cup my mound, pressing down and rubbing.

His lips — what would he taste like? His tusks — what would they feel like? Scraping over my skin as his lips move against mine.

I rub harder, coiling the spring in my core. I bite my lower lip, clenching my eyes as the release builds.

The warmth of his breath on my skin. The feel of his tusks, in my mind they’re rough and tug against my skin as they slide up my thighs.

Faster. Pressing harder. I moan, softly. Almost there. I grab my left tit with my free hand and squeeze.

“Ahhh—”

A scuffle and a thud jerk me out of imagination and slam me back into the harsh reality of my cell. I jerk my hand out of my pants and am on my feet in an instant. Embarrassment and anger war for dominance.

An Urr’ki voice barks, sharp with command but it’s followed by a loud smack. Someone struck someone. A loud oof sound echoes off the stone walls.

“Kill you!” another voice yells.

I rush over to the door, pulling myself up and pressing my face against the cold bars. I try to see what is happening but the action is outside my view. I shift my head, straining to see, desperate to understand..

Is this a rescue? Or is this my doom?

The fighting continues unseen. Shouts, both of pain and excitement. Flesh striking flesh, a sound I’ve become all too familiar with since the crash onto Tajss. My arms tremble. I can’t keep myself up like this. I don’t have the strength.

The muscles give out and I drop. Damn it.

“What’s happening?” I shout in frustration.

No one answers, of course. The fighting continues but now it’s closer. I shake my arms, trying to convince the muscles to be stronger. It sounds like the fighting is right outside the door. Knowing my arms aren’t ready to try again I jump up. I see him.