Chapter 7—Wings of Freedom

The Genie had no dignity. That’s why she was so easy for him to read, and therefore, so easy for him to pity.

Of course, she wasn’t beneath using that.

“If you feel so sorry for me, wish me alive or happy as a drunk. Or just make a god damn wish already.”

“If you had the power to do that for yourself, you wouldn’t be here.”

She snorted. “Of course I can’t do that for myself. I don’t have power until you wish.”

“And that power is only meant to destroy the wisher. I can’t see how that kind of power could ever make anyone happy, let alone you.”

She tore her hair and gnashed her teeth at him, her beauty turned feral.

“Damn spineless, cowardly bastard,” she cried, as she often did. “Too afraid to even try! Acting like you know everything when you know nothing!”

But then, she unexpectedly wilted, surprising him.

“Then why…” she bowed her head. “Why’d you always have to be right?”

***

Einar bounced back ridiculously fast. They had no sooner finished breakfast the next day then he was raring to go.

“Let’s go check out the orchard, Princess.”

“You were a snuffling pile of sick on the couch just yesterday. Shouldn’t you be resting?”

“We can ride there. No strenuous activity needed. We could even get more apples and make pies!”

“You know how to make pie?”

“…No.”

She gave him a look and he made a show of squirming until one of his goofiest, puppy grins yet popped up.

“Do you know how to make an apple pie, Princess?”

She sighed, both amused and discomforted by his ability to talk with her so easily. Hadn’t this boy grown up as some backwoods baron? Hardly nobility at all? Practically living on a farm? She could hear as much from his diction and tone, though his sense of fear for power skimmed the acceptable line at best.

She couldn’t say it wasn’t refreshing.

“This is too easy for you.” She went to her wardrobe.

“Pardon?”

“Never mind.” She pulled out her riding clothes and threw them onto the bed.

At the sight of them, he gave a little cheer.

“Oh, grow up and get out so I can change.”

“I could just turn around—“ she shot him a look. “Leaving, leaving.” Even so, his smile stayed broad as he shut the door behind them.

She had just pulled on her waistcoat over her dress when she heard something slipped beneath the door. Fingers wrapped in laces, she turned and went to pick up the letter that had appeared. Her heart jumped at the blank wax seal. She finished dressing before taking a seat in the armchair by the fire and breaking it open with cool fingers.

Kyanna, The sky hangs above the façade of fools who made it so I couldn’t be with you, unaffected by their huffs and pomp.

Languishing in a hubrical swamp is the lone truth of my love for thee.

So come, save me and may they never see, for no eyes own our souls nor our future.

J

Her heart gave a jolt at the same time her stomach squeezed up to her lungs, creating an aching knot against her windpipe. Her hands had gone colder than ever.

All she could think was that she had to get rid of this. The man had been far too obvious. Crouching down near the fire, she blew just enough to get the sleepy flames on the last log glowing and threw in the letter, watching as the black edges ate towards the curling words.

A knock came at the door. Figuring the letter was burned away enough, she turned back and called them in.

Einar entered. Somehow, he had managed to find a tunic and leggings fit for riding on his own, possibly in the stables from his first day or so of playing vagabond. He lacked his boots, though, and came around the couch to reach for them.

His eyes went to the fire. When they lingered a second longer, she followed his gaze.

Her insides dropped.

The plain seal, and the patch of paper it stuck to, had slowed the progress of the flames. The words ‘love for thee’ were just vanishing along with the drips of the gray wax.

Their eyes met. In that fraction of time, she saw, like a bolt of lightning, that he knew what she had just burned. And he knew that she knew he had seen.

Then, as though nothing had happened, his attention went back to pulling on his boots.

“You know, in the desert tribes, it’s considered to be disgusting to wear your shoes inside. They can’t fathom how we’re okay with it.”

She stared hard at him, her insides trembling. Didn’t he care? Wasn’t he going to say anything? Could it be possible that…he was even humoring her? Allowing her to get away with this?

The thought, somehow, made her feel worse. Sure, he knew that she had wanted another and that she didn’t love him. But had he not expected honor from her?

Then, again, what did he even know about her? What had she done to make him expect honor besides allowing her father to marry her off without a fight? If that could be called honor. She had given him nothing, allowed him nothing, told him to expect nothing…

He stood and stretched. “By the gods, a pie made of those apples makes me weak in the knees just thinking about it. Your bread was divine, so your pie has to be ambrosia. Wait, weren’t you making pastry dough yesterday? Could you use that?”

It took her a breath to shake herself into something akin to the mood he radiated. “Yes. It still needs time to rest and fold, but it should be done by lunch.”

“It’s like it’s fated. Come, Princess, away!”

Less than a half hour later she found herself in the humiliating position of having the naked back of one of the white horses between her legs and rubbing in awful places. She could no longer recall how Einar had convinced her. All she knew was that he somehow, in his excitement induced by cabin fever, had. Not only that, but she couldn’t ride side-saddle to preserve her dignity and her tender parts or risk falling off the horse completely. No saddle horn to hold onto here.

Einar happily trotted ahead of her on his own bare backed, white ride, completely at ease.

“This is insane.”

“Oh?” he asked.

“Who would ever do this? How’d our ancestors even think of riding these things? I’m not going to be able to have children after this.”

Ignoring her crudeness and lack of propriety like no other, he just said, “Aw, you get used to it. It’s not all too bad. I had to ride my horse bareback for the longest time until grandpa would condescend to get me a saddle. Stupid miser.” He slowed down to ride beside her. Kyanna was at a loss of how he controlled the horse to do that. It was all she could do just to stay on the horse, forget about fine point steering. “Besides, where’s your sense of adventure?”

“I’m a grown woman.” She said bluntly. “Not a little boy.”

And yet, memories ran across her mind of galloping across the castle grounds as fast as she could, hoping that the wind would catch her away; climbing the tallest tree in the gardens as a child; trying to get lost in the forest so some magic would find her; and Jeremy—falling in love with him, meeting for secret trysts, giggling in the hay, and his whispers of taking her away where the wind hadn’t before.

He met her eye for a few seconds longer before smiling as though he knew better. Annoyed, she clenched her teeth. She stopped, however, as the steps of the horse vibrated through her whole skull when she did that.

They rode in silence for a bit, the manor far behind them. A few other horses, natives of the manor, galloped in from the field to walk beside them, sniffing curiously at Einar and Kyanna for snacks. When they found none, they ran ahead, whinnying and throwing their long noses in the air.

“It’s like they’re trying to show off,” she said, more to herself than to Einar.

“I have a story about a horse.”

“If it’s a love story, I’m not in the mood.”

“Actually, it’s not a love story at all. It’s about a man-eating, mind-controlling demon of a horse who takes over this guy’s life and forces him to do all sorts of horrible stuff, like kill his eleven brothers, feed it their flesh, and kill all the other colts on their farm. I think it also bashes in the heads of a few people with its hooves. Fun times.”

She stared at him. “What in the world gives you the idea that I would want to hear a story like that?”

He chuckled and shrugged. “Even the saintliest of us have a morbid side.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“What kind of story would you like then?”

“I’ll consider it when a horse’s spine isn’t about to cut me in two.”

“Clench your thighs. Try to hold yourself up that way. They taught you how to ride horses, didn’t they?”

“As much as a princess would need to.” She did the clenching, tried the lifting. It helped, as long as her thighs would hold up, which wasn’t going to be long. “Usually I’m in a carriage or riding side-saddle, none of this…roving ranger who sold his saddle for bread.”

“Hey, I lost mine in a battle. Went down with my horse. Like I’d sell off such hard work for something I could shoot.”

“Shooting bread?”

He caught on to her sarcasm. “Oh yes. Fly on wings of cheese, they do. They flopped about like fish until I ate their wings, then they’d just lay there.” He flashed his white smile at her. “Soan would’ve loved them. They’re obsessed with wings, you know that? They equate them to freedom.”

“I can see that,” said Kyanna, sufficiently distracted from the horse vertebra digging into her nethers. She had always been curious about the Soan, the desert tribe of women whom so many feared and yet, so little was known about. She could hardly depend on men to describe how a clan that only allowed women functioned.

“There’s this story they have…” he paused. “Unless you’re in too much agony to hear.”

She renewed her vigor in clenching her thighs. “I can see the trees not too far off. As long as it’s not too terribly long.”

He shot her another look over his shoulder, his smile weakened. “It’s a love story. That won’t bother you, will it?”

She hesitated, thinking of the letter and his eyes as he had met her. But if he hadn’t mentioned anything yet…and perhaps the story may give her insight into what he was thinking. At the very least, it would be a welcome distraction from thinking about just what she was going to do about it all.

“No.”

“Alright, let’s see…there was once a man who fell in love with a beautiful girl with wings. Those around her, including her own family, didn’t know how to deal with her because they knew only whispers of her kind. Many were even jealous of her freedom to take to the sky, away from anyone’s reach or power. But she was also kind and beautiful as a summer storm cloud, and it was for this reason that he loved her. He did not envy her like many did. Unlike her, he was quite comfortable with his place in society, and her lack of place, especially when she returned his love full heartedly.

He did, however, have another fear: that she would use those wings to fly far away from him, whether it be from her responsibilities as a wife or even to another lover. Or even that she may fly off and, caught up in the thrill of being part of the sky, would forget to come back to him.

So, one day, when she was happy and warm in his arms, he took out a tough shawl and tied down her wings about her. She barely had the time to protest before she died.”

“She died?” Kyanna exclaimed. “Just like that?”

“Yep.”

“Good gracious, why?”

“Think about it, Kyanna. What do the Soan prize most?”

She only had to think about this for a moment. “Their independence from men.”

“In turn, their freedom from society and its rules on what is acceptable and what isn’t. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but our society is mainly run by men. Kings, patriarchs, heads of households—all men have their place as leaders, and all women have their place as support. Even you keep mentioning how you’re a princess and thusly are expected to follow rules concerning how you can or cannot act. You must be ‘proper’. Now think of their society away from men, run all by women. Don’t you think that would make their perception of propriety different from ours?”

This was something Kyanna had never thought of. The red-haired, golden-eyed Soan had always been known to dress like whores and act like beastly women; in a word, she had always believed with the majority of her country that the Soan women were barbaric, lusty creatures. But who decided what was modest and what wasn’t? If there were no men around to be aroused or bothered by too much skin, how would women dress? And if there were no men around, what would Kyanna herself be doing? Climbing trees, riding with the wind, and Jeremy…would she be with Jeremy?

Or rather, would she be free of this ache for him? Free of him plaguing her thoughts?

The image of the dancing Soan from her dream, for that’s only what she could be, came to her mind. She had danced with such fervor and lack of care for watching eyes, every move glorying in the shape and curves that made her a woman, that made her her. And it had been so beautiful. It would’ve never been allowed here in Karpathia, and that amazing beauty would’ve never been seen. So, perhaps, she really had been free in a way.

Are you really content to sink so low?

“So, the girl dying in the story…” she twirled some of the horse’s mane between her fingers. “Do the Soan think they’ll die if they get tied down by a man?”

“Not literally, but I think they believe an important part of them will. And yet some still fall in love, regardless. There’s just something deep within us that calls for the other. Even the Soan can admit that men and women are but one half of a whole. They would just rather live as a half.”

Kyanna shifted uncomfortably on her horse, looking up at the clouds drifting across the sky. Beneath her the mare nickered. There was an ache in her chest she could not name. Why had these thoughts never occurred to her about the Soan? She was a princess of a civilized, modern society, and they partakers of a savage lifestyle in some god forsaken desert. She shouldn’t feel like she was the one missing out.

The orchard’s apple trees were thick, squat, ancient creatures with branches that fanned out only a few feet from the ground. Rather than be replaced after a few decades, as fruit trees often were since they were prone to rot once they grew too tall, these trees had their branches groomed short, leaving the tree to grow outwards and into the breadth of its branches.

It made her think of the silver apple trees of Einar’s story.

“Look at those,” he said. “Could be a hundred years old. And they were planted that far apart too, like people planned on them getting this big.”

Kyanna tried to bring her leg over the horse to slide off, only to find her twitching, sore muscles refused to move so far. Her face warmed even more than it already had in the sun.

“Um…any chance you could…help me off?”

He didn’t question her request, though the way his eyes seemed to dance as he reached up for her made her think he knew very well what was wrong with her and may have even planned it.

All her irritation at that possibility flew out when he lifted her down as though she were a small child.

So strong.

He set her feet on the ground without so much as a grunt. Though his hands remained on her waist.

“It’s been a long ride,” he said. “If you’re too sore to ride back, I can carry you.”

Her suspicions flew back, and she scowled. “Like you could—“ No, he very possibly could carry her back to the manor, with strength like that. “What happened to taking it easy?”

“I’ve always healed fast, Princess. I’m made of tough stuff, though I appreciate the worry.”

“It’s hardly worry,” she stepped away, disconnecting his hands from her waist, ignoring how the insides of her thighs twitched and cried. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t scheme like that.”

To her amazement, he didn’t deny it.

“How would you prefer I scheme?”

She stared. “So you admit it?”

The smile he gave her wasn’t puppy-like at all.

“Princess, I always knew marriage wasn’t a guarantee of your heart, even if you hadn’t already given it to someone else.” Something changed in his gaze and his smile softened into that tender thing that always gave her pause and warmed her. Carefully, giving her plenty of time to deny him, he took up her hand and touched her knuckles with his lips.

“Yet, Kyanna, please always know that I will never force you. As princess I know you hold up more than your fair share of expectations and responsibilities. But with me, I always want you to know and feel that you are free.” He looked up across her hands, the tenderness somehow making those sky-blue eyes of his burn. “I will never tie down your wings.”

Stunned, and warm with embarrassment, she pulled her hand back and looked at her feet.

“What about you?” she pushed out. “What about your wings—I mean, freedom or happiness or…any of that.” Oh, Fivar, now she couldn’t talk straight. What was he doing to her?

He chuckled a little at that.

“Strange you should ask that. I thought I was the one with all the power and glory and whatnot. Man of the hour.”

She flinched at that. That had been between Hope and her. Had he heard them?

But in the face of his soft expression, she didn’t feel like it was too bad of a thing that he had heard.

“Don’t give me that,” she said, unable to stop herself from reflecting his softness. “It’s already very apparent that a goofball child like you doesn’t care one wit about having power.”

The goofy smile returned, to her relief (she didn’t know how much of that tender smolder she could take) and he put his hands up.

“You got me there.” He put his hands back to his hips, hooking his thumbs in his belt, and turning back to the monstrous apple tree they had stopped beneath. “I’ve actually always wanted to have my own apple orchard. The best in the kingdom. People would come all around for ‘Einar’s Apples.’” He reached up and picked off one of the golden-pink beauties. “But no tears here, Princess. I’m good with being the Apple King, if you get my gist.”

She rolled her eyes but couldn’t find it in herself to fight the smile. “I will not be the Apple Queen.”

“Why not? Just think of the money we could bring in. Karpathia, land of the heavenly apples and their apple pie making queen!”

At her squawk of disgust, he laughed.