Rue
When Rue was seven, she had other, prettier dreams.
There wasn't much she could do back home. And so, she was usually left to her own devices, with twigs in her hands and pebbles in her pockets. Mama didn't bother keeping her close. She never did, except to spit out warnings not to cross into the streets of Yarn. And it was not because Yarn was unsafe for little kids.
Danger was coal-dark streets and piss-soaked alleys. Windows scuffed with grease, barrels brimming with guts, and gulls diving for scraps on the ground. Danger was drunken men with their dicks out in the brothel. A harlot on five-inch heels, spinning naked on a table. Danger was where Alphas twice her size spat gunk onto the cobbles, and people laboured until they flavoured the air acrid. Danger was noisy and loud.
But that stinking mess was home.
It was because Yarn was clean. Clean like white stones scrubbed raw, glass panes all see-through, curtains so colourful it made her teeth ache. Clean like the smell of sharp soap and freshly pressed linen. Where she could hear her breath loud and clear in the gentle dusty breeze, and sparrows could still sing.
The people there were in the trade for cloth, sewed linen with scaling fingers, buried in dunes of fabric. They cross-stitched and hemmed a thousand granny squares to make the cheapest quilt in the galaxy. Then, they had their hands dipped in lard, soap, and bleach all day long to wash shit stains out of cloth. But that made even the poor look polished, their nails pink, faces pale from too much water, fingers wrinkled from hygiene.
Clean.
And Rue, who was dirty, crummy, and grey-smocked in dressing, stood out like a thief. She couldn't quite understand it then. She was too young to truly understand the stereotypes and the prejudice. After all, Mama was always dressed so prettily in glossy ribbons, always wallowing in the tub all day long, body scrubbed as white as the folks in Yarn. Her hair coiled up like silk; her body dusted with sugar. Mama was always clean.
Why were they any different?
Why was Mama dirty?
Christmas was the worst of it all. Rue could smell it long before she saw it, lingering in the streets with her nose to the air. Fat roasting, dripping hot juices, skin crackling, gravy sweet enough to make your stomach claw itself inside out. And the lights, the church lanterns, burning like jewels. Bread fresh and yeasty, not gritty and hard on her teeth. Cheese so yellow it seemed to glow.
Yarn had a church. Yarn was rich. And whores were not allowed in churches.
"Freedom," Mama had said with her hands in Rue's, "is the only thing worth having."
It was a good night. Mama had taken her out under the stars because their Alpha was taking a piss in the foyer. And that was not for little eyes. Her legs dangled over a bench, and her thighs were cold. But music leaked from the walls of the church, voices rang, bodies swayed. The church was a block, four walls, one roof, a single cross. But it had the widest windows of all 69. The panels looked like paintings.
It seemed heavenly.
Rue had insisted that they sit on this bench because it was the closest she could get to Yarn.
"We're lucky to be out here instead of in there." Mama had pressed a hand to Rue's forehead, wiped sweat with her palm. "Those cunts don't deserve your time. That party's nothing special, girl. It's not for Omegas."
But it was torture for little Rue. Mama didn't understand. She never understood. Rue's eyes burned holes through those glass windows. Because Mama didn't understand how gorgeous those colours were. How nice it seemed to be in the crowd, to be a part of the dancing, the food, the beat, the singing.
Rue was curious, and so she ran.
Slipped from her mother's grasp and bolted straight for the wide-open doors, legs quickened from hunger. The crowd inside was a blur of too-clean faces, of too-soapy smells. Their powdered cheeks, their painted nails, and then that glassy laughter as sharp and as dull as glass. She pressed forward, eyes wide, breath ragged.
She was overwhelmed then, spinning in a situation of her own making, mouth open like a wild dog. And then came the hands, perfumed and sharp. A ring snagged in her hair. Voices tore only higher into screams. They shoved her back, words rising like crows startled from the top of a roof. Alphas were the ones who bellowed. She realised quickly that the occupants of the room were mostly men.
"Who let in the whore's brat?"
"Fucking vermin!"
"Scram!
Her chest had felt as if she'd been punched hollow, breath coming out of her in frozen pants. The faces that met her gaze, the ones that turned to her, were from children her age, all boys, clinging to the skirts of their mothers. But they'd been perfect little bastards, mouths stretched wide in giggly delight, joy brimming at her humiliation.
They sneered.
She had yet to understand then that only Alphas were welcomed into the church. That only men could feast, and boys had the presents. That the Omegas were there for child-rearing and serving, and that metal still flavoured their breath.
A boy was worth a thousand times more than a girl, which was fucking stupid. Because Rue had always reckoned it costs ten times more to raise a boy in Yarn, with the lot of them waddling thick with rings of fat all over their bones. Stupid fat boys.
But she burned under it all. Burned hotter than fire, burned alive in the perfume of stinking Alpha musk. And then she saw it. The turkey sat upon a platter, skin slick with oil, steaming as though it were alive, glistening like gold. She lunged.
Fingers tore at flesh, blistering from the heat, the steam. Her mouth was stuffed with meat so juicy it dripped down her chin and stained her ugly frock. She ate before she even chewed, shoving it all the way down, gagging and choking.
She swallowed before she was done.
Mama was not there when they flung her out into the snow with grease on her face and blood-hot meat still in her throat. There was spit on her face. The mayor's whip cracked against her thighs in the square, and the pastor said his prayers for her soul.
Each lash was louder than the last, her small body jerking beneath the rope. The crowd was watching with bright, angry eyes. Most of the crowd were Alphas. They didn't give a fuck about little kids, let alone useless girls. But the Omegas gasped each time the whip struck. And her legs buckled under each lash, each hit, but she didn't drop the meat.
Did not even spit it out.
She swallowed it all down
When she stumbled home, bleeding from split skin and with grease on her lips, her hair flavoured with fat, she thought Mama would rage. She'd sunk her head, words lodged in her chest like stone. She was sure she would get another beating. Mama was always so fierce after all, and a hard knock to her fingers was to be expected for her disobedience.
She should not have ran.
But Mama only laughed when she saw her, laughed so hard the walls seemed to shake. She laughed at Rue, who held that drumstick like a weapon. The leg of the turkey still clutched in Rue's hands seemed to delight her more than any explanation could.
"At least," Mama crowed, her eyes yellow in the firelight, bright with something too feral for an Omega. "At least you took something from those bastards." She leaned back with pride. "That's the way, girl. That's the only way. You sink your teeth into those motherfuckers, and you don't stop until you rip out their throats. You take everything you want. Everything. That's the only way a woman can get anything in this world."
And Rue fucking failed.
*
She woke up chained.
The clothes were the same, but the baggy frock now clung to her skin, wet from sweat. It was too dark now, and it took four blinks for her to make out the walls. She had to take a minute before she felt her way around her new prison. Round like a barrel. But too small, they used wood panels for flooring under her fingers. The grain was rough; she could trace the swirls. There were even nails tapped to the ground.
There was a rope around her ankle, and it was scratchy on her skin, made from twine and shitty fibre. She felt the hairs dig into her flesh. A tug and something clanked against wood. Her new prison was relatively primitive, nothing like the fancy technology in court.
It seemed almost like an insult.
She groaned. Was this some kind of holding cell? Rue sank then to her knees to regroup, thoughts racing in her head. She quietened herself, steadied her breath, trying to think through the aftereffects of the drugs. She could not remember how she'd gotten here. She could not remember how they'd knocked her out. And for a moment, the silence was almost unbearable. Some part of her hated their absence, how it howled in her skull, flowing through her like a fever. The claim on her neck itched, her temples pounded and throbbed.
Her body ached.
The prison must be on a dead planet.
Rue had some ideas about the location. It wasn't a penal colony for sure, too much potential for escape. She had her guesses, potentially uninhabitable, probably inescapable. But a planet on intergalactic waters? She waited for the voices first, the signs of other prisoners, for her to be pressed up and close with others like bruised fruit in a typical cell. And then finally she gave up and called.
"Hello?"
Nothing. She tried again, yelling into the darkness. Another hour must have crept by. She began to pick at her nails, anxiety brimming. She didn't know what was in store for her. And the unknown was terrifying. But there must be someone watching her; they'd spoken of research after all. Experimentation. That chilled her to the bone, another wave of panic bubbling up her throat.
Fuck.
She'd take it one step at a time. She had her cards, her tricks. And the seven liked her enough. When her mind was clear, she'd think of what to do when she saw them. She would have to be careful with her words. But the questions spun in her head. She needed information; she needed grounding—
Was that a window glowing?
She could see a crooked ceiling now with warped wooden beams, cracks in the grooves, and old rusty nails popping from the planks. There was now the smell of salt and damp rot punching into her lungs, burning in her throat. A circular window sat at the very top of the walls.
A window.
She pulled herself up, staring; the glass was foggy, crusting with salt crystals. Outside, there was nothing but an endless void. And then the beam of light swept across like a blade; every flash allowed her a very brief glimpse in the dark.
Once, twice. It spun around, circled. She couldn't understand it for a second. And then it clicked for her. An ocean. She was looking at the ocean; she could almost make out dark, angry, choppy waves. And now, if she focused hard enough through her drug-addled mind, she could almost hear the waves. Or was that the beat of her heart?
How the fuck?
She stumbled back, and the rope bit into her skin.
The sky was brightening slightly now, turning into a softer blue. She could see most of the room now. Around her ankle, the single rough rope was thick and coarse, looped twice around her and tied to an iron hook sunk into the floorboards. It looked like something for a dog.
They clearly didn't think she was that much of a threat.
That had a crazed laugh bubbling out of her throat. There was a door at the corner with a rusting knob, and a hatch at the top. She pressed her hands to it, but it wouldn't budge. The knob was dead, cracking miserably when she turned it. She couldn't shove herself against it, not with the rope. But she slammed her hands on the door, rapping her knuckles on the hollow wood.
Nothing.
Rue sat down, waiting with her thoughts. Waiting for the sound of boots on the stairs, for someone to shove a tray through a hatch. But hours passed. No food. No voices. No water. She began to feel fucking stupid, picking at the rope at her leg. The thing they'd put in her was now wearing off, and her terror began to pick up into a steady hum at the back of her head.
The hunger crawled in first, but Rue was used to hunger. She'd been hungry for most of her life. Hunger wasn't new. But the silence. The silence was fucking awful. It pressed against her skin, crawled into her ears, and poured itself down her throat until her pulse was the only sound that she could hear.
Her blood was roaring. The room was airtight, muffling everything. She thought about using Dante's powers, but the lightning was only there when he was around. She wiggled her fingers and then felt like an idiot.
Fuck.
She stared at the rope, the coarse fibres burning her skin raw. If they believed that this was going to hold her, then they were stupider than she thought. The room brightened steadily. Outside, the waves remained just as dark. She shuffled back and scanned the floor.
A spot caught her eye. Old splinters. Rusted nails half-pulled from the boards. She could use that to start, and then she could also try to rub the rope against itself like a bow. Why hadn't she thought of that? Rue laughed. She felt like she was going fucking insane. She crawled to it on her knees; the rope dragging behind her like a snake. She pressed the strand against the splintered edge and started sawing. Back and forth, with her teeth gritted, eyes burning.
"I'm going to try," she called into the shadows. "I'm breaking free, assholes." And she made a show of it, pulling the rope taut, using one half to saw at a point and allowing friction to burn through her restraints. Her mind was already working through the situation.
No answer.
Were they watching her? Was this a test? Her mind stuttered. At the very least, Levi must be watching her, right? But the shadows were too cold, lacking a touch of something that used to make her Omega thrum.
Even the lights were cold.
They'd dumped her here. Left her on the wooden floor, and that was it. No guards. Or guards who were ignoring her. Just a window, with an ocean, and light spinning across the sea. An hour passed. The beam kept turning, slicing the dark ocean again and again. The sky was blue now, but no one came. Her stomach twisted in on itself; her lips cracked as she chewed on it. She kept sawing. The fibres frayed. Her ankle was raw where the rope burned through. She didn't stop.
No guards. No food. Just her. And the sound of the rope slowly falling apart under her hands. It couldn't be, she tried to tell herself. If the rope broke, they'd do something. There must be a fail-safe.
The rope finally gave. It snapped with a dry hiss, and Rue fell backward onto the floorboards. For a moment, she just laid there, staring at the ceiling, chest heaving, waiting for someone, for something. The lighthouse's beam swept across the glass window and flashed over her like a spotlight.
Nothing.
Odd.
She didn't even bother to wipe her tears. Fucking anxiety, she cursed. She got to her knees, then her feet. She was wobbly, starved, half-drugged, but moving. She felt fucking stupid. She should have tried earlier, shouldn't have waited like a good girl. At the very least, her physical strength was pretty good from training.
She pressed her palms to the door; it groaned. She shoved her body hard into the door, once, then twice. She screamed, frustrated. Then the wood cracked, swung open with a shudder. Its hinges ripped free.
Rue fell through.
Outside, the wind slammed into her. Cold and too sharp, reeking of salt and something fishy. She stumbled into the daylight, blinded by the sudden roar of senses. A weak, washed-out blue, heavy with grey clouds. Fuck. Her breath rushed out. The wind screamed in her ears.
The prison was no dungeon with cells and inmates.
It was a lighthouse, rising pale from a jagged cliff like a torch of white, its lantern sweeping across the planet. The sea below roared black and violent, slamming itself against the rocks. But the island was small. Pathetically small. So fucking small that the ocean seemed massive.
Her thoughts curdled.
It was maybe two kilometres across at its widest. Jagged cliffs ringed most of it, the sea foaming and snarling below. And the ocean was black, as black as fucking tar, no matter how light the sky got. A thin strip of beach at one end, like a bandage, and beyond it, a few trees clustered. They were black-barked too, with their leaves like dark shards of stone. But they were pretty sparse, merely a handful. Her eyes scanned the horizon; no birds, no signs of life. A dead world with just her and the sea.
They had left her on an island with no one else, like bait on a fucking hook. Her mind swung to the Court. A planet on intergalactic waters, open enough for them to find her. The rope on her ankle seemed like a test now. They had wanted her to escape, had wanted her to despair. They wanted her to open the fucking doors and lose her fucking mind.
Rue laughed.
And when the beam swept over her face, she thought of Mama's laughter, echoing across the years. At least you took something from those bastards.
But what was there to take now?
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