I felt a vibration against my head as Theseus’ vocal cords moved to allow the hum which escaped his throat.
His warm skin almost smelled of bark and moss, I could swear I heard birds chirping and sunlight streaming through dappled branches. He reminded me so much of a tree when he sat still like this. I let out a sigh, resting my forehead against the nape of Theseus’ neck. One moment it was just some odd bolts or trinkets in his palms, the next it would look like an animal, or a telescope, and back to trinkets again. He used to build and break things with such ease that I wondered if any of them were real. While I strap the wings to his back with torn fabric from the cot, I think of my father’s hands, always tinkering, always moving. The hand that had killed monsters, slain Asterion, and tried so hard to learn the delicate weaving method of making metal feathers. It was his left, and I could see the calluses on his palm where he held his sword. “My father begged us to already be gone, I won’t waste one more second.” I stepped toward him again, grasping his wrist. “No, no we can’t wait.” I couldn’t understand why he didn’t seem to want to leave. I stepped back, shaking my head, holding the wings my father’s hands had touched tighter against my chest. You still have those blisters from falling asleep by the window. “We should wait.” He said, his voice sounding a bit hopeful. Theseus held out a hand to stop me, a small smile playing on his lips, yet his warm eyes seemed to lack their usual luster. But I’m not sure if you could go home to your father’s kingdom now, so if you wanted to go someplace different, we can go anywhere, really-” “I mean, I’d have to start a fresh garden, of course. “Home, of course.” I glanced down at the craftsmanship in my hands, fiddling with a feather that looked slightly looser than the others. He shook his head, looking vaguely lost, like his thoughts were thousands of miles from this cell. That thought shook me as I pulled back, touching his face, smoothing out his furrowed brow with my finger. I felt his face against my shoulder, hidden there. But not too poorly, because he still met my embrace tightly when I leapt forward and threw my arms around his neck. They move with the flexibility of a bluejay, the candlewax holding them together both loose and strong. They are both at once pale gold and deep bronze, the morning sun shimmering highlights and shadows over the layered vanes. I hear the springs groan one last time as Theseus shifts out of the cot the see the finished work in my bruised hands. “It’s finished, Theseus! Theseus, wake up, they’re done!” I told Theseus of the curse, and made him swear to save my boy.Īnd then I begged the gods for a place for him in Elysium among the heroes. My fingers do not weave as they once did, and I will not finish. The prophesy said I had until Icarus’ 18 th birthday. I could’ve saved them if I’d let the monster burn. So, once annually, 14 humans were sent to sate his hunger, 7 boys and 7 girls. He seemed to begin burning away when in the sun. In order to keep Asterion, the Queen’s monster child, alive, he had to be kept underground.