Of Beast and Beauty - Jay Stacey - Страница 22

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NINE

ISRA

I step into the garden, shaking all over, but not from the cold. I’m

barely aware of the cold. I’m racing inside. My pulse rushes like the river

beneath the city, wild and reckless and angry.

And frightened. I’m frightened, too.

I’ve been frightened my entire life, but that fear was different from

this. The former was a monster hiding in the shadows at the end of a long,

winding lane. This fear is Death reaching for my throat with both hands, so

close that I can hear his cold breath seep from his lungs.

Junjie tried to keep the news quiet, but there was little chance of

that. The court is still in mourning. There is no music or dancing or

playacting to provide entertainment. The only thing to do is talk, and the

ladies and gentlemen of the court excel at that, especially when the subject

of discussion is something so compelling.

And terrible.

A crack in the dome. It was all anyone could whisper about: “Is it

truly there?” “What caused it?” “How long will it take to assess the

damage?” “What will Junjie do to ensure the safety of the city?”

Not, What will Queen Isra do? No one thought to seek my council.

Junjie was the one they turned to for guidance. My name was never

spoken, but I was at the heart of every hushed conversation that drifted to

my giant ears. If the dome is cracked, it will be seen as a sign that the

covenant is weakening. If the injury can be easily repaired, the panic may

pass for a time, but the damage is already done.

I press my fist against my lips to hold back the whimper rising in my

throat. I knew the day of sacrifice would come, but I didn’t expect it would

be so soon. My life can’t end now, not when I’ve scarcely had the chance to

live it.

I lean over, resting my palms on the bed surrounding the roses,

digging my fingertips into the rough stone. I take a deep breath, grateful for

the cold air that softens the roses’ perfume. I don’t want my head filled

with their ominous stench. I wouldn’t have come here at all, except it

seemed the safest place to meet Gem.

I focus on my breath until it grows smooth and, finally, my heartbeat

slows.

I can’t lose hope. The crack might not be a crack at all. It could be

detritus from the desert stuck on the outside of the glass, a trick of light,

or … something else entirely. ( Please, please, let it be something else.) The

fissure is too high up for it to be seen clearly, even with a spyglass. The

soldiers will have to send a man to take a closer look, which means rigging

the rope-and-pulley system the city hasn’t used in half a century.

Bo says it will take at least three days to set up the equipment, and

that he will be the one to strap on the harness and be hauled out into the

void to assess the situation. He promised to keep everyone away from me

until then, and to alert Gem’s guards that the Monstrous won’t be working

in the field for the rest of the week. I told Bo I wanted to be alone while I

waited to see what effects giving up my morning tea will have on my

constitution, but I know he assumed it was fear that made me retreat to my

tower.

He seemed afraid, too. His arm shook as he escorted me to my door.

His lips trembled when he pressed a kiss to my cheek.

I touch the place now, and swear the patch of skin still feels colder

than the rest. It was the first time Bo has dared a kiss since the night he

thought we were both infected with poison from Gem’s claws.

“Maybe he only kisses queens who are about to die,” I say aloud,

fighting the sudden urge to giggle. There’s nothing funny about the mad

thing I’m about to do. There is nothing funny about what will happen if Bo

fails to keep his word. If Junjie or his guards enter the tower and discover

my absence, they’ll know Needle was keeping my disappearance a secret.

They’ll jail her. Or worse.

Probably worse.

The smile on my lips prunes into a worried pucker. Needle is taking a

terrible risk to help me prove I’m a queen with more to offer my people

than my blood. I can’t forget that for a moment. I will go carefully and

quickly, as soon as my eyes arrive.

I’ll have Needle to thank for that, too. If she can manage—

The sound of boots scuffing along the path interrupts my thoughts. I

pull my shawl farther over my head and crouch down by the wall, hoping

the shadows will conceal me. I hold my breath as three soldiers—maybe

four, it’s difficult to tell— scuff, scuff by on the other side of the circular

planter.

If they’d taken the other fork in the path, they would have seen me.

My breath rushes out in an unsteady stream, and my legs suddenly

feel wobbly. I sit down hard, the paving stones grinding against my sit

bones through the padding of my old gray overalls layered over my new

green ones. I have on long underwear, too, and a shawl and sweater. It will

be cold in the desert.

The desert. I’m going out into the desert. This isn’t a plan; it’s an act

of desperation. But what choice do I have? There isn’t time to waste. I have

to trust my instincts and hope with everything in me that luck is on my side.

And Needle’s side. And Gem’s.

Gem. What if he doesn’t meet me in the garden? What if—once

released from his room—he runs for the nearest gate? What if he kills the

soldiers guarding it and escapes into the desert, never to return? He’s still

weak, but there’s a chance he might try it. Maybe even a good chance.

I push my shawl back around my shoulders, feeling trapped by the

heavy wool, but before I can drop my arms back to my side, I feel it—a vine

snaking around my wrist and pulling tightly.

I almost cry out in surprise, but manage to stifle the sound at the last

moment. The guards are still too close; I can’t afford to make any noise. I

try my best to quietly wrench my wrist free, but the roses are stronger than

I realized. The vine tugs my arm up and over my head, drawing my hand

into the thick of the flowers’ nest. I clench my fist—hoping to protect my

fingers—only to feel a thorn meaner than any I’ve yet encountered dig into

the thin skin between my knuckles.

“Ah!” I gasp as blood spills, hot and sticky, down the back of my

hand, making my true eyes fill with tears even as my borrowed eyes open

on the city.

I see a tower— my tower—rising from the surrounding fields like

some spiny creature from another world. The roses have never shown me

the building where I’ve spent my entire life, but I recognize it immediately:

the sharp gold curves of its many roofs, its red stone walls and balcony

jutting from the top like a stubborn chin.

My borrowed eyes swoop toward the entrance at the tower’s base,

where a boy with a silky black braid, high cheekbones, and bow-shaped lips

that any woman at court would envy stands clutching a pair of muddy

slippers. The boy is Bo—there is no mistaking those lips—and the slippers

are mine, the ones I threw into the flowers the night of my coronation.

Bo lifts his hand to knock on the door, while, far away in the garden,

my heart beats frantically in my chest. Bo has come to return my slippers,

and to demand to know how I managed to lose them in the first place, no

doubt. There’s an anxious look in his eyes, tension at the edges of his

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