Of Beast and Beauty - Jay Stacey - Страница 42

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“Causing your blindness? Since you were four years old?”

My smile vanishes altogether. “Yes,” I say. “I … suppose.”

“So it wasn’t the blow to your head during the fire that caused it.”

“No, the fall definitely caused it,” I say. “I remember that clearly.”

“But you would have recovered your sight if someone hadn’t decided

it was to their advantage to keep you blind. Maybe that’s what your

ancestor was trying to tell you in your dream last night,” he says, his

intelligent eyes catching the candlelight, revealing flecks of gold hidden in

the dark brown.

They’re mesmerizing, not just a part of him, but a window into him,

confirming all the things I’ve thought I’ve heard in his voice. He’s worried

about me. He cares about me. It scares him that he cares, but he cares

anyway, enough to climb a tower to make sure I’m okay.

I would climb a tower for him, too. I would. I start to tell him so, but

before I can speak, he says—

“Maybe she’s trying to tell you who’s been poisoning you.”

“Would the dead know something like that?” I’m chilled by the

thought. I’m not convinced my ancestors are capable of sending dreams

from the other side, but I’m not unconvinced, either.

“I’m not sure. I’m not a spirit talker.” Gem shrugs, his wide shoulders

straining the seams of his dust-covered, formerly white shirt. I can tell he

still feels uncomfortable in Smooth Skin clothing. He’d probably be more at

home with his chest bare.

My eyes roam from his shoulder to the opening of his shirt, where

he’s unbuttoned the first three buttons, revealing the hollow of his throat

and a triangle of bare skin. Bare scales. They flicker orange and gold in the

candlelight, making it look like Gem’s flesh is made of smoldering coals. But

I know his scales are cool and smooth to the touch. I ran my fingers over

them last night, let my hand creep beneath his shirt and feel the strength of

him.

I lift my eyes to find him watching me stare, and look quickly away,

pretending to study the fireplace screen, where a dancing peacock spreads

blue and green feathers.

“It could be anyone,” I say, clearing my throat. “The poison was

coming in my morning tea. It’s brought on a tray from the royal kitchen.

There are dozens of people working there, and anyone who wanted access

would only have to walk in and walk out. There are no guards. The royal

family has never had to worry about death by poisoning.”

“And why’s that?”

“Our kings and queens are too valuable to our city.”

He grunts his “Isra’s said something stupid” grunt. “So the kings and

queens like to think.”

I turn back to him with a scowl. “You don’t know everything.”

“I know that whoever decided to poison you is someone who would

benefit from a queen unable to perform her duties. And that that someone

has been thinking very far ahead for a very long time.” He links his hands

behind his head while his legs stretch forward, scooting the low table in

front of the couch across the lush carpet. It’s a smug pose, but a sensual

one, and I can’t stop appreciating the sensual long enough to be truly

frustrated by the smug. “I would look to Junjie. Make sure his hands are

clean before you bind yourself to his son.”

“Easier to get a blind girl to marry who you’d like her to marry,” I say,

thinking aloud. “But why didn’t my father ever suspect poisoning? He was a

smart man.”

“Did he love your mother?” Gem asks, surprising me with his

question.

I stop to think a moment before saying, “He said he did. He never

took another wife, so …”

“Maybe he was too miserable to wonder if there was another reason

his daughter was blind,” Gem says, his voice heavier than before. “I would

think there’s nothing worse than losing a woman you love.”

I stare at him and forget how to breathe. I want to ask him what that

fiercely gentle look in his eyes means. I want to ask him if he’s ever been in

love. I want to ask if he loved his baby’s mother. I want to ask if he thinks

he could ever love … someone else.

I want to ask if he might … if last night was more than … I want to

confess that it was for me, to tell him that I’ve never been in love, but I’m

certain this is the closest I’ve ever been to it.

The closest you’ll ever be. You’ll be sealed in a loveless marriage

before your eighteenth birthday.

I close my eyes and dig my fists into my stomach. “Yes, I imagine that

would be … awful.” I’m beginning to feel squeezed in half. I can’t think

about marriage or love or who’s been poisoning me since I was a girl. Not

on an empty stomach.

Luckily, Needle reappears a moment later with a tray filled with tiny

bowls of nuts; a plate of red cherries so stunning and lush I want to paint

them; apples; water; and cold tea.

Talk of poisoning causes me to shy away from the tea—though Bo

warned me only about my morning tea, not anything brewed in the

tower—but I can’t get to the water fast enough. I misjudge the distance

between my fingers and the glass and knock it over. Before I can try again,

Needle has poured a glass and placed it in my hand.

“Thank you.” I take great gulps of the cool water with the lemon

rinds floating at the top. Yellow seen through my own eyes is more glorious

than I remember, bright and dense and cheery enough to make my teeth

hurt.

Needle nods, and gestures out to the balcony before turning back to

me with one eyebrow raised, communicating more with one look than in

seven or eight of her hand gestures. I’m suddenly not surprised that my

father seemed to understand Needle almost as well as I did, though we

never told him of our secret language.

“Yes. Gem and I are fine,” I say, then remember what Needle will be

cleaning, and wince. “I’m sorry. Leave it. I can clean it up later.”

Needle dismisses my protest with a wave of her hand and goes to

fetch water and soap and towels from the washroom. I still feel terrible, but

I suppose I shouldn’t. Queens don’t clean up their own messes. At least,

they never have in the past.

I reach for the plate of cherries and one of the bowls of nuts and pull

them into my lap, munching as I think. Now that I can see, I’ll be able to

walk among my people and form my own opinions much more quickly.

Maybe I can right the wrongs of the past and repair the wreck I’ve made of

my first months as ruler of this city.

But first, I have to clean up a different mess.

I start to call for Needle but shut my mouth with a sharp clack of

teeth as I realize I don’t have to. I can see. I can pick out my own clothes to

put on after my bath.

I stand, suddenly eager to get on with it, to tidy myself and confront

the demon of my reflection and move on to more important battles. “I’m

going to wash up and change,” I tell Gem, setting my plate down on the

tray. “I’ll be quick.”

“Do you want Needle to take me back to my cell?” he asks, his voice

strangely guarded as he sets a now-empty dish back on the tray and

reaches for an apple.

“No, I want you to stay,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “I’d rather not be

alone.”

“You won’t be alone. Needle is here.”

If I couldn’t see him, I’d think he wanted to go. He sounds cold,

disinterested, but his knee jiggles up and down, his fingers twist the stalk

on the apple until it snaps. His elbows are on his knees, his shoulders

hunched as if protecting himself from an anticipated attack. His long, thick

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