Текст книги "Of Beast and Beauty "

Автор книги: Stacey Jay

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SIXTEEN

ISRA

NO. No!

Bo’s footsteps reverse direction, moving back toward Needle and me

on the balcony. “What was that?”

“Wait!” I turn and grab blindly for his leg.

No. Not so blindly. I gasp as I catch a glimpse of a pale, thin hand

reaching out in front of me, before the darkness steals it away.

My hand. Mine. I saw it. With my own eyes. Peeling skin above the

knuckles, long bony fingers, and blunt fingertips with dirt under the nails.

My nails.

“Wait!” I cling to Bo’s pant leg, bile burning in my throat as I fumble

for his hand and force myself to my feet while the world comes at me in

bits and pieces. “My eyes.” I swallow, ignoring the vertigo that threatens to

claim me as fleeting pieces of the puzzle flash and fade, flash and fade.

“The poison … I can … I see …”

I catch a flash of Bo’s shoulder, his uniform red and green; a burst of

light from inside the tower where the candles burn brightly; a glimpse of

Needle’s head and the cap she wears over her hair; a fragment of the night

beyond the dome, lit up with hard winter stars; movement at the edge of

the balcony, large hands, and a swiftly moving shadow.

I have to get Bo inside before he sees.

“We have to go to the healers.” I lunge for the door leading into the

music room, holding tightly to Bo’s hand, but not tightly enough. His fingers

slip through mine as he pulls away.

I know the second he sees Gem. His cry bursts from somewhere deep

inside him, raw and brimming with such utter surprise that it’s clear Gem

was the last man he expected to find climbing into my tower.

I spin, and the world spins with me. I nearly fall, but Needle tucks

herself under my arm and holds me up. I clutch her shoulder and blink

furiously as Gem steps out of the shadows.

“How did it get out of its cell?” Bo makes an effort to sound

menacing, but fails. Without his spear—which he seems to have left

elsewhere—he’s helpless against a Monstrous man, and he knows it. Fear

makes his voice squeak as he orders Gem to “Stay back. Keep your

distance!”

“I heard you cry out,” Gem says to me, ignoring Bo. “I came to make

sure you were safe.”

“I’m fine,” I whisper, swaying as the darkness I was certain was all I

would ever know is ripped to pieces.

“You knew he was free?” Bo practically shouts into my ear, but I

don’t turn to look at him. “Did you let him—”

“Please … wait …” My breath comes faster as my aching eyes pull

Gem into focus. He’s fuzzy around the edges, blooming with black stains

that obscure this part or that for a moment or two, but I can see him. I truly

can.

“I can see.” My voice trembles. The rest of me trembles harder. “I

can see.”

I can. I can see Gem. And he is … nothing like I remembered. His

shoulders are wide and well muscled but hardly mountainous. His mouth is

generous, but in proportion to the rest of his face. His high cheekbones are

severe but elegant, and his long, silky braid is lovely—a thing of almost

feminine beauty when compared to the rest of him. Even the places where

orange and yellow scales dust his forehead aren’t strange-looking to me

now. The scales are nature’s jewelry, bringing out the gold tones in his skin,

making his dark eyes sparkle even in the dim light from the candles burning

inside the tower.

He is beautiful. Beautiful, and a man, no doubt about it. Larger and

stronger and different from the men of my city, but a man through and

through. How could I have ever thought differently? How could I have

thought him a monster, even for a moment? How could I have looked into

those eyes that first night and not seen that we are not only similar

creatures but kindred spirits? Not because he is Monstrous and I am

tainted but because we are both human in the same way. The way Needle

is human and my father—for all his faults—was human. The kind of human

who wants to make other people’s lives better, who is willing to sacrifice

for the people we love, who puts the good of the majority before the good

of the few.

Bo’s voice pricks at my ears again, closer than before. “You see

because I made you see. I was the one who told you about the poison.”

“The poison,” I mutter, realizing the bigger implications of my

newfound sight. “How did you know about the poison? Who has been—”

“When I tell my father you let the beast out of its cage, and spent the

day in the garden with it with no guards present, he’ll wall up this balcony,”

Bo says, pointedly ignoring my questions. “You’ll never leave this tower

again.”

Yes, Gem is human. Human in a way Bo is not.

I’m not surprised; I’m only relieved he thinks gardening is all Gem

and I have been doing. But then, why would he suspect anything else?

When he considers Gem a monster?

“Isra?” That’s all Gem says, simply my name, but I know what it

means, what he’s offering. His assistance, whatever I need. I can see it in his

eyes so intent on mine.

With one swipe of Gem’s claws, we could be rid of Bo. With a heave

of Gem’s strong arms, Bo would go flying over the edge of the balcony, past

the edge of the roofs, and down, down, down to his death. I could hide

Gem in my room after. I could say that Bo proposed, and when I refused, he

was so distraught that he flung himself from the balcony.

I could give Gem the word … but I won’t.

Because I’m not tainted where it counts. There is nothing wrong with

my soul. It’s only now, when I have the chance to do something truly

wicked and I’m certain I don’t want to, that the truth seems clear to me.

“Isra?” Gem caresses my name with his voice, as if he understands

what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling, how things are shifting inside me with a

speed that makes me grateful for Needle’s wiry body bracing mine.

“You let it call you by name?” Bo asks, his horror clear.

I turn, slowly, so as not to disturb my fragile hold on my focus, and

look at Bo with my own eyes for the first time. He looks different than he

did the night the roses showed him standing at the tower door. Smaller and

softer. He’s a good half meter shorter than Gem, and a few centimeters

shorter than me, but broad and solid. His hair is as black as Gem’s, but

coarser. Tiny hairs escape his braid to spring around the perfect oval of his

face. There, dark, nearly black eyebrows slash down toward the straight

slope of his nose, pale brown eyes the color of walnut shells float in shallow

sockets, and softly rounded lips perch above a strong but sweetly dimpled

chin.

I see at once why women find him desirable. He is strong, healthy,

and handsome. But he is not beautiful. Not to me. I will never anticipate his

touch. I will never find him anything but repulsive.

And I will regret for the rest of my life that Gem has to witness what

I’ll do next.

“You will say nothing to your father,” I say, pressing on before Bo can

interrupt. “You will return to your rooms and pretend this night never

happened. Then, come spring, when my mourning is over, you will propose

and I will accept.”

Bo’s mouth closes, and his angry eyebrows float away from his eyes.

“You will?”

“You have my word,” I say, fighting the urge to look at Gem, to see

what he thinks about this. What he feels …

Bo’s gaze shifts from me to Gem and back again. “All right. But in

exchange for my silence, you will stop this nonsense with the creature

immediately. It isn’t a pet. It’s dangerous.”

“Gem isn’t dangerous,” I say, emphasizing his name, making it clear

Gem isn’t an it in my mind.

“How can you say that? One of them killed your father, Isra.”

“Yes, one of them did,” I admit. “But it wasn’t Gem. Gem is my

friend.”

“Your friend?”

“And he’s been a great help to me,” I say, ignoring Bo’s scandalized

tone, and hoping I haven’t pushed this too far. “I can’t get the new garden

ready without him.”

“Then you can give up the new garden.” Bo gives me a stern, almost

fatherly look that I can tell I’m going to grow to hate over the course of our

marriage, no matter how brief the union may be. “We don’t need another

garden. Our people are well provided for with what we have already.”

“No, Bo. They aren’t.” I fight to keep my tone even. “Our city’s

customs are unfair to many of our people. The new garden will grow plants

that will provide healing and protection from mutation. I need this. We all

need it. And Gem has agreed to help me.”

Bo puffs out his chest and tips his chin down, but unfortunately for

him, it’s impossible to glare down at someone taller than yourself. “I won’t

have my wife playing in the dirt with a monster. The nobles already think

you’re strange. What if someone had seen you today? Alone with this

thing? What if he’d hurt you? Killed you? Where would that have left the

city?”

“Please.” Anger flares inside me, but I know I have no right to it, not

when I’ve been as cruel to Gem as Bo is being now. In a kinder way, but

still …

Let him go. You have to let him go.

As soon as the thought races through my mind, I know it’s right. I

have to give Gem his freedom, no matter how my people will hate me, or

how miserable it makes me to imagine my life without him. We’ll plant the

garden, and I’ll send him on his way with a cart full of food and promises to

leave more outside the gate whenever I can. It’s the very least I can do.

“As your future wife,” I say, “I beg you to trust my judgment. If Gem

intended to hurt me, he would have done so already.”

“You can’t know that.” Bo scowls again. “You’re too trusting.”

“You’re right. I trusted you, and tomorrow I’ll have bruises in the

shape of your fingers on my arm.” I watch him flinch in shame, and the

wonder of sight hits me all over again. I can see. I can see, and my entire life

is going to change, and I can’t bear to spend another minute of this amazing

night with Bo. “But I can also see for the first time since I was a little girl. It

is more than I ever could have hoped for, and I thank you for that. Truly.”

Bo bows his head, his expression softening in the face of my

gratitude.

“But I will need to know how you learned about the poison,” I add.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow. I want to know everything, especially who you

suspect of drugging my tea.”

He pales, and his eyes widen before he looks away. I’m not sure what

that look means, but my gut tells me it isn’t good. I expect I’m not going to

like what Bo has to say. But then again, I expect I won’t like much of what

Bo has to say from now on.

“Leave us,” I say, meaning to use my position to my advantage until

the day Bo becomes my equal. “Forget about the healers. I’m feeling

better.” I am. Now that I’m seeing clearly, the vertigo is gone. My eyes still

ache, but it’s a wonderful ache, the pain of unused muscles doing

miraculous things.

Bo nods stiffly and flicks two fingers in Gem’s direction. “Come,

beast. I’ll return you to your cell.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” I say, earning another scowl from Bo. “As

you said, it wouldn’t be wise for it to be widely known that Gem was out of

his cell today. I’ll have Needle take him in an hour or two, after the city is

quiet. Tell the guards at the base of the tower that they’re dismissed.”

“I can’t leave you unguarded with this—”

“You’ll do what I tell you to do until the day we are married. Or you

and your father will both find yourselves expelled from the military force.”

Bo’s jaw drops. “You wouldn’t. The people would hate you.”

“Let them hate me. Any emotion would be preferable to their pity. I

don’t intend to be worthy of anyone’s pity, not anymore,” I say, hoping Bo

can sense the iron at the core of my words. “I decided that before I was

able to see. Now that I can, I won’t let anyone keep me from ruling my city

the way I see fit.”

Bo’s eyes tighten around the edges, and his soft mouth firms into a

pucker that isn’t flattering. I sense he would like to tell me a thing or two,

but he knows better. Until he’s my husband, he will have to bite his tongue.

Afterward …

I won’t think of afterward. If I think of my wedding night with Bo or

all the days after, I will be sick all over again, despite the fact that I have

nothing in my stomach.

“I’ll send for you tomorrow,” I say.

With one last glare at Gem, and an only slightly less fierce glance my

way, Bo turns and strides through the door, across the music room, and

down the hall. The door to the stairs slams a moment later.

I sag against Needle, too weak to hold myself up now that the

immediate danger has passed.

“Let me help,” Gem says, his arm coming around my waist. I lean into

him, looping my arm around his shoulders, but keeping my gaze on the

stones at my feet. I’m not ready to look him in the eye, not yet.

Needle slides from under my other arm and steps back far enough

for me to look upon her dear face. She’s similar to the picture my mind

painted all the times I traced her features with my fingers—straight brown

hair tucked under her cap, a face as round as a saucer, and enormous eyes.

They’re beautiful, kind and intelligent and sad, but determined and

just … everything I imagined Needle’s eyes would be.

I’m scarcely aware the tears are coming before they’re slipping down

my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”

I know she understands that I mean more than everything she’s done

the past few days. I mean every day she kept me from being so desperately

alone. Every minute she spent teaching me to understand her special

language. Every little-girl tantrum she tolerated when I was too young to

understand what a blessing she was to my life, and she not nearly old

enough to bear the burden of raising me.

I know she understands because she starts crying, too. Smiling and

crying and touching my arm, my shoulder, my cheek—all the places she

would touch to communicate her concern when I was blind.

By the ancestors, I’m not blind. I can see her. I can see.

I lean down to hug her with the arm not wrapped around Gem’s

shoulders, and end up bumping my forehead into hers. Not hard enough to

hurt, but hard enough to make us both laugh. Me, a soft giggle; her, a silent

shake of her shoulders.

“Sorry. I’m not judging distance well,” I say, pushing my hair—which

has already escaped from Needle’s quick braid—from my face,

remembering how terrible I look. I glance down, shocked by just how

rumpled and dirt-streaked my overalls are. Bo must be desperate to be king

if he can still stomach the thought of marriage after seeing me tonight.

Even dressed up and freshly washed, I’m far from a Yuan beauty.

My heart lurches, and my knees go weak. Myself. I’ll be able to see

myself. Finally, I’ll know what made every soul in Yuan gasp when I stepped

out onto the dais after my coronation.

But not now. I’m not strong enough. I need food and water and …

I need … to sit down.

As if reading my mind, Needle motions Gem and me inside, shooing

us over to the low couch where I sit to practice my harp, while she rushes

into the other room. The couch is black and blue. Black silk, with

midnight-blue flowers and black thread binding it to a frame so polished, I

could see my reflection in it if I tried.

I don’t.

I look up at Gem, studying his profile as he settles me on the couch

and sits awkwardly beside me. The seat is so low that his knees nearly

touch his chest. He looks out of place, but no more out of place than I do.

My filthy overalls and ratted halo of hair are from a different world than the

silk we sit on.

I lift my hand and pull one of the less fuzzy tendrils in front of my

eyes.

“Red,” I mutter, hand shaking as I pull the curl straight, before letting

it pop back into a coil.

“Brown,” Gem says, his voice as careful as it always is under the

dome. He sounds like a citizen of Yuan again. It makes me sad. I miss the

way he rolled his words when we were out in the desert, letting them

simmer at the back of his throat before spitting them out. “Your hair is

brown.”

“But it has red in it,” I say, looking up at him. “I didn’t expect that.”

He doesn’t turn my way. He stares at the wall, at a portrait of a girl

with light olive skin, dark hair piled on her head, green eyes, and a wide

mouth that dominates her face. She’s mysterious-looking. There’s

something sad but secretive and mischievous in her expression. I wonder if

she’s one of the ancient goddesses from our old planet that my father told

stories about, the ones who were always shifting into animals so they could

fly down from the heavens to spy on humans. The girl’s throat is so long

and elegant, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her turn into a swan.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, with a happy sigh. “Like one of the old

goddesses.”

“Yes.” Gem doesn’t sound happy.

My smile thins. “Thank you … for coming to—”

“Someone’s been poisoning you?” Gem turns back to me with a

guarded expression that tells me nothing about what he’s thinking.

“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

braid hangs down his back like a weary pet in need of a brushing.

I step closer, and touch the top of his head ever so softly. He glances

up, surprised, unguarded. “Please stay,” I whisper. “I want you to be here.”

He nods, rather unhappily I think, and turns back to his apple.

“There’s a washbasin and towels in the sitting room down the hall.

By the pantry,” I say. Though, aside from his dusty shirt, Gem doesn’t seem

to be in nearly as bad a shape as I am. “If you want to freshen up, feel free.”

“All right,” he says, eyes still glued to the fruit in his hand.

“I won’t be long,” I say, hoping both of our moods will improve once

this is done. I’ve felt my own face and my peeling flesh. I have a fairly good

idea what I must look like. Strange, different, big-featured and

rough-skinned, but not altogether hideous. The truth can’t be much worse

than what I’ve imagined.

Or so I tell myself as I turn toward the washroom, half hoping Needle

neglected to haul up the usual supply of water in my absence, and I’ll have

a good excuse to fall into bed filthy and deal with facing my face in the

morning.