Текст книги "Of Beast and Beauty "

Автор книги: Stacey Jay

сообщить о нарушении

Текущая страница: 8 (всего у книги 21 страниц)

listen?”

“I’ll make him listen.” Tightness flashes in my jaw. “I am changed.

Things have happened tonight that …” I swallow, moistening my lips with

my tongue, struggling to keep my voice even. “Things are different now,” I

whisper. “I won’t allow Junjie to rule in my place. When we return from the

desert, I will join the council meetings. I will speak to the people and hear

their complaints myself. I will not sit quietly by. I will fight for a place in this

city, and I will fight for those who have served me well. Help me, and I will

help your people.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. “You sound almost like a queen.”

“I will behave like one. I swear it,” I say, ignoring the guilty prickle at

the back of my neck.

Gem could never guess how good the chances are that I won’t be

around to keep my promise. And I can’t tell him. I can’t. Especially with the

roses hovering behind us like carrion birds, watching, waiting for a sign that

it’s time to swoop down and feed.

“Please. I’ll beg if I—”

“Where is this secret door?” Gem asks, taking my hand.

My fingers startle open before tightening with a grateful squeeze. I

find myself comforted by his calloused palm in a way I never am by Bo’s

softness. Gem is going to help. He has given me hope, and I swear to myself

that I will give the same to his people. I will. I will live to honor my promise

to him, and hopefully many more.

“This way.” I start toward the orchard, still holding his hand. “There’s

a small gate, the King’s Gate, beyond the village green, past the cornfields,

near the granaries. It’s no more than a door, really,” I whisper as we hurry

through the trees. “I’ve never been through it, but I’m told it’s hidden

behind—”

Gem jerks my arm—hard and sudden—sending a flash of pain

through my shoulder. I stumble back, and his arms are suddenly around

me, his hand covering my mouth, muffling my rush of breath as our bodies

collide. I stiffen but don’t pull away. I stand perfectly still, ears pricking.

I press my lips together and nod, and Gem’s hand drops from my

mouth, but his arms remain around my waist, holding me close as the scuff,

scuff of boots sounds behind us.

Soldiers. On the path we left only moments ago.

My stomach turns itself inside out beneath Gem’s hand. What if

we’re spotted? I’m assuming it’s darker beneath the trees, but that’s only a

guess. My world is always dark, without variation. I can’t know whether it’s

better to hide in the shadows or run for the green and hope the soldiers

don’t notice our footsteps. I have to trust that Gem has made the right

decision, that standing frozen like statues will keep us safe.

But I do trust him. He doesn’t want to be caught. If the soldiers find

him with the queen pinned to his chest, they won’t hesitate. They’ll throw

their spears. Aim for Gem’s heart. Hope to kill him before he kills me.

They won’t take the time to see that Gem’s claws aren’t extended,

that his arms are gentle around me, or that my fingers linger over his. They

won’t notice that I lean into him, not away, or that my head turns to look

over my shoulder, bringing my cheek so near his mouth that his silent

breath warms my skin. They would never in a thousand years imagine that

my eyes slide closed and a shiver runs through me not because I fear for my

life but because Gem’s body is pressed against mine, because his hand on

my belly makes it ache, because the longing to taste him is stronger than it

was before.

If Gem and I were alone, and I were the kind who cared for nothing

but my own pleasure, I would turn in his arms. I would arch my back and tilt

my head and press my lips to his. I would kiss him the way Bo kissed me in

the royal garden. I would not fear his teeth. I would not think how strange

it is for tongues to touch. I would not think about cabbage. I would kiss him

until I was breathless.

“They’re gone,” Gem whispers.

My eyes fly open. I exhale sharply, wondering why the news that

we’re safe makes my heart beat even faster.

“Isra …” Gem’s hand curls, and the tips of his fingers press deeper

into my stomach, and suddenly my long underwear and two layers of

overalls are not enough protection from his touch. I shudder, and the world

shifts, and I fill to the brim with a feeling I’ve never felt before. It bubbles

inside me until a soft sigh of pain escapes my lips.

Pain, because I’m not stupid. I know what this feeling is.

King Deshi’s love songs were the first melodies I learned to play on

my harp. My teacher, Biyu, taught me the chords—sitting behind me with

her fingers guiding mine—and Father taught me the words. Baba and I

would sing some of the songs together before it was time for me to go to

bed, but there were some I was too embarrassed to sing with him. Even at

ten or eleven, I realized not all love songs are about the way love affects a

heart. They’re about the way love affects the body, about a hunger that has

nothing to do with food. King Deshi’s metaphors aren’t so clever that I

couldn’t guess their meanings.

The pelican with its “pulsing beak” was no pelican.

Needle told me how it is with a man and a woman and the “beak”

and the “flower” not long after my first blood. Baba thought I was too naïve

to understand, but I wasn’t.… I …

Baba.

My lungs turn to stone, trapping my next breath and holding it

prisoner. He’s gone. It hits me all over again. My chest feels like it’s caving

in, my throat threatens to collapse, and the only thing keeping the heat

behind my eyes from spilling over is knowing how little I deserve to cry.

If my father could see me now, he would be sickened to the depths

of his being. I am even more wrong than I suspected. Wrong.

The most accomplished lover in Yuan kissed me, long and deep, and

continues to do his best to seduce me, and I feel nothing but vague

curiosity and more pronounced anxiety. Now a beast from the desert

stands too close, and I am dizzy with wanting him. I crave his calloused

hands on me. I want to be pinned beneath him the way I was that first

night. But this time he wouldn’t be angry, and I wouldn’t be scared. I would

be eager. Because I am twisted. Tainted. Wrong.

My stomach rebels. I taste stomach juices and the beet soup I forced

down my throat at dinner, and barely swallow it down.

I twist free of Gem’s arms, and stumble to the edge of the green

before stopping to bury my face in my hands. I concentrate on the smell of

the jasmine perfume at my wrists, the contrast of my breath warming my

nose, and my cold fingers pressed against my forehead, struggling to pull

myself together.

“Isra?”

When Gem’s hand finds my elbow, I pull away. “I’m fine.” I cross my

arms and hug tightly, holding the miserable scraps of myself together. I

can’t fall apart. Not now. “I don’t need help. I can count my steps to the

fields.”

Hopefully, by the time we reach the end of them, I will have gained

control of my stomach. As for the rest of me …

If that other hunger returns, I’ll think of Baba and how ashamed he

would be. I’ll think of my people and the way their lips would curl if they

knew the depraved nature of their queen. I’ll think of Gem.

He would be as sickened as my people. He loathes Smooth Skins. He

would never think of a Smooth Skin woman in that way. He put his arms

around me because it was practical. That’s the end of it. If he knew the

unnatural acts that danced through my mind a moment ago, he would

abandon me on the spot, though I need his help more than ever.

By the time we find the King’s Gate, hidden behind the ivy-covered

wall behind the granaries, I’m no longer afraid of going into the desert. I

stand calmly by as Gem moves the wooden plank barring the door, my

pulse steady. There’s nothing out there as scary as the shifting world inside

me. I will be safe from Monstrous attack with one of their own by my side,

and three days isn’t enough to damage my skin.

Not that it would matter. Your skin isn’t much to look at anyway. For

you, this is no great risk. But for Yuan …

I pause with my hand on the ancient wooden handle.

“Hurry,” Gem urges in a tight whisper. “There are two soldiers on the

wall walk. They’ll be over our heads soon.”

“I leave my people without a king or a queen,” I whisper, a lump

rising in my throat. What if the roses were right? What if I’m better off

returning to the tower? “If something happens to me …”

“Nothing will happen.” Gem’s heat warms my back as he moves

closer. “The desert is a mother to me. I’ll keep you safe and bring you

home. I give my word.”

“Your word.”

“Yes,” he says, his hand closing over mine. “Mine. And I will not break

it. You can trust me, Isra.”

It’s me I don’t trust, I think, but there’s no time for consideration. I

pull my shawl over my head and turn the handle, and Gem and I slip

through the heavy door and ease it closed behind us.

And then I am outside the dome. Outside.

For a moment I can’t move. I’m stunned by the strange, dusty, empty

smell of the desert, by the cold so much colder than anything else I’ve felt

before, by the howling in the distance. It’s not animal, not human, not even

Monstrous. This howl is otherworldly, a relentless keening more chilling

than the cold.

I take a step closer to Gem in spite of myself. “What is that?” My

voice sounds smaller out here in the great wide world.

“What is …”

“The sound. The … moaning.”

“Oh,” he says, a hint of laughter in the word. “The wind through the

dead trees at the base of the first hill. Nothing to be afraid of.”

The wind. The wind has a voice.

I shove my shawl off my head, and a wind not of my own making lifts

my hair from my shoulders, sending it whipping around my face. Strands

catch on the chapped place on my lip and lash into my eyes, but I feel no

pain. My lungs ache and my throat burns and my eyes sting until I can’t

stop tears from coming, but I’m not sad.

“You’re crying,” Gem says in that vaguely horrified voice of his.

It makes me laugh and then cry even harder. My shoulders shake

until my shawl falls off. My nose runs, but I don’t wipe it. I don’t care about

my leaky nose or leaky eyes. I don’t care about my ugliness or wrongness or

the dark fate awaiting me under the dome.

I am not under the dome. For the first time ever, I am free.

TEN

GEM

BY the time the sun winks its flaming eye and disappears behind the

blue hills, I could have killed her ten different ways.

Claws to her throat and her body left outside the dome for the

Smooth Skins to collect if they dared open their gate. A shove into a zion

nest, where venomous insect stings would stop her heart. A handful of

poison milk from the wrong breed of cactus; a step too close to the cliff’s

edge as we reach the foothills and begin to climb. The moments present

themselves, and her death plays out again and again in my mind.

She is at my mercy now. All it would take is a broken promise.

I could kill her and put an end to the Yuejihua family’s rule. If I were

stronger, I could bring her to my chief and hold Isra until her people agreed

to give us food and roses and anything else the Desert People desire. I

could arrange for Isra to have her turn as captive, let her learn what it’s like

to be caged, let her tongue grow bitter with shame as she flatters those

who hold the key to her chains.

I like the thought of Isra at my mercy—head bowed, no longer giving

orders and taking my obedience for granted. I like it very much.

She didn’t take you for granted last night. She made a deal. You gave

your word.

A twinge near my heart reminds me the organ is still too soft. When I

rejoin my tribe, I’ll cut my warrior’s braid and give it to my father to burn. I

don’t deserve to stand beside Gare and the rest of the men. I am weak.

Kind, when I should be cruel. Gentle, when I should crush my enemy to

dust.

“Gem? Can we stop?” Isra pants, tugging at my sleeve. “Just for a

moment?”

I turn to see her hunched over, fist pressed to her side, face pinched,

and my heart twinges a second time. I’ve done it again—forgotten that her

legs are shorter and that a lifetime of privilege hasn’t prepared her for a

night and day of hiking in ill-fitting boots across hard ground with only

cactus milk to drink and a handful of dried meat to eat.

She brought enough meat in her pockets for one meal, not three

days in the desert.

I’m not surprised. She has no concept of what it means to be hungry.

But after this journey, she will. She’ll survive—we’re rationing the meat,

and cactus milk has strengthening properties—but she won’t enjoy it.

Maybe that small suffering will be enough to convince her to honor her

part of our bargain.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers, leaning on the walking stick I found to help

her navigate the unfamiliar terrain. “I want to keep going. The sooner we

get there, the sooner we get back, but …”

Her tongue slips out to wet her lips. She tucks a few loose strands of

hair behind her ear with a trembling hand. Despite her sun-pink cheeks, she

looks pale, and more fragile than she does in her domed city. I should be

pleased to see her in distress. I should push her further for the joy of seeing

her break. But I only wish I had my walking pack and supplies. If I did, I

could build a shelter against the rocks. I could unroll my grass mat to soften

the ground and cover her with a skin.

Puh. I want to make a warm bed. For my enemy.

No, I want to make a warm bed for a girl I care for. It’s the caring that

shames me the most. I don’t understand it. How can I feel pity for a queen

I’ve killed a hundred times in my mind? How can I admire the

determination of the girl who has held me prisoner? Why do I put my arm

around Isra’s waist and offer what strength I have, when I should crave

distance from her the way my people crave enough food to feed their

children?

“Don’t.” She shies away, as if my arm is a snake she’s discovered

under a rock. She dances out of reach, closer to the edge of the path,

where the wind blows harder than it does near the rocky face of the hill.

A sharp gust tugs her shawl down around her shoulders and lifts her

hair, making it writhe like a bonfire made of shadows. Behind her, the

setting sun paints the tired desert a hungry orange, the color of vengeance,

while far in the distance the dome squats smugly on the horizon, confident

the people it shelters will never be held accountable for what they have

stolen.

The desert bears their scars. The land spread out below us is all but

barren. The desert floor is baked hard. The wind can barely move it. There

are no more dust storms here. The ground cracks like eggshells, the pieces

moving farther apart with every month that passes without rain. The trees

are dead, and the few cacti that stubbornly push their way up from the

scarred earth cast gnarled shadows, crooked fingers that would snatch

Isra’s pant leg and pull her over the edge if they could reach high enough.

I could deliver her into their hands. One firm push, and in an instant

she’d tumble down the hill it has taken us an hour to climb.

I say, “You’re too near the edge. Let me help,” before taking her arm

and guiding her back to safer ground. I rearrange her shawl to hold her wild

hair captive, brush the dirt from her cheek, warn her to “Be careful. The

path drops sharply on your right side,” and ignore the way she flinches at

my touch.

“I …” Her eyes squeeze closed. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what’s wrong

with me.”

I know. Now that we’re alone, far from the city she rules, with no

guards to protect her or chains binding my arms or legs, she remembers

that I’m a monster. She remembers to be afraid. I should be glad of that,

too, but it only makes my stomach clench and my voice harsh when I

remind her, “I gave my word. I’ll keep you safe.”

“I know you will,” she whispers, eyes still closed, her dark lashes

fanned out over her cheeks.

I want to call her a liar, but it would serve no purpose, and I’m too

tired to fight. I’m feeling how far we’ve come. We’ve stopped long enough

for my muscles to cool, and the places where the spears pierced my flesh

ache more than they have in weeks.

“We’ll camp here for the night,” I say, turning to assess the trail.

“There’s a wider place in the path just behind us, and rocks to block the

wind. There’ll be nothing to drink until tomorrow, but there’s enough dry

wood for a fire.”

“That would be nice,” she says with a thin smile. “I haven’t felt my

nose for hours. I can’t believe I thought I knew what it felt like to be cold.”

I grunt in response, and her smile slips away.

“I’m sorry,” she whispers. “Your people must suffer during the

winter.”

“They suffer. They starve. You don’t care. Remember?”

“I care. Of course I do. That day in the infirmary was a long time ago.”

When she reaches for my arm, she’s trembling harder than she was before.

I take her hand and pull her to me with more force than I intended.

“If I were going to kill you, I would have done it already,” I growl, not

bothering with the Smooth Skin inflection that I’ve perfected in my months

of captivity. We are in my world now, and I will speak the way a Desert Man

speaks. “This is a foolish time to lose your courage.”

Her breath rushes out, and a wrinkle forms between her brows. “I

haven’t lost my courage. I … You …” The wrinkle smoothes, and something

flickers deep in her eyes. “You think I’m afraid of you?”

“I know it.” I hate the wounded note in my voice. I must be more

tired than I thought, or I wouldn’t allow her fear to affect me, let alone

allow her to hear it.

“Oh, Gem.” She lifts her chin, tipping her face up to mine. I know she

can’t see me, but in that moment I can feel her attention. It prickles the

place on my forehead where flesh meets scales, makes my nose itch and

my mouth wrinkle. “I’m not afraid of you. I swear it.”

I grunt again. “That’s why you flinch when I touch you.”

“No. I … That’s not …” The wind blows her shawl open at the throat. I

watch the muscles there work as she fights to swallow. Ripple, clutch,

ripple, shudder.

Seems her lies aren’t going down easily for either of us.

“Don’t bother,” I say, gripping her fingers harder, reminding us both I

could snap her bones as easily as the sticks I’ll gather for kindling. “Hold

your fear close. It will make for poor sleep tonight but peaceful nights back

in your tower. If you stop thinking of my people as monsters, how will you

ever sleep again? Knowing what you’ve done?”

ISRA

I’VE done nothing! I want to scream. It’s not my fault your people are

starving. I had no idea until I met you that the Monstrous weren’t beasts

perfectly suited to life in the desert. And a Monstrous killed my father less

than three months past. Is it my fault I’ve been too miserable and angry to

think of the good of your people?

By the moons, I can hardly bear the weight of what’s good for mine!

I’m only one woman, and most of the time I still feel like a girl. I wasn’t

raised to rule; I was raised to die. You know nothing about what it’s like to

be the queen of Yuan, so don’t stand there and growl your judgment at me,

you stupid, moody thing!

But I don’t scream. I don’t speak at all.

I endure Gem’s less-than-gentle guidance to our campsite and his

angry silence as he stomps back and forth gathering wood for the fire

without saying a word. I cross my arms and bite my tongue and keep my

peace, because if I open my mouth, I’m not sure what will come out.

It could be a reasonable argument, but it could also be something

much more dangerous. I could find myself confessing that I’m not afraid of

him, I’m afraid of me. That I’m afraid of how much I want him to touch me,

and keep on touching me, no matter how wrong it would be.

A wicked part of me would like to observe the quality of Gem’s

silence after that sort of confession. I imagine it would be very different

from the cold, efficient one I’m enjoying right now. More shocked and off

balance. Far less sanctimonious. The pleasure I’d take in pulling the rug out

from beneath his self-righteous feet would almost make up for the shame

of his knowing my secret.

Almost.

“Hand me your shawl,” he demands, startling me.

“What?”

“Your shawl. Hand it to me.” From the direction of his voice, I can tell

he’s standing. Glaring down at me, no doubt, too sickened to sit and enjoy

the fire he’s miraculously built. I would ask him how he did it, but it’s clear

he’s not in the mood for polite conversation.

“There’s plenty of room by the fire.” I leave my scarf where it is, lift

my chin, and do my best to look imperious, though I can’t remember

feeling this filthy in my life, even right after my mother died, when I refused

to let anyone bathe me for weeks. But back then I was a little girl locked

away in my music room, the only place the tower fire hadn’t touched. I

didn’t spend my days roaming the desert, collecting dirt and grit on my

skin, somehow managing to work up a sweat despite the winter chill.

Frozen nose, damp undershirt. Eck. I should have taken off a layer

when the sun grew warm in the afternoon. At least then I’d be dry right

now. I’m discovering the only thing worse than cold is cold and damp.

“I’m going down the mountain for something to drink,” Gem says

tightly, making it clear he’s noticed that my nose is as far in the air as it can

get without tipping me over backward. He sounds even angrier.

Good. Let him stay angry. I’ll stay angry, too, and we’ll both be better

off.

“If you want me to bring some back for you, I need your shawl to

soak up the cactus milk,” Gem says. “I’d use my shirt, but I’m sure you don’t

want to drink from that.”

His shirt. He wasn’t wearing a shirt the night I saw him through the

roses’ eyes, but I don’t remember what his bare chest looks like. I was too

focused on his immense size and large, white teeth.

You should still be focused on his teeth.

I should. I lick my lips and think of my father, but even imagining

Baba’s horror is no longer enough to banish the tingling at my fingertips. I

would like to see Gem’s chest with my hands. I would like to see his face

again, to find out if his hair has grown, and if it’s still as soft.

Abomination. My internal voice is as venomous as ever, but harder to

hear over the wind whistling through the rocks.

I love the wind more than I thought I would, even when it is tangling

my hair into fantastic knots and freezing me to the bone. I can’t remember

ever feeling so alive, so—

“As you wish, my lady,” Gem snaps. “But don’t complain of thirst

come morning.”

I reach for my shawl, but before I can hand it over—or tell him I was

only thinking, not ignoring him—he’s stomping down the mountain.

“Ridiculous,” I mutter beneath my breath, but it’s hard to hold on to

my anger for long. I’m the one who’s being ridiculous.

Why am I letting this madness distract me? For seventeen years I’ve

had close to no interest in the opposite sex. The only men in my life were

Baba and Junjie, and what the roses showed me of boys my age did little to

pique my curiosity about the rest of the male population. The soldiers were

self-important, and the idle nobles were overly impressed with themselves.

I knew Baba would choose a husband for me from one of the

founding noble families, so I took a closer interest when the roses showed

me those boys, but just close enough to assure myself the possibilities

weren’t too terrible. That was enough to put the business of boys and

husbands out of my mind. I knew love wasn’t in my future—not the

emotion, and certainly not the … other kind of love. I knew I’d have to

welcome my husband to my bed until a child was born, but I didn’t expect

to enjoy the process. It seemed best not to think of it.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it. Even being frustrated with Gem

doesn’t banish the awareness of his smell, his touch. When he stood behind

me and cupped my hands in his—teaching me to drink from the cactus he’d

sliced open—it felt like my entire being was catching fire. It was terrifying.

Is it the tainted part of me that makes me ache for a Monstrous boy?

Does this mean I’ll never feel this way about Bo? That I’ll never learn to

enjoy his attention as much as the other women of court clearly do? The

thought of being with a man I didn’t desire was disturbing before I knew

what desire felt like, but now the notion sickens me. Soft hands on my skin,

instead of Gem’s rough fingertips. Thin lips on mine, instead of Gem’s full

mouth. My name whispered silkily in my ear, instead of growled against my

throat.

Sick. Sick, sick, sick.

I huddle closer to the fire, trying to focus on the pleasant warmth

thawing my fingers and nose. I don’t want to think about the future or my

duty or the fact that I am hours and hours away from my tower, utterly

alone for the first time in my entire life and experiencing my lack of sight in

a way I haven’t in a long time.

Back home, I know the shape of my world. The tastes and smells and

textures of Yuan are familiar, and there’s only so much trouble a blind girl

can get into in a domed city. Not so out here. I might as well be on another

planet. A dangerous planet where millions of unseen things can kill me

before I don’t see them coming.

Ha ha.

I’m able to find the private joke funny until the fire begins to lose its

heat and I’m forced to venture away from the rock wall to hunt for more

fuel. I know Gem piled the wood close. I remember his repeated huffing

and the hollow sound of dry branches tumbling to the ground. But as to

where the pile lies …

I pat the ground on one side of the fire and then the other, moving a

little farther out each time, nerves electrified by every pebble and dip in the

dirt I come across, certain that at any moment I’m going to happen upon

one of the zions Gem warned me about.

I can’t afford a poisonous stinger in the hand or a slow death in the

desert. I must return from this adventure with spoils shoved into my deep

pockets and ensure the future of my people. I must. I can’t allow my

decision to lead to the fall of my city. The shame of it would follow me

beyond the grave, torment me for eternity, never allowing me to forget my

irresponsible, unqueenly failure.

And so, after only a few minutes of searching, I give up trying to find

the wood. I scuttle back to the place where Gem left me and press myself

against the rocks.

All too soon, the fire snuffs out and the wind picks up. Night falls, and

the temperature plummets. Within thirty minutes, my nose is as chilled as

it was before. Within an hour, the places where my underclothes were

damp feel as if they’ve frozen to my skin. My fingers and toes go numb,

then my arms and legs. The chill creeps into my shoulders, licking an icy

tongue down to tease at my ribs.

I begin to shake all over in what seems to be my body’s attempt to

warm itself, but I only grow colder. And colder. I have never been so

miserable in my own skin or so tired. Sleepy. So, so sleepy … My mind drifts

until I’m no longer sure if I’m asleep or awake, hallucinating or

remembering.…

One moment I’m alone in the desert, the next I’m back in the tower

as it burns. I watch the flames leap, and I scream for Mama while the fire

rages and my father beats at the door, begging her to let us out.

Mama. Where is she? Why did she lock the door? I can’t see through

the smoke, and I’m dizzy and sick and exhausted, but I can’t sleep. I can’t! I

have to find Mama. She and Baba and I have to get out. We have to get

out!

I look up and see a woman’s face in the burning beam above my bed,

watch her eyes go wide and her mouth move urgently, but I can’t hear her.

I can’t hear anything except terrible moans, as if every monster in the world

is crying out for my blood.

I open my mouth to scream again, and suddenly I’m back in the

desert, wandering along a rocky path without even my new walking stick to

guide me, shaking like a pan of popping corn, not sure which world is the

dream. With a strangled sob, I tear my shawl from my head and fling it from

me, gasping as the wind whips through my hair.

What are you doing, fool?

I don’t know. I know only that ridding myself of the thing clutching at

my head seemed the right thing to do at the time, and now I’m too

frightened to go looking for my lost shawl. I don’t know how close I am to

the edge of the trail. I don’t remember deciding to leave my safe place.

My thoughts are fuzzy. I can’t remember … I can’t …

My knees buckle. I collapse onto the ground and decide it’s best to

stay there. I don’t know how to find my way back to the rock shelter, and if

I keep walking, I’m sure to find trouble. But oh, it’s even colder here.

Wherever I am. So cold.

I pull my knees to my chest and wrap my arms around my shins,

wishing I hadn’t been such a coward. Now it’s too late. Even if I find my way

back to the camp and the pile of wood, I could never start a fire alone.

But Gem will come back soon. He’ll find me. I can’t have gone far.

Surely …

The wind huffs and puffs, its frigid breath making my bare head ache.

I curl into a ball around my legs, tuck my face to my chest, and bite my lip,

shivering as images from my brief sighted life bloom in the darkness behind

my eyes.

I see the pearl buttons on my mother’s dress, the ones that dug into

my cheek when she let me nap with her on the sofa in her chamber. I see

the cabbage fields and the orchards blossoming far below the tower

balcony, and the scarlet explosion of the sun setting outside the dome. I

see my own pudgy hand—not too tainted then, only dry and a bit

cracked—snatching a sticky roll from my mother’s tray, and I feel a giddy

squeal rising inside me as I sneak with it back to my room. I’d already eaten

my morning treat, but my appetite for burned honey icing was insatiable.

Mother always slept late and so soundly that not even little feet

scampering into her room would wake her.

I’d forgotten that about my mama. I’d forgotten most of those

memories. Their recovery warms me from the inside out, makes me smile

as I give in to the muzzy feeling tugging me closer to sleep.

I curl on my side in the dirt, arm pillowing my cheek—thinking of

those pearl buttons, and wishing I could remember my mother’s

face—while the cold pulls oblivion over my shoulders, tucks it around my