Of Beast and Beauty

  My father isn’t a stupid man. There must be a good reason for his lie. If I weren’t on the verge of committing murder, I could probably think of it.

  I relax my grip. Almost immediately, my head clears—grow and mix herbs. The gardens. Father was paving the way for my escape with the roses, giving the queen a reason to let me out of my cage.

  “I know plants. And herbs.” I retract my claws. The queen gives a shuddery breath. “Why?”

  “I have … a field. A large one,” she pants, hands fluttering at her neck. “I want you to help me plant it with healing herbs, especially those that the Mon”—she clears her throat—“that the Desert People use to ward off further mutation.”

  Herbs to ward off mutation? There is no such thing. At least, not that I know of. But just like my lie about the poison in my claws, this lie must serve a purpose. If I agree to assist this girl, I will find out what it is.

  “All right,” I say. “I’ll help.”

  “Good.” She stands, wobbling in her narrow dress. “I’ll talk to Junjie and have guards sent to fetch you in the morning. You’ll be bound when you leave this room, but the chains will be loose enough to allow you to work.” She goes to the door but turns back almost immediately. “When the guards come, tell them nothing about what we’ll be growing. I don’t want my people to know. Not yet.”

  “Why?”

  She pulls a silver key from a pocket near her hip. The sight of it makes my damaged legs ache. If I were whole, I could rush her and take the key. But I’m not whole. Thanks to this girl and her men.

  “You seem like a clever beast,” she says, fitting the key in the lock. “I’m sure you’ll understand. Sooner or later.”

  I am not a beast. I swallow the cry pushing at my lips. It would do no good to tell her. I must show her. Tomorrow I will begin, I think as she slips out the door as swiftly and silently as a tear down a Smooth Skin’s cheek.

  Tomorrow, I will serve and obey. I will be on my very best behavior. I will use only Yuan words and keep my claws sheathed. But tonight I will close my eyes and pretend I am not her prisoner.

  Tonight I will remember the fear in her eyes and let it fill my mouth with a taste as sweet as her rose-and-sugar breath.

  FIVE

  ISRA

  “YOU were missed at the harvest feast last night.” Junjie hovers so close to my side, I can smell the oil he uses to shape his mustache.

  Needle tells me his lip hair is as long as my hand from palm to fingertip and as big around as my thumb. I take her word as truth. The thought of asking permission to touch Junjie’s face makes me fidget with nerves. Of all my advisors, my chief is by far the most intimidating.

  “I wasn’t feeling well.” I bring two fingers to my forehead, faking the ghost of a headache I never had.

  “Then you should have called for the healers,” he says. “Your health is too important to the city to take any chances, Isra. You know that.”

  “I know,” I mumble, wishing I had arranged to meet the Monstrous and his guards in the field, instead of coming with the soldiers to fetch the beast.

  It has been only three weeks since I became queen, and already I grow tired of my newfound “freedom.” Each time I dare set foot outside my tower, fretful, bossy old men shadow my every move. Junjie and the other advisors would obviously prefer that, until I’m married, I pass my days alone in my bedroom surrounded by mountains of pillows. I’m treated like a foolish child with bones made of glass, and I hate it.

  I long for my walks alone in the garden, for the velvet night sounds and the gentle light of the moons. I long for the time when my ugliness was a secret guarded by the father who loved me. Now no one loves me, and my secret is a scandal that has set the entire city talking.

  “I will have a healer appointed to the tower,” Junjie says. “A woman, so that she may sleep there with you and—”

  “Sleep there? In the tower?” I ask, horrified by the thought of a stranger invading my last safe place. “But where would we put her? Needle and I already share my bedroom.”

  “She can sleep in your dressing room. There’s enough space beside the bath for a small cot, and she can keep her clean uniforms underneath.”

  “Please, Junjie,” I beg. “I don’t need a healer sleeping in my dressing room. I’m not an invalid. It was only a headache.”

  “The kingdom would sleep better knowing a healer is minutes from your side.”

  “The kingdom is safe. I’ll call for someone next time I have the smallest ache or pain. I promise,” I say, wishing Needle would hurry and get back with word from the Monstrous’s cell and save me from Junjie. The guards went to fetch the creature from the prisoners’ floor of the infirmary nearly twenty minutes ago.

  What’s taking so long?

  “Very well, but the people need assurance that you are in good health and fit to rule. It’s time you dined with the nobles at court, at least during special celebrations,” Junjie says, disapproval clear in his voice. I may be queen, but in his eyes I’m still the naughty little girl who threw paint on the king’s best fur when she was four years old. “You owe it to the city to honor its traditions.”

  “I know. I just couldn’t. Not last night,” I say. “I’m sorry.”

  When I was younger, I used to beg to be allowed to accompany Baba to the harvest banquet, but he always said no. It seemed wrong to go last night without his permission, without him. I’m not ready to face the court alone, and I don’t see why I should have to.

  We’re all in mourning, the entire city grieving the loss of their king. Needle tells me Yuan is painted with loss: tables covered in red cloth, mirrors draped in white, and men with black scarves tied around their arms, and I myself wearing green and only green until the first day of spring, as is tradition for a child in mourning.

  “I understand,” Junjie says in a gentler tone, reminding me that there is a heart beneath his gruff exterior. “But remember, you are not alone. I am here to support your rule. I served your father well for twenty years; I will serve you just as faithfully.”

  Though not as long. He doesn’t say the words, but I hear them lurking in the silence after he speaks. My mother went to the roses thirteen years ago. The offerings are usually made no more than thirty years apart. In ten years—or seventeen, if I’m lucky and the city’s magic holds strong—it will be my turn. If Baba had lived and remarried, things would have been different, but he’s dead and they aren’t. The fact hangs around my neck like a stone, making it harder to pull myself from the pit of my grief.

  The healing garden is the only bright spot in my darkness. When the Monstrous boy’s father first told Junjie his son would be helpful in our gardens, I admit I was less than impressed. Our gardens do very well on their own, thank you very much. What captured my attention was his insistence that his son knew how to grow and mix the healing pouches the Monstrous use to ward off further mutation in their young. I did my best to conceal my curiosity from Junjie, but I’m sure he guesses why I fought for a plot of land and the chance to help the Monstrous create a new garden.

  For years I’ve been certain there was no hope for me, but what if there is a way to reverse my mutation? Or at least be certain the peeling of my flesh will never spread? For years, I’ve had nightmares about waking up to find my face and neck as scaled as the rest of my body. Now I have hope that those nightmares might someday be a thing of the past. I could barely sleep last night, I was so eager to begin.

  And now the beast is ruining the morning by being difficult. That must be what’s keeping the guards. Unless …

  Unless the monster attacked them. Unless they are even now doing battle with it. If that’s the case, I’ll have the creature’s claws cut out.

  I should have given the order yesterday when he dared to put his claws to my throat, but I was afraid Junjie would find the guards asleep at their posts and guess at the stupid, impulsive thing I’d done. If he finds out I was alone with the Monstrous, I—

  “
In the name of that service,” Junjie continues, startling me from my thoughts, “I’ve scheduled your coronation for the week after next.”

  My lips part. “Week after next? But I—”

  “The plans are under way,” he says, interrupting me. Again. It seems Baba was the only member of court who thought a blind girl deserved the right to finish her sentences. “Out of respect for the violent nature of the king’s death, the celebration will be subdued—simply a short procession and the ceremonial presentation of the crown and scepter. Afterward, you’ll be taken onto the dais to be cheered by the common people, and we’ll conclude with a banquet in the afternoon, during which the members of court will be able to present themselves to you personally.”

  I bite my lip and nod my agreement. I want to beg him to postpone for another month or more, but I know it would do no good. Once Junjie has set something in motion, there is no stopping him. He is inexorable. It’s one of the qualities my father valued most in his chief advisor.

  I, however, have yet to acquire Baba’s appreciation for Junjie’s single-mindedness. Persuading my advisor to allow me to work in the new garden with the Monstrous—even accompanied by four armed guards—took every bit of stubbornness I possess and then some. If getting my way as ruler is always going to be so difficult, I’ll have to choose my battles carefully, or spend the rest of my life in a state of perpetual exhaustion.

  “Good girl,” Junjie says, his condescension leaving a sour taste in my mouth. I’m blind, not simple. Seventeen, not seven. “I’ll send word to the court dressmaker.”

  “There’s no need. Needle will make my dress.” I’m prepared to fight for Needle’s right to ply her namesake—she’d be devastated to miss the chance to design my coronation gown—but am saved from the battle by swift footsteps running down the path leading from the infirmary.

  I recognize the rhythm of the run as Needle’s even before one small, cool hand takes my wrist and the other begins to move beneath my palm, communicating in our secret language.

  The boy is hurt, Needle signs, her fingers trembling.

  “What boy?”

  The Monstrous boy, she signs, proving that everyone—no matter how immense or terrifying—is a child in her eyes until proven otherwise. Needle is only twenty-eight, but you’d think she was sixty from the way she talks. The guards are forcing him to walk, but his legs are too weak. He’s very pale. He’ll faint if they don’t take him back to bed.

  “Yes, I would like something to drink,” I say in a controlled voice, not wanting to arouse Junjie’s curiosity. He’s too eager for an excuse to forbid me from taking the monster out of his cage. “Would you care for some lemonade, Junjie?”

  “I would enjoy that very much,” Junjie says, making my stomach clench. I’d expected him to be too busy to spare time for my imaginary refreshment. “But I have many things to attend to. I’ll make my apologies and hope to share a drink with you this evening in the banquet hall.”

  His none-too-subtle hint that I should not take dinner in my tower again tonight doesn’t escape me, but I’m too grateful to learn he won’t be tailing me inside to be bothered by it. With a nod and a softly murmured “Good day,” I loop my arm through Needle’s and allow her to guide me slowly up the walk.

  As soon as we are through the door—stepping into shadows that cool my flushed skin—she takes me by the hand and sets a much swifter pace. I follow her up stairs and stairs and more stairs, nearly as many as there are in my tower, until we reach the top floor, where the Monstrous has been kept separate from the other ill and ailing.

  As we hurry down the hall, I expect to hear sounds of a struggle—growls and snarls—but there is only one harsh voice, shouting, “Move, beast! On your feet!” and a muffled thud followed by a moan so piteous, I understand immediately why Needle called the monster a boy. He sounds like a wounded child.

  For the first time I wonder what the creature must be feeling. What must it be like to be abandoned by his family, to be held captive and pressed into slavery to people he loathes? To be alone and hurt with no one who cares enough to insist he stay in bed long enough to heal?

  This is my fault. I told the guards to drag the Monstrous from his bed if they had to. A wave of self-loathing rushes inside me, making my stomach lurch and my voice break when I order the guards to, “Stop! Leave the monster be!”

  I draw a deep breath, trying to compose myself, knowing the soldiers must be staring. “One of you, go fetch the healers. The rest, give the beast some room.” I squeeze Needle’s arm as one pair of boots tromps down the hall, the guard thankfully obeying my order without question. I can’t always trust the soldiers to do as I say, especially if Junjie is close by. I may be the queen, but Junjie is their true leader. “Take me closer,” I tell Needle.

  I don’t need to add but not too close. Needle is nothing if not protective of me. She nearly had a fit yesterday when I ordered her to help me meet with the monster in private.

  “Where does it hurt?” I ask the Monstrous as Needle settles me on the stones near where he has fallen. “Is it your legs?” The Monstrous doesn’t say a word, not a word, for a long, strained moment. “I only want to help you.…”

  I hesitate, realizing I have no idea what the Monstrous calls himself. He has language, he must have a name, but in the three weeks since he was captured no one has bothered to ask it. “What is your name?”

  “Gem,” he says, forcing the word out with obvious difficulty.

  “Isra,” I offer before I think better of it. A prisoner shouldn’t call the queen by her first name, but for some reason that seems like a silly rule at the moment. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were still unwell.”

  The Monstrous makes a sound—a sigh or a laugh, I can’t tell which. Either way, the message is received. “Sorry” is a feeble word, and hardly sufficient when a person is brought to his knees by pain.

  “I don’t want you to suffer any more than you have already,” I say, hoping he can tell that I mean it. “We’ll postpone our work until you’ve fully recovered.”

  “What if I’m never recovered?” he asks, so softly that I know only Needle and I can hear him. “What if I never walk again?”

  “You will walk.”

  “You can’t know.”

  “No, I can’t,” I say. “But I’ll do everything in my power to make certain you do.”

  He sighs again, a defeated sound. An alone sound.

  “I wasn’t always blind,” I say, strangely compelled to convince him I understand his fears. “There was a fire in my bedroom when I was four years old. My nightgown caught fire and my father threw me to the ground to put out the flames. I hit my head, and the world went dark. It has stayed that way ever since.”

  “But you still see,” he says beneath his breath, as if he knows my moment of sightedness in the garden is a secret. “By the roses.”

  “Only sometimes,” I whisper. “And only since I was ten.”

  My tenth birthday, to be exact, the last day I was knowingly allowed out of the tower. Before then, Baba and I went to the royal garden every year on my birthday, but that was the first year that he let me explore on my own, let me feel my way around the edge of the ancient flower bed to the place where the vines spill over one side.

  I pricked my finger by accident, and the sunlit world rushed up to meet me. The roses showed me the city from high above, all the flowers and the green, green springtime grass, and every tall, white building gleaming in the morning light. It was beautiful, breathtaking to a girl who had nearly forgotten the world of color and light.

  I would have stayed there forever, grateful tears streaming down my face, if my father hadn’t pulled me away.

  As soon as he realized I was bleeding, Baba carried me back to the tower, but the damage was already done. I knew the roses had more magic than anyone else realized. I knew they could be my eyes. I told Baba, but he forbade me to speak of such mad things and refused to take me to the garden again. Months passed, b
ut I didn’t forget that shining moment. It took a year, but I found a way out, risking death climbing over the edge of my balcony, rather than returning to the hopeless darkness.

  The loss of hope is the worst kind of loss. I don’t want to be the cause of that in someone, even if that someone is a monster.

  “I will help you recover,” I say, with an intensity that surprises me. “I swear it.”

  “Thank you. Isra.” My name is uncomfortable in his mouth, strange-sounding in that accent of his, but there’s something nice about it all the same. Something nice about being Isra instead of “my lady.”

  Before I can assure him there’s no need to thank me, the healers arrive. Needle pulls me to my feet, guiding me down the hall after Gem and the healers, fingers busy beneath my palm as she describes the scene. Two male healers carry Gem back to his room, but it is a woman who runs her hands lightly over his legs, examining the Monstrous with a gentleness that Needle approves of.

  “How is he?” I ask when the healer is finished.

  “There’s no bleeding on the inside, my lady,” she says. “But the muscles are still healing.”

  “But they will heal. He’ll be able to walk again?” I ask, anxious for her answer.

  “I don’t see any reason why not,” the healer says. “He’ll need a brace on the left leg and crutches for a time, but the muscles should mend. If I’d been notified he was to work today, I would have had the aids prepared.” Her tone is nothing but deferential, but I feel chastised all the same.

  “I’ll consult with you before we try again,” I say. “How much time do you think he needs? A week? Two?”

  “He should begin exercising as soon as the leg is braced,” she says. “We don’t have anything in his size ready-made, but the brace makers work quickly. I can have him fitted this afternoon and able to work tomorrow, my lady.”

  Brace makers. Surely Yuan doesn’t have need of more than one brace maker to service the thousand-odd souls under the dome? But then, maybe people turn ankles and break wrists more often than I assume. There’s so much I don’t know about my city, my people.