The door to the hidden room is also locked and I assume it is for the same reasons. Though it does strike me as odd Father would need to lock them both. The entrance to the hidden room is hardly visible if you do not know where to look.
But this I unlock as well and head down the cool stone stairs.
It looks much as Father left it—the shelves are in their usual disorder, and the hybrid skeletons hang just as they should. The chicken he worked on no longer rests on the table; it must be in a cold box, waiting for the last ingredient he fetches now. I run my fingers along the foot bones of the lowest-hanging skeleton. A minotaur, I think, with a bull’s head and great horns at the top of its skull. A couple of its toes are missing.
For reasons I cannot quite explain this makes me shiver. I do not recall that there were toes missing before, but surely I overlooked it.
I peek in one of the cold boxes and find the chicken half complete, as I suspected. Next I zero in on the cold box Father had open when I surprised him earlier. I only want to know what I mistook for a hand.
But this cold box does not open for me, nor my claws, nor the great strength Father blessed me with. The chill I felt moments before returns full force, making my hands quiver. Try as I might, I cannot get them to stop.
Father does not want me to look in this cold box. It is the only explanation. But why? What would he hide from me?
Suddenly, the skeletons above do not look as friendly as I thought. Their gaping mouths are mocking, and their hollow eyes bore into me. Nothing welcomes me here today.
I stumble back up the stairs and slam the door of the tower, locking it behind me, then hurry to collect my cloak and my book. Nothing will chase away these fearful thoughts better than a run through the forest.
Before long, I fly through the trees with puffs of white fog trailing after me. The sun beats down, eating away at the fog little by little. Playing with it cheers me and when I tire, I take out my book and read as I meander toward the river.
“Once upon a time,” I say, skirting a low bush, “there was a man with two daughters . . .”
What would it be like to have a human sister? Someone to laugh with and share all my secrets. A hollow twinge pricks my chest. The sisters in this story are close in age, but opposite in temperament, yet they are so dear to each other, they give up all to keep each other safe in a dangerous world.
But the story distracts me only temporarily. The lingering questions of what Father could be hiding in the laboratory plague my thoughts and follow me all the way to the river. The flowing water shimmers and foams as it rushes past the remnants of the morning’s fog. I shoot into the sky, reveling in the currents, and survey the open areas for any hint of a human who might glimpse me. The only ones I spy are far to the east on the road near the city. I alight on the bank again, shedding my cloak and setting my book upon it. I will read another story while I wait for Batu, and then fly home.
Father will never know.
I sit as close to the edge as I dare, dipping in my tail and watching the fish with their gleaming scales soar through the churning river. I wonder what it feels like to swim. To be fully enveloped in the water. I imagine it’s cold.
The water tugs at my tail while I wait. A fish brushes against it, tickling, and I jerk back instinctively.
The bank shifts under the sudden movement and I plunge into the water headfirst.
Freezing. Despite the warmth of the sunlight on the waves, the water is so cold I can barely move. Fish scatter from my thrashing limbs and tail as my lungs ache for real air. I cannot resist the urge to gasp.
Water rushes in, choking, smothering me. Horrible, horrible water. I claw at it, desperate to get out and find real air. The current drags me farther along. Which way is up? I cannot even tell.
Something yanks me from the flow. Everything rushes around me in the opposite direction, and then—air. The warmth of it folds over me, rushes into my lungs, and flushes the unwelcome water out in huge gasping coughs. The something gently rests me on the moss a safe distance from the river bank.
When the water is finally gone from my lungs, I risk a glance at my savior.
Batu’s pale yellow eyes gaze at me with what I take to be concern.
I leap to my shaking feet and throw my arms around his snout. “Thank you,” I whisper.
Without this dragon all of Father’s work to bring me back to life would have been for naught. I was so foolish. I have to be careful, not just for my sake, but for Father’s.
I take it you have not yet learned how to swim, sister.
I hug him more tightly in answer. The sound of falling boulders—laughter—follows.
Perhaps next time try when it has not been raining and the water is not so high.
I release his head and sink to my knees. My hands still shake and my claws refuse to retract.
“I do not think I will try swimming again. I never intended to. I fell in.” I curl my hands in, trying to force the claws back inside my fingers. “I must be more careful. There is too much at stake.”
The dragon’s massive head tilts questioningly.
“My father. He has sacrificed so much for me. He would miss me. And we have not yet thwarted that awful wizard.”
The dragon hisses dank air in my direction. Do not speak of him. He toys with dark forces and has many under his sway. You never know who may be listening.
Dark forces. That sounds oddly like something Batu said about Father once. I shiver, though whether it is from the cool breeze and my soaking dress or Batu’s words, I cannot tell.
“How can you tell them apart from the rest of us?”
You cannot. That is the problem. Not until they betray you. The wizard is a master of secrets.
The locked tower door and cold box flash to the forefront of my mind, along with the split-second vision of a small hand. Or was it? I no longer know. Father may have secrets, but they’re in service of defeating the wizard, of that I am sure.
“Did someone betray you?”
Batu’s expression darkens. Many humans have betrayed dragonkind, and their fellow humans when under the thrall of a wizard. Magic can make a man do things he would not do otherwise. Long ago, I trusted humans. Lived with them, even. When our riders first began to change into wizards, they enchanted whole villages to hunt us down as we fled. Humans and hybrids we had coexisted with for years were suddenly our enemies.
“That is horrible. And the hybrids, too? You’d think they would stay away from wizards.”
This was before they were hunted by the wizards themselves. A centaur village lived near the mountain where my clan first hid, and rivers like this one teemed with merfolk. At first they helped us, warned us if any wizards were in the region. They were friends. Until the wizard enchanted them. They led him right into our cavern and he murdered half my clan before we could escape. Later we heard how he repaid those he kept in thrall—he killed them, too, to take what meager magic he could from their bones.
I shudder. “They have no choice?”
None. Most do not even know they are enchanted, have no memory of what they do, until it is much too late.
“That is why you do not want me to tell anyone about you?”
Batu nods. You say you go into the city often, sister?
“Yes,” I say.
Be ever on your guard. There is something evil at work in Bryre, and it reeks of the wizard.
“That is exactly why I must go. I can fight against him, in a way the humans cannot. It is my duty to help them.”
You are brave for one so small. Batu huffs, but I believe it is with approval. If you must go into the city, then come to the river as often as possible. The thrall enchantment has an odor I will never forget, and I can warn you if you stink of it.
Fear creeps over me. “I do not smell of it now, do I?”
He shakes his huge head.
I am relieved, but still a bit confused. “Are there other ways to be certain? My father, for example, he hates t
he wizard even more than both of us combined! He lost everything because of him. And while he does go to the traveling markets, he never goes into the city. Surely he cannot be in the wizard’s thrall.”
You can never be truly certain, even with your father. Remaining hidden is the only way to stay completely safe.
“That, and I need to stay out of the water.”
The dragon chuckles in his stones-grinding way, and it makes me smile.
“Thank you again for dragging me out.” I kiss the side of his snout. It may be a trick of the light, but I swear that, just for a moment, his gray granite scales take on a faint reddish hue.
DAY THIRTY-EIGHT
TONIGHT, REN LEADS ME ON A SHORTCUT THROUGH A PART OF THE CITY where I haven’t ventured yet—the other side of the abandoned neighborhood that lies between the palace and the outer wall of the city. This part has not yet been swallowed by the briar, but it surely will be soon. The walls are more run down than the rest of the city. Vines burst through in patches as though they’re reaching out to the trees beyond. Bits of thorn peek over the top of the wall and wind down to the mossy forest floor on the other side. Crumbling pieces of stone and mortar lie scattered all over the ground. The moonlight cloaks the whole scene in silver and shadow, giving it a ghostly cast.
If I did not know better, I would think the vines had a mind to rip the city apart, brick by brick. It makes me cold just thinking about it.
When we pass the palace gates, I begin to babble on about the garden in an effort to put the briar and all other unpleasant thoughts from my mind. After my failed attempts to find out what Father has been doing in the laboratory these past few afternoons, I have felt more talkative than usual. I suspect I simply wish to think about anything else. Father would only admit he was making more chickens.
“Why do you think they keep up the garden?” I ask. Ren’s hand is warm in mine and I wonder if he feels my pulse fluttering in my fingertips.
“Appearances, mostly.” He has been all smiles, but now his face creases for a moment. “The people of Bryre don’t know their king is in hiding, just that the palace is closed to all but council members.”
“What reason do they give for closing it?”
“Mourning. For the girls the wizard murdered.”
I am sorry I asked. I should have guessed as much. I squeeze his hand, willing his smile back to his face. “Of course.”
“May I ask you something?” Ren says. His face twists in a strange manner.
“You may.”
“Why do you come into the city each night? I know I said before that I shouldn’t pry, but I’ll tell you what I do, if you’ll tell me. I worry for you. The wizard steals young girls, and usually at night.” He grasps both my hands and stops my breath with a single look. “I’ve grown fond of you, Kym, and I’d hate for anything to happen to you.”
My head spins. Ren is fond of me. How wonderful is that? But I cannot betray Father, not for anyone. Even Ren.
“I told you before that I work for the king as his page boy,” he continues. “That is true. But I am also responsible for delivering messages between the king and the city council. They’re the reason he’s hiding. They’re afraid the wizard will find him too easy a target if he remains in the palace. And with the rate that briar patch is growing, I daresay they may be right.” He pauses and looks at me hopefully.
“My father is very . . . overprotective,” I say. “He will not let me go into Bryre during the day. But when he’s asleep, I sneak out. I love the city, its alleys and roads and fountains. It is the only time I get to see even a hint of other people. I just wish I could visit more during the daylight.”
“Please be careful. I confess, I rather like seeing you here at night. But it’s very dangerous.”
I grin. “Not very dangerous. I have you to protect me, do I not?”
“Always.” Ren picks up the pace again. “But even I can’t protect you from the wizard’s disease curse.”
“This curse—how does it work? Do you know?”
“Sort of. It only attacks Bryre’s girls. But anyone can carry it unwittingly.”
I smile. “Then you need not worry about me. I am not one of Bryre’s girls.”
Surprise lights Ren’s eyes. “You aren’t, are you? Though if you come here often enough the spell might take you for one.”
“I doubt the curse is that smart,” I say, and Ren visibly relaxes.
He stops before an unusual building. It begins as a square, but the top takes off into spires and huge colored windows with wrought-iron filigree covering it all.
I step forward to the gates. “What is this place?”
Ren laughs at my expression. “It’s called a church. Do you want to go inside?”
“Very much.”
He opens the heavy door for me. Then he takes my hand and guides me inside. “What do you think?”
Rows of benches fill most of the space, leading up to a marble dais. Huge tapestries depicting dragons, merfolk, and centaurs line the walls between the windows. Hundreds of candles almost burned down to the ends of their wicks give the space a soft, glowing atmosphere.
“Lovely,” I breathe. Ren squeezes my hand and tugs me toward the windows.
The moonlight teases his hair with faint colors, only a shadow of what the sun would do with the colored glass, but the effect is still breathtaking. I hold up my hands to see the effect on myself. It reminds me of the differing hues of my skin hidden beneath my cloak. I pull my hands back. Even that is too close a hint of my true nature.
“When you said how much you liked the topiary figures, I thought you might like the windows here, too,” Ren says.
The windows are not mere colored glass as I’d first thought. They’re scenes of creatures, just like my books, but gigantic and lit up like jewels. I gently press my hand against one of a dragon. Its silver scales remind me of Batu.
“Why are these here?” I ask. “And the hedge creatures at the palace? Who were they?”
Ren smiles, but with an odd expression on his face. “They’re just decorations, Kym.”
“What?” I know for a fact that is wrong.
“They existed once, or something like them. But they’re gone now.”
“But you said there’s a wizard around here? And magic? Aren’t these creatures magic?”
“The only magic left in this world is dark and rotten.” Ren scowls, then lifts his gaze back to the dragon on the pane in front of us. “Maybe it wasn’t always that way, but it is now.”
My breath catches in my throat as I recall Ren’s face the other night in the garden. “You lost someone to the wizard’s magic. Who was it?”
His head snaps up and his grip on my hand tightens.
“I’m sorry. You do not have to tell me,” I say, regretting my impulsive words.
His hesitation hangs in the air between us, thick as fog.
After a moment long enough to make me think I’ve ruined our entire evening, Ren speaks again. “I was wondering,” he says, “do you like music?”
Music. I have heard of it, of course, in my books. They play music at balls, but I do not quite understand what that means. “I’m not sure. What is music?”
“You’re serious?” Ren’s expression turns into disbelief. “You don’t have music where you’re from?”
“Not that I’m aware of, no. Will you show me?”
His grin reappears and relief rolls over me. “Come on.”
Ren leads me down a hallway lined with shadowed tapestries at the very back of the church, until he finally turns in to a room. Moonlight spills in through high windows, revealing strangely shaped objects hanging on the walls and standing in the corners. Ren lights the candles resting on a nearby table. “What are these?” I ask, running my hands over one with many strings pulled taut across a hole cut in the middle. I yank my hand back as the strings vibrate and the sound resonates in the air.
“Instruments. That one is a lute. Nothing to be afraid of.”
He winks and runs his fingers over it too, but in a different manner. The sound is more pleasant this time.
“How did you do that?” I stare at the lute and Ren in amazement.
“It takes practice to play an instrument. I only know a little of this one.”
He pulls another instrument off a hook on the wall. It looks like a bunch of reeds of different sizes tied together. He hands it to me.
“What do I do with this?” I turn it over, confused.
He tilts it toward my lips. “Blow across the reeds.”
I do, but the sound wilts. I laugh and hand it back to him. “I am no good at music.”
“I’ll make a musician of you yet.” He sits next to me on the bench, the warmth of his leg seeping through my cloak and skirts. If only I could take off my cloak, be closer to Ren. But he’d see my wings and my bolts.
He’d know I am different. I don’t want to find out if Father is right, if he’d hate me. My heart is all too human; he never needs to know my body is not.
“This is a pan flute. I’m good at this one.” Ren puts it to his own lips.
The sound curls around me—melody, according to the words in my head. It lilts and weaves and sounds so sad, I nearly cry.
So this is music.
The tune rises and falls, as Ren moves along to the rhythm in his head. He and the music are one; it changes his whole appearance. The entire room hums, nudging my heart with the hint of a memory.
All this from the boy who smells of baking bread and a bunch of reeds tied together by string.
Perhaps music is a sort of magic.
The sound slows until it comes to a single haunting note. It echoes off the walls, resonating in my head and my soul. My hands quiver. If music is a form of magic, it is a powerful one indeed. I’m certain it is a good one, too. The wizard could never create anything as beautiful as this.
Ren sets the flute down on his knees. The silence makes me ache for more.
Monstrous Page 11
