Monstrous

by MarcyKate Connolly

  “That’s a good thing, isn’t it?”

  “Oh yes, it is.” Oliver nods.

  “What went wrong?”

  “The price. There’s always a price.” Oliver studies his hands miserably. When the silence grows long enough that I’m ready to break it, he speaks again. “He wanted the king’s firstborn child. A daughter. She was three years old at the time. The king and queen refused.”

  I gasp as confusion fills me. “Did he want to marry her?” That is the only real use of princesses in my fairy tales.

  Oliver shudders. “No, the blood of a royal firstborn is the key component to a spell that could give him power over all the magic in the realm. Dark magic. The king and queen didn’t suspect until then that he practiced anything other than white magic. They were terribly wrong.” Another long pause passes, which makes me nervous. “Needless to say, the wizard didn’t take the king’s refusal well. He stormed out of the city, swearing to return and take his revenge. Ten years passed and the royal family grew comfortable within their warded walls. The princess grew up into a lovely, though sheltered, young girl. One day, rumors began of the wizard’s return. The king and queen did everything they could to protect their daughter, to keep her hidden away in the palace. But the wizard found a loophole to his own spells. He returned to the palace to claim the princess who was rightfully his according to the blind, yet binding, deal the king and queen had made. The guards were no match for his tricks. Nor was the queen. When it came down to it, no one could stop him. The deal had been sealed by magic and his only intent was to take what was rightfully his. He killed the girl in the palace and then they disappeared in a burst of darkness. There wasn’t even a body to bury.”

  Horror rolls over me in waves. What an awful thing. To deprive a father of his beloved daughter. Oliver, with his pained expression, reminds me so much of my own father, that I wish to throw my arms around his neck and squeeze the sadness out of him. But I resist for fear of appearing unseemly.

  “Did the wizard’s spell finally work? Does he truly rule all the magic in the land now?” I ask.

  “Not exactly,” Oliver says. “The spell loses potency if the royal firstborn has matured. He may have drawn some power from murdering the princess, but nothing like he would have if he had done it when she was a mere babe. The more cruel and abhorrent the act, the more it feeds the dark magic.” He gazes into the fire. “No, instead he bided his time, scraping as much magic from the realm as he could the hard way—killing every magical creature he could find, stealing every potion and amulet he could track down. There were precious few hybrids left at the time; now they are extinct.”

  “What a horrid creature,” is all I can say.

  “Now he is back for the rest of the girls,” Andrew says.

  The silence that follows is heavy. Even Laura stops her fussing by the fire. I can almost taste the salty sadness in the air.

  “I’m afraid it’s long past time for me to retire.” Oliver stands up from his armchair. He suddenly looks much older than he is. “My dear girl, it was a pleasure to meet you. Do take good care of Ren and keep him out of trouble, will you? And, please”—he squeezes my hand—“be very careful if you must be out in Bryre at night. The curfew is in place for a reason.”

  “I will,” I say.

  Oliver pats Ren’s shoulder and bows to the others and me. “Good night.”

  “It is getting to be time for you to go to bed, too, Ren,” Laura says with a meaningful glance in my direction.

  “Of course it is,” I say, rising. “I must go home, anyway.”

  “So soon?” Ren scowls at his mother, then gives me a pleading look. “Can’t you stay a little longer?”

  “No, she can’t,” Laura interrupts, waggling that ladle again. I suspect she is not one to be trifled with.

  Grumbling, Ren walks me to the door. “I’m going to see her to the gates, and I’ll come straight back, Mama.”

  “You better. I know how long that takes, so no dawdling, you hear me?”

  “Yes, Mama.”

  As soon as we’re alone, I turn to Ren with a question spilling off my lips.

  “What if there was a way to kill the wizard? What if we could find a good wizard or a dragon to help us?”

  Ren stares at me for a moment and frowns. “Frankly, I don’t believe there ever have been good wizards. All that power in one person? I can’t imagine anyone wouldn’t be corrupted. It isn’t natural.” His fists clench at his sides. “And dragons, well, they’re just a myth. Some of the older folks in Bryre swear they were real once, but I’m not convinced.”

  If only I could persuade Batu to face the wizard. “But what if there are?”

  Ren laughs. “You’re a strange one.” He stops when he sees the expression on my face. “You’re not serious, are you?”

  I force a smile. “Of course I’m joking.” I head back to the road, but Ren holds on to my wrist, turning me to face him.

  “You are, aren’t you?” He looks so confused, I wish I hadn’t asked the question. I’m such a fool.

  “Yes,” I say. He still doesn’t let go of me.

  “Have you seen something out of the ordinary?” A mix of hope and fear fills his brown eyes. My heart takes a seat in my throat.

  “No, never,” I lie. “Just the things you have shown me.”

  I see many extraordinary things every day, but I cannot tell him about Batu or Father or his laboratory. That I know. Something in the back of my brain screams it. Do not tell.

  Ren breathes out and releases his grip. “Well, good. You threw me off for a second there. Don’t do that.”

  I shrug, trying to pretend my stupid curiosity was nothing but a joke. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  “No need to worry. It’s just that . . . the people of Bryre don’t like magic users. And when we supposedly had dragons around, we didn’t like them much either.”

  My face pales. Father told me people could confuse his science for magic. Is that why he doesn’t live in the city?

  “I understand,” I say.

  “Sorry, I’ve been raised to be wary. You wouldn’t know that since you’re not from Bryre,” Ren says. “May I walk you to the fountain?”

  I take his hand. “Yes, please. Thank you for showing me your home. You have a lovely family.”

  “I’m just glad you showed up.” Together, we walk the streets hand in hand under the moonlight. An idea has been niggling at the back of my brain all evening, ever since Ren mentioned the hospital. Maybe I can stop the wizard, maybe even prevent him from getting the girls at all. From causing such grief as he’s inflicted on Ren.

  When we reach the fountain again, I can contain my curiosity no longer. “Where is this hospital you mentioned earlier? The one the wizard takes the girls from?”

  Ren looks at me askance. “You haven’t seen the hospital?”

  I shake my head.

  “I thought you would have by now. You always seem to be coming or going from that direction.”

  “Where is it?”

  Ren points down the alley I take each night to the wizard’s prison. A knot of fear twists in my stomach. That can’t be right. I know that path too well.

  “How far?” My voice cracks. Air no longer passes through my lungs correctly.

  Ren’s brow furrows; he obviously doesn’t understand my questions. I barely understand them myself. “A couple blocks. It’s the square building on the right.”

  The world stops like a door caught midswing on its hinges. Blood throbs in my ears, blocking out the night sounds.

  Suddenly I’m desperate to get out of here. All I can think of is the girls. What if the wizard isn’t stealing them this time? What if it’s me? Just me?

  A sick feeling threads its way through my innards. Father couldn’t have known about this, could he? Everything feels upside down and inside out.

  “I must go. My father will wonder where I am.” My tail and wings quiver beneath my cloak, aching to be free and
release this awful tension. I can’t keep them hidden much longer.

  Ren places his hand over mine. “Can you stay, just for a minute?”

  Oh no. How can I leave with him staring at me in such a manner? I focus on breathing in and out as we examine the moon’s fuzzy reflection in the fountain and the fog swirling around our feet. Emotions spin in my chest and I feel as though I will burst at any second.

  I barely last a full minute.

  “I must go, I’m sorry.” With one quick squeeze of his hand, I turn to flee, but he holds it tight.

  “Please, Kym, stay.” Ren’s face falls. “I’ve missed you.” His grip is warm and welcoming, but I rip my hand away nonetheless.

  “Your mother will be getting worried. So will my father.” I must get away before I explode. Unable to form any more words, I spin on my heels and run.

  “Kym! Wait!” Ren’s voice follows me down the alley and I duck into an offshoot, then another, hoping to lose him. His feet fall behind me, but I can still smell the cinnamon that clings to his clothes.

  Faster, must run faster. Another alley. When I know he can’t see me, I leap up to the nearest rooftop and scramble across the buildings instead. The fog will hide me.

  Must keep running.

  Father will know what to make of this information about the hospital. If he has made a mistake—or worse, if I misunderstood his directions—he will correct our path. He will know what to do.

  But what, says a voice in the back of my mind, if he doesn’t? What if he misled you? I squash it down with all my might, forcing it away with memories of Father’s kindness and care.

  No, Father would never do that. Unless . . . unless he has somehow fallen under the thrall of the wizard. But I can’t believe that. Everything else he has done proves he is working against that horrible man. Doesn’t it?

  A night without a rescue would normally be inexcusable, but I must be certain we have not made a terrible mistake. I cannot remove another girl from Bryre until I have spoken to Father.

  With the fog, I need higher ground to get my bearings. I vault to the roof of the tall building next to me and take in the city. I fled west from Ren; going east should bring me back to the fountain. As I scan the city, I glimpse the tip of a happy cherub in the distance.

  I take off, skimming over the roofs, and wing my way toward home and answers.

  “Father, Father, wake up,” I say, shaking his shoulder. The edges of my voice crackle in the sleepy silence of his bedroom. He finally stirs.

  “Hmm? What?” He bolts up when he sees my face. “Kym, what on earth is the matter? You look as though you have seen death himself!”

  I burst into tears. Father puts his arms around me. “My dear, what has happened? Tell me!”

  I pull away and sit on the edge off the bed. Father’s nightcap is askew atop his alarmed face. He does not look like someone who would carry out the wizard’s plans, unwittingly or otherwise. He looks like my kind, and very worried father.

  How do I even begin?

  “I think we’ve made a horrible mistake.”

  Father’s jaw drops, but I press on, terrified that if I don’t get it all out now, I will never find the right words. “The prison on the map—I do not think it is really a prison after all. I think—I think it is a hospital. Bryre’s hospital. The wizard is not taking the girls this time, it’s just us. Just me.”

  I stare at the floorboards, my pulse stuttering in my ears. If Father is involved, I fear he will be furious. If he is not, he will be disappointed in me for not realizing this earlier.

  When he finally speaks, Father’s voice is low and soothing. “Kym, what makes you think that?”

  My breath falters inside my chest. I must not tell Father about Ren. “I—I overheard people talking about the hospital,” I lie, trembling. “They were near it and pointed to the prison, calling it the hospital. Could we have the wrong place? Is it possible?”

  Father takes my face in both his hands. A cool, calm feeling blooms and spreads out through my limbs. “No, my dear, it is not possible. The place I directed you to is not the hospital; it is undeniably the wizard’s prison. He takes the girls and we free them. That is how it has always been. Trust me.”

  I do. I trust Father completely. What was I so worried about earlier that I abandoned Ren in such a manner? The reason is out of reach now, slipping further away every second.

  “Now, get some sleep and forget all about the hospital.”

  Father’s palms are suddenly warm against my cheeks. Exhaustion consumes me. “The what?” I say, trying to hold on to the conversation.

  “Exactly.” He smiles. “Everything will be clearer in the morning.”

  He releases me and I stumble toward my room. Yes, Father is right. I must sleep. I have worn myself out.

  Tomorrow is a new day. Tomorrow everything will make sense.

  DAY FIFTY-ONE

  THE NIGHT I SPENT WITH REN’S FAMILY HAS TROUBLED ME FOR DAYS. That man—Oliver—is older and grayer, but is undoubtedly the same man I saw in a vision of the palace rose garden.

  The once-me knew him, but who was he to me? A gardener I befriended who showed off the roses? When I close my eyes, I can still feel the trust and warmth of that memory, and I can’t helping thinking there’s more to it.

  I have remained in my bed, staring at the sun peeking through my curtains far too long today with these questions that plague me. Above all else, one thing worries me most.

  Father has not been in any of these visions.

  Ren, Oliver, the woman in blue, and the little blond girl—but no Father.

  He assures me that these are not memories, only a confusion of my subconscious mind grappling with shattered pieces and merging them with the present. Yet every one I have unnerves me more.

  When I finally enter the kitchen, Father closes his book with a sigh. “My dear girl, what is wrong? Do you feel all right?”

  I curse these terrible musings that show so easily on my face. I do not wish to trouble him, but I’ve never been good at concealing my emotions.

  “Yes, I’m quite well.” I toy with a crust of bread. My stomach flutters with confusion. I’m not sure I can keep any food down right now. “It’s just . . .” How can I phrase this so he does not suspect I’ve been talking to the humans? Or that I’m lending any credence to the visions? I certainly can’t tell him I’ve met some of the people in them. “Sometimes I hear things and see things. When I am out in the city. They do not always match what I’ve learned from you.” I tear a piece off the bread with my teeth.

  His eyes narrow. “Have you spoken to anyone in the city?”

  “No! No, of course not.” There’s that sour feeling in the pit of my stomach again. I drop the bread on the floor. Pippa swoops in, snatches it, and flies off with her prize to her nest in the rafters.

  “What distressed you?”

  I fiddle with a loose thread on my skirt. “Well, I saw a woman through a kitchen window. As I passed, she . . . she put a piece of wood on the fire. I did not understand. I have never seen you do that.” Nor have my visions shown anyone doing the things Father does. No merging animals together, no healing with a single draught, or grinding powders that make people fall asleep.

  He laughs. “My dear, there is more than one way to build a fire. Mine may be a little different, but it is no reason to be upset.” He places a hand on my cheek and suddenly all my fears about the fire and science and magic melt away. His touch is always calming. It’s silly of me to question how he builds a fire.

  “Is there something else?”

  “Yes. A few weeks ago I heard two women talking about you.”

  He tenses and I wonder why. Could he know these women?

  “From what they said, it sounded as though you once knew the king. Did you?”

  He sighs. “Yes, once upon a time, I did.”

  I’d expected he would deny it. That he’d say it was a misunderstanding. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

  “My
dear, I am afraid King Oliver and I did not part on good terms.”

  I start at the mention of the king’s name. Oliver. The man staying with Ren and his family has the same name. Could the king really be hiding by Ren’s hearth? It would explain his forlorn expression when he spoke of the king’s plight.

  My heart sinks a little. Ren doesn’t trust me enough to tell me who Oliver really is.

  But how could I have known the king well enough for him to show me roses in the palace garden? Perhaps Father is right; my mind is only playing cruel tricks on me.

  “We did not see eye to eye in regard to the business with the wizard and I may have said some unpleasant things to the man.” Father runs a hand through his silver hair. “It is not something I am proud of, and why I do not set in foot in Bryre anymore. That is why I did not tell you. You ask so many questions that I could not very well tell you I know the king and then not tell you why we are not working with him.”

  I take Father’s hand. “I understand. But I’m sure if you just went and talked to King Oliver, he would forgive you. We could accomplish even more together.”

  He drops my hand. “It is out of the question. You do not know what you are suggesting.”

  I remember Oliver’s kind face, warm like Ren’s but lined like Father’s, too. I know exactly what I suggest.

  “Why? Did he want to do something you did not? Or was it the other way around?”

  “I am finished speaking on this matter. Is there anything else bothering you?” Father’s face transforms to a hardened pallor. His falling out with the king must’ve been grave for him to get so upset about a mere question or two.

  I blush. “Yes, Father.” So much bothers me that I can hardly find the words.

  He groans and leans back in his chair with folded arms.

  “Sometimes people talk about magic.” I hesitate—this one troubles me most. “I hear that we can’t kill the wizard if we want to live. That whoever kills one will be burned up by the magic that’s released. Unless they’re a dragon or another wizard.” I twist my hands together in my skirts. “But how can that be? Didn’t you create me to kill him? That has always been our plan, hasn’t it?”