Of Beast and Beauty

by Stacey Jay

  Breath coming fast, I draw my knees to my chest. I am preparing to leap up, run back to the tower, and hope I can make the climb up to the balcony without being spotted by Bo or the guards—when the greater implications of what has just happened hit hard enough to make my bones weak all over again.

  The roses knew. Somehow they knew what I was planning and they don’t want me to go. They showed me just enough to make me afraid, before setting me free.

  But should I really be afraid? I wonder as I scoot away from the containing wall, out of the roses’ reach.

  It’s late, nearly midnight. Bo knows better than to come to my rooms at this hour. If he finds the door locked and neither Needle nor I answer, he might very well decide to leave and return tomorrow. Tomorrow, when Needle will be at the tower to tell him I’m not feeling well and turn him away.

  Now that there’s no thorn buried beneath my skin, that scenario seems as likely as the one I fear. More likely. But the roses didn’t want me to think clearly; they wanted me to run along back to my prison. It could be they simply have the interests of the city at heart—it is dangerous for me to leave, to take such a risk when I am unmarried and the covenant is unsecured—but the vision felt more insidious, the inexorable grip of the vine more possessive than concerned.

  As I rub the bruised skin around my new wound, I begin to doubt for the first time in my life what I’ve been taught about the royal garden. The legends say the roses grew after the first queen’s blood hit the ground, a symbol of the sacrifice she’d made and the covenant that would keep Yuan safe.

  But what if—

  “There you are.” Gem’s voice comes centimeters from my ear, close enough to make me gasp. My ears are sensitive, but I didn’t hear a thing until he was close enough to touch.

  By the moons, I’m glad he’s here. I’m so glad not to be alone with the roses. I’m weak with it. Strong with it. My blood starts to rush again; my bones rediscover their sturdy centers.

  “Thank you for coming.” I find his chest with my fingers, flattening my palm against the thick fabric of one of his new shirts, hoping he can feel my gratitude as clearly as I feel his heart thudding beneath his ribs.

  Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump, bababump bababump bababump. The beating grows faster as we sit in silence, our foggy breath mingling between our faces. Mine is hot, but his is so much hotter and it smells nothing of the cabbage he refuses to eat. Gem’s breath is fresh sawdust and sweet smoke, chestnuts and celery root, as sharp and clean as the winter air. It’s a good smell, a healthy smell that makes me wonder how breath like that would taste on a kiss.

  Ba-bump … bump. My heartbeat stutters, and I pull my hand away from Gem’s chest so quickly that I hit my own throat and begin to choke.

  “Are you all right?” He lays a hand on my shoulder, the same shoulder he tore open months ago, the one that bears a tight, sleek scar from the claw that cut the deepest. But now Gem’s claws are sheathed and his fingers are careful, gentle.

  He’s never touched me like this before. We haven’t touched in weeks, and even then our only contact was in anger—my fists on his chest, his hands at my wrists, my fingers on his throat, his claws at mine. But this is not anger. This is … something else.

  “I’m fine.” My whisper is hoarse. I clear my throat. “We should go. The patrol—”

  “They’ll be back soon,” he interrupts, his voice gruff. He pulls his hand from my shoulder, leaving my skin colder. “Go back to your tower. If I run, I’ll be back in my cell before I’m spotted.”

  “No!” I say, louder than I mean to. I bite my lip, then whisper, “No. We have to get the bulbs. I know of a secret door out into the desert. No one will see us go, and Needle will make sure we aren’t missed.”

  “And how will she do that?”

  “I’ve canceled your escort to the field,” I explain, ears straining to catch the scuff of boots. “No one will come to your room except to bring meals. Needle says she can convince the girl who delivers them to allow her to take over for the next few days. That should be enough, shouldn’t it? You said it wouldn’t take more than three days. Two, if you were quick.”

  He grunts. I can tell he isn’t impressed with the plan. “And what of the queen? Won’t someone notice your absence?”

  “I told Bo I don’t wish to be disturbed,” I say, throat tightening around what I’ve left unsaid: the crack in the dome waiting to be investigated and the fact that Bo stands at my tower door right now, and all the rest. “He’ll honor my wish to be left alone for a few days, and Needle will turn him away if he does not.”

  Gem makes another dubious sound. When he speaks again, I can tell he’s closer. His breath is warmer. It whispers across my lips, prickling my skin. “If your people find out you took me into the desert with no one to protect you, or prevent me from escaping, they’ll think you’re more rattled in the brain than they do already. Junjie will lock you away, and you will never rule this city.”

  “I will never rule this city if I run back to my rooms,” I hiss. “I must give the people a reason to see me as—or at least remember me—as something more than …”

  “More than?”

  “The garden will prove I am a good and useful queen,” I say, cursing myself for nearly losing control of my tongue. I don’t want Gem to know. I don’t want him to treat me the way people treat a girl who has been marked for death since her very birth. “The garden will—” A faint thud sounds from the direction of the orchard. I freeze, falling silent, until Gem whispers—

  “An apple falling to the ground. There is still fruit on the limbs at the very top.” Disgust creeps into his tone. “Your people have so much, you leave food to rot.”

  My answer. I have it. I know how to make Gem come with me. I hate to make promises I might not be alive to keep, but I have no choice. “Help me tonight,” I say, “and I will do what I can for your people.”

  “You can do nothing.”

  “Not now,” I agree. “But if we fetch these bulbs, and the herbs we need later … If my garden is a success and my people are healed and learn to love me, they’ll respect my judgment. Come summer, when the first of the crops are in, I’ll convince the council to send a portion of what is ours into the desert.”

  “The herbs may take months to work. My people can’t wait that long.”

  “All right,” I say, growing increasingly desperate the longer we linger. “Then I will send food as soon as I can. I’ll convince my advisors it’s necessary, a peace offering to keep the Desert People from returning to free our captive.”

  “And who will deliver this peace offering?”

  “You will. I’ll talk with Junjie. I’ll persuade him that you can be trusted to return when your errand is through.”

  “Can I?”

  “You’re here now,” I say with more confidence than I feel. “You wouldn’t be if your father’s promise didn’t mean something to you. You’re honorable. I’ll explain that to Junjie.”

  Gem’s laugh is soft but parsnip-bitter all the same. “You think he’ll 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.