by Stacey Jay
He nods, rather unhappily I think, and turns back to his apple.
“There’s a washbasin and towels in the sitting room down the hall. By the pantry,” I say. Though, aside from his dusty shirt, Gem doesn’t seem to be in nearly as bad a shape as I am. “If you want to freshen up, feel free.”
“All right,” he says, eyes still glued to the fruit in his hand.
“I won’t be long,” I say, hoping both of our moods will improve once this is done. I’ve felt my own face and my peeling flesh. I have a fairly good idea what I must look like. Strange, different, big-featured and rough-skinned, but not altogether hideous. The truth can’t be much worse than what I’ve imagined.
Or so I tell myself as I turn toward the washroom, half hoping Needle neglected to haul up the usual supply of water in my absence, and I’ll have a good excuse to fall into bed filthy and deal with facing my face in the morning.
SEVENTEEN
GEM
I eat everything left on the tray. I drink all the water and then the tea.
Tea in the desert is bitter and smoky, the way a drink intended to get you out of your hut on a winter morning should be. Smooth Skin tea tastes like crushed flowers, so sweet it made me gag the first time I put a cup of it to my lips. I detest Smooth Skin tea, but I drink the honeyed liquid anyway. I’m on edge. Drinking gives me something to do with my hands.
Isra, Isra, Isra. Her name knocks around inside me as I wash up and return to my seat on the tiny couch. Isra. It hurts and heals and makes me hope.…
I can’t hope. Not yet. It’s too dangerous.
I don’t know what will happen when she looks at herself, but I know there’s a good chance she’ll hate me. I didn’t lie, but I didn’t tell the truth, either, and my halfhearted attempt last night was worse than no attempt at all. I don’t want her to hate me. I want her to keep looking at me with eyes that confess all her secrets.
I thought seeing me would remind her of our differences, but instead she looks at me like …
Like I look at her.
“Gem?” She’s suddenly standing in front of me, her freshly combed hair tumbling around her shoulders, her body encased in a black skirt and a long-sleeved green shirt with silky ruffles at the throat. I smile despite myself. It’s a playful shirt. It suits her better than her silkworm dresses.
Her fingers tangle nervously in the ruffles. “This was my mother’s,” she says. “It was one of the few things of hers to survive the fire. I’ve never tried it on, but I thought … It seemed right to wear it.”
“I like it.”
“I do, too.” She fidgets, frowns. “I can’t believe it fits.”
“Your mother must have been tall like you.”
Isra nods, but her brow remains wrinkled. “I suppose. I don’t remember her as … Father never said anything about my mother being tainted, but I suppose I—”
“Where is the mirror?” I rise. It’s time.
“Needle said she has one by her bed.” Isra takes a breath and tucks her hand into the crook of my arm, despite the fact that she no longer needs anyone to guide her.
She leads me down a narrow passage to a bedroom where a giant bed with a scarlet quilt the same color as the royal roses stands proudly in the center. The bed is too big for a girl alone. It’s a bed built for two, solid and sturdy and meant to withstand the use of generations of men and women.
Of Isra, and her soon-to-be husband.
“Wait.” I stop inside the door, unable to pull my eyes from the bed. I have to reach Isra before she decides I can’t be trusted. “You don’t have to keep your promise. Once I’m back in my cell, it will be your word against Bo’s. No one has to know you let me out. You don’t have to marry him if you don’t want to.”
“Do you think I want to?” she asks, voice shaking.
I look down at her, at her parted lips and her shining eyes, and immediately I hurt. Because she hurts.
I cradle her face in my hands. “Then don’t do it.”
“I don’t have a choice,” she whispers. “I have to be married by spring.”
“Why? You said seventeen was young to marry.”
“It is, but it doesn’t matter.” The tears sitting in her eyes roll down her cheeks. “I’m queen. I’ll be married as soon as my mourning is through.”
I catch a tear with my thumb and rub it gently into her skin. “Why?”
“There are reasons. I’d rather not explain them, but they’re real. Inescapable.” She drops her gaze to my chest with a sigh. “There isn’t time to get out from beneath Junjie’s thumb. If I’m going to change anything for the better, I’ll need his support, and he won’t give it if I refuse to marry his son.”
“Find someone to take Junjie’s place.”
“There isn’t time,” she repeats, lifting troubled eyes to mine. “He was at my father’s side for twenty years. He makes the people feel safe. I’d never find someone fit to take his place in a few months.”
“Then put off the marriage,” I say, fingers tightening, pressing lightly into her jaw. “Have a … I don’t know what you would call it. In our tribe it’s a trial.”
“A trial?”
“Two people spend time together, sometimes even live together, but nothing is official until the woman claims the man in a ceremony before the tribe.”
“The woman does the claiming?” Her eyebrows lift. “Interesting.”
“The man has to agree, but the decision to end the trial is the woman’s.”
She hums beneath her breath. “If my father had lived, he would have chosen my husband. He might have even chosen Bo. Whoever he would have picked, I wouldn’t have had much say about it. That’s how it is for most noblewomen. We marry within the descendents of the founding families, being careful not to marry too closely. I’ve heard some of the common women marry for love, but …” Her eyes shift to the side, as if she’s suddenly become very interested in the door frame. “Did you ever … Were you ever …”
“No,” I say. “Meer and I … it was never a trial. At first I thought we might, but … She chose someone else.”
“Oh.” She plucks at her shirt. “Women in Yuan aren’t supposed to … I mean, I know some do,” she says, her voice dropping to a whisper. “I’ve heard there are herbs they take to make it possible to”—she waves a hand nervously in the air—“without any babies. For Yuan women, a baby is only supposed to come after marriage. It’s scandalous otherwise.” She tilts her head back and blows air through her pursed lips. Even in the dim light of the lamp burning by her bedside, I can see how pink her cheeks have gotten.
“Different from our ways,” I say, trying not to smile.
It’s strange to me that she’s embarrassed by something my people consider natural. But then, for my people, there is no shame in it. No man or woman is forced to be with someone not of their choosing. No baby is left unloved because it came from one man and not another.
“Yes,” she says, casting another glance toward the corner of the room, where a narrow bed sits next to a chest of drawers with a blue and white washbasin on top. Above the basin, a mirror hangs on the wall. “We don’t have trials. A couple will be betrothed for a time before they’re married, but I can’t have a long betrothal. I must be married. It’s the rule.” She turns back to me as I’m opening my mouth. “And don’t tell me to change the rule. This isn’t a rule I can change. It’s not a rule anyone can change. Some things just are the way they are.”
I grunt—because I was going to tell her to change the rule—and she smiles a sad smile.
“But thank you,” she says, with another peek at the corner. “It was good of you to try.”
I catch one of her curls and twine it around my finger. I know why she’s looking at the corner. She’s ready, but suddenly I’m not. “I’m a good prisoner, then?”
“You’ve become a good friend,” she says, lifting a hand to my face. Her fingers are cool, but that’s not why I shiver. “And you won’t be my prisoner for a s
econd longer than necessary. I’ll let you go, Gem. I promise I will. And I’ll send food with you, and put more outside the gate for as long as I live.”
“Isra …” This wasn’t what … I never thought she’d … “What about Junjie? And your people? You said they would never—”
“I’ll give Junjie what he wants. In return, he’ll give me some things that I want.” She steps closer, engulfing me in the smell of roses. Roses on her skin from her bath, roses on her breath, roses lingering in her hair. The perfume mingles with her Isra scent and becomes something darker, more dangerous than any flower.
I thought I couldn’t want her more than I did last night, but now, with that soft look in her eyes, and brave words on her lips, I want her so badly, it hurts. I more than want her, and that hurts even more.
“Junjie will free you,” she continues. “Or I will refuse to marry Bo.”
I wrap my arm around her waist. “I won’t let you pay for my freedom with yours.”
“I’m not free. I’ve never been free.”
“But you could be.” I move my hand to her back, skimming my fingers up the length of her spine. Her bones are like beads on a necklace, delicate but strong. “With the right clothing, the desert might hold no danger for Smooth Skins. You could come home with me. At least for the rest of the winter.”
“And then who would send food to your people?”
My eyes squeeze closed as I drop my forehead to hers. She’s right. If she came with me, she would starve right along with the rest of my tribe. Maybe before winter is through. She’s already thin.
“My fate was decided a long time ago,” she whispers, fingertips tracing a path up my chest. “But you can still have a future. With your people. I want that for you. When I’m married, I want to imagine you happy. I need to imagine you happy.”
When she wraps her arms around my neck, a wretched heat fills my head, pushing behind my nose and eyes, as if my soul is trying to find a way out of my body.
“I hated you,” I say, voice breaking. “Until a few days ago, I hated you. At least, I thought I did.”
“I know.” She does know. I can hear it in her voice, feel it in the way she touches me. She knows that I … that I’m so close … and I only want closer.
“I’ll take the food to my people and come back,” I say, threading my fingers through her hair.
“You can’t.” The salty, hopeless smell of her tears fills my head, making the pressure behind my eyes even worse. “I can’t know that you’re here … when I … I don’t want to be with him,” she says, words coming faster as her tears fall harder. “I don’t want anyone but you.”
My head feels as if it will collapse from the heaviness building inside it. I can’t talk anymore. I can’t listen. I can’t imagine Isra with that soldier. I won’t.
I draw her to me, tasting her tears before she opens her mouth and I taste honey and roses and Isra. All the dark and light of her, all the fear and selflessness, all the innocence and daring of a girl so determined not to be caged that she leapt from a balcony to find her freedom.
But now she’ll be worse than caged. Her love for her people—and whatever it is she feels for me—will steal the last of her freedom away. Bo and his father will get what they want, and Isra will lose control of the city before she has a chance to rule. If she does this, she’ll destroy not only herself but any chance for change—for my people or hers.
I pull away, breath coming fast enough to stir the hairs falling into her face. “I lied to you,” I say, cupping her cheeks, forcing her to look at me and see what I really am. “The garden is a lie. It was always a lie. There are no plants or herbs that will stop mutation, and even if there were, I wouldn’t know a thing about them.”
“Wh-what?” Isra’s lips part, but she doesn’t pull away.
“I’m a warrior,” I say, determined to make her hate me. “I was raised as a warrior from the time I was ten years old. I was raised to hate you. I stood outside your dome when I was fourteen and swore I’d tear the city down with my bare hands if that’s what it took to save my tribe.”
She pushes my hands away and takes a step back. But only a step. It’s not far enough.
“Those bulbs we brought back won’t do anything to help your people. Every day we spent digging in the dirt, preparing the field, was a waste. You gave Junjie control of your people in exchange for nothing. You almost died last night for nothing.”
She blinks, but no new tears fill her eyes, and when she speaks, she sounds calmer than she has since we entered the room. “You lied to get out of your cell.”
“I lied to get out of my cell and kept lying every day we worked together,” I say, as cruelly as I can with the taste of her still sweet in my mouth. “I pretended to be your friend while I dreamed of opening your throat.”
She doesn’t flinch. She just … stares at me, gaze flicking from my eyes to my mouth, down to the fists balled at my sides, and back again. “You wanted to win my trust so it would be easier to escape.” She nods slowly. “So … why didn’t you escape while we were in the desert? I can tell your legs are stronger than you led me to believe.”
My mouth opens, and the truth gets dangerously close to coming out. If I tell her about the roses, that I’ve been planning to steal them all along, she will hate me for certain. She’ll give up the idea of sacrificing herself for me, and turn her attention to work that will truly help her city.
But she’ll also make sure I never get my hands on what my people desperately need. I can’t risk that, not even for her. I can’t.
You’ve already risked it.
My hands ball into fists. I have already risked it. There will be no reason for her to let me out of my cell now. I should fall on my knees and beg her forgiveness. I should tell her I stayed with her because I care—it wouldn’t even be a lie—but I can’t.
I can’t lie. I can’t tell the truth. I don’t know who I am or what I’m supposed to do next. I only know that “You can’t marry him,” I say, sounding as desperate and angry as I feel. “You can’t. It will kill you.”
“I’ll be dead sooner than later, anyway,” she says with a strange smile. “I’ve lied to you, too.”
“What?” My eyes wander down her long, lean body, the one that seemed strong until last night in the desert. “Are you sick? Is there—”
“My family are the keepers of the covenant that protects the city. We sustain the roses. We make an offering of ourselves for the good of our people. The … queens make an offering. Only the queens.”
The larger offering. Only the queens.
She wasn’t lying when she said none of her people have died to feed the roses. None of them have. Only her female ancestors have died. Only Isra will die.
Only Isra.
EIGHTEEN
ISRA
“MY mother died when I was four. Thirteen years ago.” The words float easily from my mouth. This night feels like a dream—too much has happened for it to be anything else—and the consequences of this confession seem distant, unreal. “I could have another seventeen years. I could have ten. The advisors could come for me tomorrow if they believe the city to be in danger.”
“How long have you known?” Gem asks, a stricken expression on his face.
“Forever.” I brush my hair wearily from my forehead. “I can’t remember a time when I didn’t. It was never a secret. I always knew that if my father didn’t remarry and give the city another queen—”
“Why didn’t he remarry?” Gem demands, his anger hot and immediate.
“He was doing what he thought was best for me,” I say, more exhausted with every word. “As future queen I was protected. I don’t think my mutation is severe enough to send me to the Banished camp, but—” My words end in a yip of surprise as Gem snatches my hand and half drags me across the room toward the mirror on the wall.
Instinctively I dig my heels into the carpet. I’m not ready. Not like this. “No,” I say, squirming my fingers, panic mak
ing my voice high and tight. “I’m not ready.”
“You need to see yourself,” he says. “You need to see the truth.”
I shake my head and throw my weight backward, fighting harder to free myself from his grip. “In a minute. Wait! I—” He drops my hand, only to scoop me up in his arms. “Stop! Please,” I beg, shoving at his chest. When he stops in front of the mirror, I squeeze my eyes shut and turn away.
“Look at yourself,” he demands. “Look!”
I press my face against his shoulder, inhaling the smell of the desert and Gem on his shirt, hating that he can still smell good to me even when he’s dirty and bullying me like everyone else in my life. “You’re no better than Bo,” I say through gritted teeth.
“I’m only trying to help!”
“Sh!” I stab his chest with the tip of one finger. “You’ll scare Needle. She’s mute, not deaf. If she comes in here and finds us like this, she’ll bring the bed pot down on your head. It’s copper. It will hurt.” I peek at him through slitted eyes. “Even someone with a skull as thick as yours.”
“You’re one to talk,” he says. “You’re the most stubborn person I’ve ever met. Stupidly stubborn.”
“Then put me down and go away,” I say, voice breaking. “If I’m so stupid.”
“I don’t want to go away. I want to help,” he says in a softer voice. “Please, let me.” His arms gentle around me, no longer holding me prisoner, just holding. Waiting.
“This doesn’t help,” I say, relaxing in spite of myself. “Not like this.”
He presses a kiss to my forehead. “I should have told you before,” he whispers, making my skin tingle.
I wish we’d never stopped kissing. I wish Gem would give up on saving me, and give me something to remember when my life is out of possibilities.
“I would have,” he continues. “If I’d known. I swear I would have.”
“Told me what?” I let my fingers play along the scales at the back of his neck, mesmerized by their smoothness.
