by Stacey Jay
I imagine the way the blooms will twist subtly on their thick stems, turning their unblinking eyes on my friend and the mutant who kissed me, and I shiver. What was it Gem said? Something darker … Something darker was at work.
It isn’t hard to imagine something darker at work in the earth beneath the roses, something greedy and so desperate for blood that it refuses to sustain life without taking life in return. Perhaps the covenant will shed some light on that dark thing’s identity. I will ask Junjie to bring me the document first thing, before the sun has a chance to rise or his son has a chance to come knocking at his door telling tales.
And then I will ask for a tour of my city and watch his face very carefully as he realizes the queen is no longer blind.
TWENTY
GEM
QUEENS. Only queens. Only Isra.
The words repeat over and over as I lie on the hard bed in my cell with my hands propped beneath my throbbing head. I watch the moonlight move across the ceiling, and remain sleepless even though my body aches with exhaustion.
The magic of Yuan might still save my people, but—
Queens.
—if Isra’s right, then the magic doesn’t lie in the roses at all, it lies in—
Only queens.
—the covenant, and the blood of the queen of Yuan. Once I read the covenant and learn the sacred words Isra spoke of, I could take her. I could take her and the roses—
Only Isra.
—to be safe. We could marry according to the Smooth Skin tradition. From what she’s said, it seems that would be enough to join me to the magic, allow me to carry on the covenant when she’s gone.
If she’s going to die to save a nation, why shouldn’t it be mine? Haven’t my people suffered enough? Isn’t it time we had abundance, even at the cost of a life now and then? Better one life than many. And if she’s going to die …
If she’s going to die …
Only queens.
I don’t want her to die. By the ancestors, please …
Isra.
—there has to be another way.
BO
“I’M sorry.” My voice is unnaturally loud in the silent room. Father hasn’t said a word for the past half hour. He simply sits there, turned in his chair, studying the moonlight shimmering on the lake outside his window, while I stand at attention before the fire until my shoulders cramp and sweat runs down the valley of my spine. “Baba, please—”
“You aren’t a child,” he snaps without bothering to look my way. “Stop using childish words.”
“I’m sorry, Father,” I say, then, “Captain,” because I’m not sure which he’d prefer now that I’ve disappointed him so completely. I shouldn’t have told him the truth.
But I had to tell. There was no avoiding it. Isra can see, and she wants to know why. I wouldn’t be surprised to find her on Father’s doorstep first thing in the morning. Father would have known soon enough. Better that he heard it from me.
“I thought I was doing right by my future wife,” I say. “That’s all. I never meant to defy you.”
He finally turns to me, but I wish he hadn’t. The utter absence of feeling in his eyes makes my heart lurch. He has never looked at me like this, even when he used a switch to express his displeasure with his only son.
“You disobeyed an order from your father, who is also your superior, and violated the wishes of your former king,” he says, every word as crisp as the folds ironed into his uniform. My mother irons his clothes herself. The maids never get the creases quite right, and everything must be exactly right in my father’s house. Perfect. If not, everyone under his roof pays the price. “That is the definition of defiance.”
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer again, hating the whine creeping into my voice. Father’s right; I sound like a child.
It’s Isra’s fault. I never should have told her about the tea. I should have let her live out the rest of her life in the darkness. What difference will it really make? Will sight make her happy, and even if it does, does her happiness matter? The kingdom doesn’t require her happiness, only her blood.
“You’re impulsive, Bo. That isn’t a good trait in a king.” Father rises from his chair and crosses to stand too close, the way he does when one of his soldiers has stepped out of line. I’ve seen Father break men with nothing more than a stern look, but he doesn’t stop with a look when it comes to his son.
He hasn’t struck me in years—not since I joined the military force when I was sixteen—but I can tell he wants to now. My jaw clenches; my teeth ache. Beads of sweat form on my upper lip, but I’m too afraid to wipe them away. It’s best not to move when Father gets this way.
“You didn’t stop to think that she’d want an explanation?” he asks, his voice terribly gentle, like the slaughterer’s hand when he takes a sheep tenderly by the scruff of its neck.
“I thought …” I swallow. “I plan to tell her I heard a rumor.”
“She’ll want to know where you heard it.”
“I’ll tell her I don’t know,” I say, “that I heard two people talking, but it was dark and—”
“You’re a poor liar,” he says, watching me like I’m an insect found swimming in his bed pot. “The girl isn’t a complete fool. She’ll know you’re deceiving her. She’ll decide you’re not trustworthy, and what girl wants as a husband a man she can’t trust?”
I’m tempted to tell him Isra has already promised to marry me, as long as I keep quiet about her activities with the Monstrous, but I bite the inside of my lip. If Father finds out I disobeyed him a second time by speaking about the marriage when he expressly forbade it, and then left Isra alone with a monster …
I shudder to think how he’d look at me after that. I don’t want to remember what it feels like to cower at his feet.
“You’ve made this far more complicated than it needed to be,” he continues, eyes so cold it makes me shiver despite the blazing fire at my back.
“I’m sorry.” I drop my gaze, staring at the lines on either side of his mouth, just visible beneath his mustache. In the firelight, his wrinkles are more defined. He’s an old man. He can’t live forever, and when he is gone, I will truly be king. I’ll make the decisions for this city, and they will be good ones. I’m not impulsive. It was affection that made me foolish, but I won’t make the mistake of caring for my queen again. Isra isn’t worth the trouble.
I’ll hold my tongue until the day we’re married, and then I’ll show her how a true ruler gives orders.
“Yes, well … I suppose we’ll have to tell her the truth,” Father says, a hint of hard humor in his tone. “I’ll tell her I placed the herbs in her tea every morning,” he says, bending to toss another dung patty onto the fire, though the room is already stifling. “But only because her father begged me to continue doing so once he was no longer able to administer them himself.”
I hesitate, but can’t keep from saying, “She won’t believe you.”
Father grunts as he returns to his chair. “I’ll show her the official order, signed in her father’s hand.” He sits down with a soft groan.
I imagine the pain Isra will feel when she realizes it was her own father who sentenced her to darkness, and some weak part of me wants to feel sorry for her, but I clench my jaw against it. Pity is what got me into trouble in the first place. I can’t afford pity. A king must be made of sterner stuff.
“And then I’ll tell her the story of her poor mother,” Father continues, “and I’ll reveal to her all the terrible sights that her father wanted to protect her from.”
My lips part. He wouldn’t. “But, Father …”
“But what?” He snaps, setting my nerves on edge all over again.
“I’m not sure how she’ll take it,” I say, careful to sound suitably submissive, though I’m horrified by what he plans to do. I don’t care for Isra the way I did, but this isn’t right. She’s been living in a dream world. If that dream is ripped away, who knows what will happen? She mi
ght go as mad as her mother. She might be the next queen to hurl herself from her balcony. If she takes her own life before we’re married, she will bring about the fall of Yuan. Isra isn’t completely rational as it is. It’s dangerous to test her sanity this way. “She truly has no idea, and I—”
“She will have a very good idea by the time tomorrow is through.”
“But I—”
“You what?” he asks, standing so abruptly it startles me into a step backward. “You thought you’d give her eyes and not have her see?”
“Please,” I say, holding up my palms in an instinctive plea for understanding. “I have a plan. We’ll keep her in the nobles’ village. There’s no reason the queen should go into the city center or the Banished camp. She’s already been presented to the people. After we’re married, I can handle all interactions with the common people and—”
“You can’t keep your piss in the pot,” he spits. “All you had to do was keep your mouth shut and wait for the kingship to be delivered into your hands, but you ruined it. You destroyed what I’ve sacrificed so much to ensure.”
“What have you sacrificed?” I ask, suddenly angry. “You won’t have to marry a woman marked for death. You won’t have to watch her die. You won’t have to know your children will meet the same fate if they’re born female.”
I pull in a breath, fighting to regain control. I’ve never spoken like this to Father, but I’ve never been on the verge of sentencing my entire family to death, either. I don’t love Isra, but I don’t hate her. I don’t want her to die. I don’t want my next wife or my daughters to die. The sacrifice of the queen seemed like a sad but noble act growing up, but now it is a black, twisted thing squirming its way into my life, poisoning every thought and feeling.
I brace myself, expecting Father to strike me, to shout at the very least, but instead he sits back down in his chair. He sighs, and the rigid lines of his shoulders relax as he bows his head over folded hands.
“I didn’t mean to sound ungrateful,” I whisper, not sure what to make of his response. “I want to be king. I just never expected it to be so … difficult.”
“Maybe I’ve …” Father runs his hands over his head, pushing springy gray hairs back into the smooth black of his braid. “Maybe I’ve made a mistake.”
“No, Father,” I say, panicking at the thought of having my new torment taken away. I don’t want to be king, but I can’t stand the thought of not being king, either. “You don’t make mistakes.”
“Don’t I?” He lifts his face. The shadows there seem darker than they did even a moment ago. “I thought you were ready. I thought I was ready. But … there are things …” He takes a breath, and his fingers tighten on the arms of the chair. “The king was planning to marry again.”
“What?” I ask, genuinely surprised. “But it’s been thirteen years since Isra’s mother died.”
“Yes, and as time passed, the king grew increasingly certain that he couldn’t bear for his only daughter to meet the same fate as her mother. He planned to wed Suyin, Rune Lee’s widow. She’s only twenty-seven, and has already borne two healthy children. A new heir was assured.” He sighs. “No official paperwork was signed, but I discussed the match with Suyin on the king’s orders. She was agreeable. Her husband left the family with nothing. They’ve been living with his sister for two years, but it’s obvious there’s no love lost between Suyin and her sister-in-law. Suyin was willing to lay down her life in exchange for a way out of her sister-in-law’s home and a richer future for her existing children. It was only a matter of time.”
Father leans back, folding his hands in his lap once more. “As I said, she already has children. The line of succession would have been ensured for another generation. Her eldest is a daughter, but the girl is only five years old. She wouldn’t have been old enough to marry until you were nearly thirty, Bo, and who knows how the political climate would have changed by then? The only way I could ensure your place on the throne was for the king to die before he could marry again, while I still had the power to convince the other advisors my son should be the one to marry the queen.”
A sour taste fills my mouth, and the floor beneath my feet goes as soft as sand, leaving me nothing firm to stand on. My legs tremble and my heart beats faster, but for a long moment I can’t understand why I’m frightened. Even when my brain sorts out the meaning hidden in Father’s words, I can’t believe it. Surely I’m missing something. Surely …
“The king was killed by the Monstrous,” I say, my voice as weak as my knees.
“It appeared that way.” He stares me straight in the eye, not flinching when he adds, “But only because I made it so.”
I reach out to brace myself on the mantel above the fire. “I don’t believe you.”
Father ignores me and continues, “The Monstrous was on the path by the lake, near the garden where the flowers for the court tables are grown. I had planned to poison the king, but as soon as I saw the creature, I knew my moment had come. I killed the guards first, to make certain there were no witnesses. Then I killed the king, cutting him open to make it look as if the Monstrous had done it.”
“No,” I say, sounding more like a child than ever. Tears burn the backs of my eyes, and sickness rises in my throat. If I hadn’t skipped dinner, I know I’d be ill all over Father’s finely carved fireplace.
“Thankfully, it was one of the creatures without our language, who couldn’t reveal what I’d done.” He rises slowly from his chair, looking older, wearier, than I’ve ever seen him, and comes to stand beside me, gazing into the fire. “If it had been the other one …” He shrugs and slips his hands into the pockets of his pants. “Not many would have listened to the ravings of a monster, but there are always those who pause to consider the absurd. If they’d paused long enough, they might have found reason to believe it.”
Isra might have paused. Isra might have listened to the monster. Tonight she called it her “friend.” If she ever learns the truth …
“She’ll have you killed,” I whisper. “She’s not as fragile as you believe. If she finds out, she’ll—”
“She’ll never find out,” Father says, his strong hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “Not unless you tell her.”
I turn to him so quickly I lose my footing and knock my shin on the marble step of the fireplace. “I would never. Never.”
“I have your loyalty, then?” he asks, uncertainty lurking in his eyes.
“Yes,” I say. “Of course. I’m your son.”
He nods stiffly. “I spent my entire life serving another family. I wanted you to rule your own life, to be your own man,” he says, mouth weak around the edges, the muscle in his cheek leaping. I’ve never seen him out of control. He has never appeared vulnerable in any way. I’ve imagined Father weak, and thought I’d find the sight thrilling—but this isn’t thrilling. It’s terrifying, a god falling from the sky, his wings on fire. “I did this for you, Bo.”
“I know, Father.” I take him by the shoulders and give a firm squeeze, willing strength into both of us. “I won’t fail you. We’ll manage Isra. Together. I’ll be king by springtime, and I will never forget that I owe everything I am to you.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, before whispering, “Thank you, Son.” Then he smiles. Really smiles, a proud smile, a grateful smile. Proud of me. Grateful to me. The sight firms up every trembling, doubting bone in my body.
Great men aren’t afraid to do dangerous things to tip the hand of fate in their favor. My father is a great man and he did a brave, dangerous thing to give me a chance at a future I couldn’t have had without him. I would never have asked him to kill the king, but … it’s done now. There’s no going back. We can only go forward, and make certain we prove that the end justifies the means.
I will be a great king. I will do great things for this city, and I won’t let a girl who’d rather play in the dirt with a monster than devote herself to her people get in the way.
“Let me do i
t,” I say, giving my father’s shoulders one final squeeze before dropping my arms to my sides and standing tall, determined to show him I’m man enough to handle the queen. “Let me show Isra the truth about the city tomorrow. I’ll find a way to make her love me for it. I swear I will.”
Or hate me less. I will be the only one who’s ever told her the truth. She’ll have to respect me for that, at least enough to honor the promise she made tonight.
“All right,” Father says, with a slow nod. “You’ll be her husband. You’ll have to learn how to manage her sooner or later.”
“Thank you,” I say, the rush of being treated as my father’s equal for the first time making me certain I could climb the tallest mountain in the desert if it were safe to leave the city. “I’ll make you proud.”
He cups my cheek in his hand, his touch gentle for the first time in longer than I can remember. “I’m already proud.”
My throat grows so tight I can do nothing but nod in response.
“Until tomorrow.” Father bows. I bow lower, keeping my head tucked to my chest until he has left to join Mother in their bedroom.
Even when he’s gone, I can feel his faith in me lingering in the air, warming me to the core, making me certain there is nothing I can’t do. Nothing I won’t do to ensure our family’s success.
TWENTY-ONE
ISRA
ONE, two … five, six …
Seventy-five … one hundred and twelve … eighty-eight … eighty-nine … ten … two …
I can see, but I find myself counting my steps all the same. Counting to stay calm, to retain control, counting until numbers lose their meaning and my mind is a jumble of circles and curves and slashes. The hourglass of an eight. The dangerous corner of a seven. The soft belly of a six. I trace their shapes in the air as I walk, my fingers busy at my sides, frantically trying to bring order to the world.
But even numbers are powerless against chaos. Disorder. Madness.
