“You’re right. I trusted you, and tomorrow I’ll have bruises in the
shape of your fingers on my arm.” I watch him flinch in shame, and the
wonder of sight hits me all over again. I can see. I can
night with Bo. “But I can also see for the first time since I was a little girl. It
is more than I ever could have hoped for, and I thank you for that. Truly.”
Bo bows his head, his expression softening in the face of my
gratitude.
“But I will need to know how you learned about the poison,” I add.
“We’ll talk more tomorrow. I want to know everything, especially who you
suspect of drugging my tea.”
He pales, and his eyes widen before he looks away. I’m not sure what
that look means, but my gut tells me it isn’t good. I expect I’m not going to
like what Bo has to say. But then again, I expect I won’t like much of what
Bo has to say from now on.
“Leave us,” I say, meaning to use my position to my advantage until
the day Bo becomes my equal. “Forget about the healers. I’m feeling
better.” I am. Now that I’m seeing clearly, the vertigo is gone. My eyes still
ache, but it’s a wonderful ache, the pain of unused muscles doing
miraculous things.
Bo nods stiffly and flicks two fingers in Gem’s direction. “Come,
beast. I’ll return you to your cell.”
“You’ll do no such thing,” I say, earning another scowl from Bo. “As
you said, it wouldn’t be wise for it to be widely known that Gem was out of
his cell today. I’ll have Needle take him in an hour or two, after the city is
quiet. Tell the guards at the base of the tower that they’re dismissed.”
“I can’t leave you unguarded with this—”
“You’ll do what I tell you to do until the day we are married. Or you
and your father will both find yourselves expelled from the military force.”
Bo’s jaw drops. “You wouldn’t. The people would hate you.”
“Let them hate me. Any emotion would be preferable to their pity. I
don’t intend to be worthy of anyone’s pity, not anymore,” I say, hoping Bo
can sense the iron at the core of my words. “I decided that before I was
able to see. Now that I can, I won’t let anyone keep me from ruling my city
the way I see fit.”
Bo’s eyes tighten around the edges, and his soft mouth firms into a
pucker that isn’t flattering. I sense he would like to tell me a thing or two,
but he knows better. Until he’s my husband, he will have to bite his tongue.
Afterward …
I won’t think of afterward. If I think of my wedding night with Bo or
all the days after, I will be sick all over again, despite the fact that I have
nothing in my stomach.
“I’ll send for you tomorrow,” I say.
With one last glare at Gem, and an only slightly less fierce glance my
way, Bo turns and strides through the door, across the music room, and
down the hall. The door to the stairs slams a moment later.
I sag against Needle, too weak to hold myself up now that the
immediate danger has passed.
“Let me help,” Gem says, his arm coming around my waist. I lean into
him, looping my arm around his shoulders, but keeping my gaze on the
stones at my feet. I’m not ready to look him in the eye, not yet.
Needle slides from under my other arm and steps back far enough
for me to look upon her dear face. She’s similar to the picture my mind
painted all the times I traced her features with my fingers—straight brown
hair tucked under her cap, a face as round as a saucer, and enormous eyes.
They’re beautiful, kind and intelligent and sad, but determined and
just … everything I imagined Needle’s eyes would be.
I’m scarcely aware the tears are coming before they’re slipping down
my cheeks.
“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”
I know she understands that I mean more than everything she’s done
the past few days. I mean every day she kept me from being so desperately
alone. Every minute she spent teaching me to understand her special
language. Every little-girl tantrum she tolerated when I was too young to
understand what a blessing she was to my life, and she not nearly old
enough to bear the burden of raising me.
I know she understands because she starts crying, too. Smiling and
crying and touching my arm, my shoulder, my cheek—all the places she
would touch to communicate her concern when I was blind.
By the ancestors, I’m not blind. I can see her. I can
shoulders, and end up bumping my forehead into hers. Not hard enough to
hurt, but hard enough to make us both laugh. Me, a soft giggle; her, a silent
shake of her shoulders.
“Sorry. I’m not judging distance well,” I say, pushing my hair—which
has already escaped from Needle’s quick braid—from my face,
remembering how terrible I look. I glance down, shocked by just how
rumpled and dirt-streaked my overalls are. Bo must be desperate to be king
if he can still stomach the thought of marriage after seeing me tonight.
Even dressed up and freshly washed, I’m far from a Yuan beauty.
My heart lurches, and my knees go weak.
out onto the dais after my coronation.
But not now. I’m not strong enough. I need food and water and …
I need … to sit down.
As if reading my mind, Needle motions Gem and me inside, shooing
us over to the low couch where I sit to practice my harp, while she rushes
into the other room. The couch is black and blue. Black silk, with
midnight-blue flowers and black thread binding it to a frame so polished, I
could see my reflection in it if I tried.
I don’t.
I look up at Gem, studying his profile as he settles me on the couch
and sits awkwardly beside me. The seat is so low that his knees nearly
touch his chest. He looks out of place, but no more out of place than I do.
My filthy overalls and ratted halo of hair are from a different world than the
silk we sit on.
I lift my hand and pull one of the less fuzzy tendrils in front of my
eyes.
“Red,” I mutter, hand shaking as I pull the curl straight, before letting
it pop back into a coil.
“Brown,” Gem says, his voice as careful as it always is under the
dome. He sounds like a citizen of Yuan again. It makes me sad. I miss the
way he rolled his words when we were out in the desert, letting them
simmer at the back of his throat before spitting them out. “Your hair is
brown.”
“But it has red in it,” I say, looking up at him. “I didn’t expect that.”
He doesn’t turn my way. He stares at the wall, at a portrait of a girl
with light olive skin, dark hair piled on her head, green eyes, and a wide
mouth that dominates her face. She’s mysterious-looking. There’s
something sad but secretive and mischievous in her expression. I wonder if
she’s one of the ancient goddesses from our old planet that my father told
stories about, the ones who were always shifting into animals so they could
fly down from the heavens to spy on humans. The girl’s throat is so long
and elegant, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her turn into a swan.
“She’s beautiful,” I say, with a happy sigh. “Like one of the old
goddesses.”
“Yes.” Gem doesn’t sound happy.
My smile thins. “Thank you … for coming to—”
“Someone’s been poisoning you?” Gem turns back to me with a
guarded expression that tells me nothing about what he’s thinking.
“Causing your blindness? Since you were four years old?”
My smile vanishes altogether. “Yes,” I say. “I … suppose.”
“So it wasn’t the blow to your head during the fire that caused it.”
“No, the fall definitely caused it,” I say. “I remember that clearly.”
“But you would have recovered your sight if someone hadn’t decided
it was to their advantage to keep you blind. Maybe that’s what your
ancestor was trying to tell you in your dream last night,” he says, his
intelligent eyes catching the candlelight, revealing flecks of gold hidden in
the dark brown.
They’re mesmerizing, not just a part of him, but a window
“Maybe she’s trying to tell you who’s been poisoning you.”
“Would the dead know something like that?” I’m chilled by the
thought. I’m not convinced my ancestors are capable of sending dreams
from the other side, but I’m not
straining the seams of his dust-covered, formerly white shirt. I can tell he
still feels uncomfortable in Smooth Skin clothing. He’d probably be more at
home with his chest bare.
My eyes roam from his shoulder to the opening of his shirt, where
he’s unbuttoned the first three buttons, revealing the hollow of his throat
and a triangle of bare skin. Bare scales. They flicker orange and gold in the
candlelight, making it look like Gem’s flesh is made of smoldering coals. But
I know his scales are cool and smooth to the touch. I ran my fingers over
them last night, let my hand creep beneath his shirt and feel the strength of
him.
I lift my eyes to find him watching me stare, and look quickly away,
pretending to study the fireplace screen, where a dancing peacock spreads
blue and green feathers.
“It could be anyone,” I say, clearing my throat. “The poison was
coming in my morning tea. It’s brought on a tray from the royal kitchen.
There are dozens of people working there, and anyone who wanted access
would only have to walk in and walk out. There are no guards. The royal
family has never had to worry about death by poisoning.”
“And why’s that?”
“Our kings and queens are too valuable to our city.”
He grunts his “Isra’s said something stupid” grunt. “So the kings and
queens like to think.”
I turn back to him with a scowl. “You don’t know everything.”
“I know that whoever decided to poison you is someone who would
benefit from a queen unable to perform her duties. And that that someone
has been thinking very far ahead for a very long time.” He links his hands
behind his head while his legs stretch forward, scooting the low table in
front of the couch across the lush carpet. It’s a smug pose, but a sensual
one, and I can’t stop appreciating the sensual long enough to be truly
frustrated by the smug. “I would look to Junjie. Make sure his hands are
clean before you bind yourself to his son.”
“Easier to get a blind girl to marry who you’d like her to marry,” I say,
thinking aloud. “But why didn’t my father ever suspect poisoning? He was a
smart man.”
“Did he love your mother?” Gem asks, surprising me with his
question.
I stop to think a moment before saying, “He said he did. He never
took another wife, so …”
“Maybe he was too miserable to wonder if there was another reason
his daughter was blind,” Gem says, his voice heavier than before. “I would
think there’s nothing worse than losing a woman you love.”
I stare at him and forget how to breathe. I want to ask him what that
fiercely gentle look in his eyes means. I want to ask him if he’s ever been in
love. I want to ask if he loved his baby’s mother. I want to ask if he thinks
he could ever love … someone else.
I want to ask if he might … if last night was more than … I want to
confess that it was for me, to tell him that I’ve never been in love, but I’m
certain this is the closest I’ve ever been to it.
on an empty stomach.
Luckily, Needle reappears a moment later with a tray filled with tiny
bowls of nuts; a plate of red cherries so stunning and lush I want to paint
them; apples; water; and cold tea.
Talk of poisoning causes me to shy away from the tea—though Bo
warned me only about my morning tea, not anything brewed in the
tower—but I can’t get to the water fast enough. I misjudge the distance
between my fingers and the glass and knock it over. Before I can try again,
Needle has poured a glass and placed it in my hand.
“Thank you.” I take great gulps of the cool water with the lemon
rinds floating at the top. Yellow seen through my own eyes is more glorious
than I remember, bright and dense and cheery enough to make my teeth
hurt.
Needle nods, and gestures out to the balcony before turning back to
me with one eyebrow raised, communicating more with one look than in
seven or eight of her hand gestures. I’m suddenly not surprised that my
father seemed to understand Needle almost as well as I did, though we
never told him of our secret language.
“Yes. Gem and I are fine,” I say, then remember what Needle will be
cleaning, and wince. “I’m sorry. Leave it. I can clean it up later.”
Needle dismisses my protest with a wave of her hand and goes to
fetch water and soap and towels from the washroom. I still feel terrible, but
I suppose I shouldn’t. Queens don’t clean up their own messes. At least,
they never have in the past.
I reach for the plate of cherries and one of the bowls of nuts and pull
them into my lap, munching as I think. Now that I can see, I’ll be able to
walk among my people and form my own opinions much more quickly.
Maybe I can right the wrongs of the past and repair the wreck I’ve made of
my first months as ruler of this city.
But first, I have to clean up a different mess.
I start to call for Needle but shut my mouth with a sharp clack of
teeth as I realize I don’t have to. I can
put on after my bath.
I stand, suddenly eager to get on with it, to tidy myself and confront
the demon of my reflection and move on to more important battles. “I’m
going to wash up and change,” I tell Gem, setting my plate down on the
tray. “I’ll be quick.”
“Do you want Needle to take me back to my cell?” he asks, his voice
strangely guarded as he sets a now-empty dish back on the tray and
reaches for an apple.
“No, I want you to stay,” I say, suddenly feeling shy. “I’d rather not be
alone.”
“You won’t be alone. Needle is here.”
If I couldn’t see him, I’d think he wanted to go. He sounds cold,
disinterested, but his knee jiggles up and down, his fingers twist the stalk
on the apple until it snaps. His elbows are on his knees, his shoulders
hunched as if protecting himself from an anticipated attack. His long, thick