Of Beast and Beauty - Jay Stacey 22 стр.


braid hangs down his back like a weary pet in need of a brushing.

I step closer, and touch the top of his head ever so softly. He glances

up, surprised, unguarded. “Please stay,” I whisper. “I want

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.

return to my seat on the tiny couch.

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 …

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 second 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

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

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

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

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.

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

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