Of Beast and Beauty (10 page)

“What else?” he asks.

“Nothing,” I say, lingering when I know I should tell him good night and be on my way. But I’m not in any hurry to return to the tower or Needle, who I know will be waiting by the door with her sad sigh, ready to gently remind me of everything I did wrong tonight.

I know I have to apologize and endure the reminders, but I’m not ready. Not yet.

“I don’t believe you.” Gem’s voice holds a challenge I refuse to take.

“Tell me a story,” I say instead, forcing a smile. Storytelling is what built the bridge between Gem and me in the first place. I began it as a way to break the strained silence during our first day in the garden, but Gem soon took the lead. He is a gifted storyteller and obviously appreciates a receptive audience. He has never refused me a story. “A happy story, please.”

“What kind of happy story?”

“One of your people’s legends. One with wind in it.”

He falls quiet, but I don’t repeat myself. I know he’s putting his thoughts together and that it will be worth the wait. Gem’s stories are always wonderful, mysterious and magical and eerily familiar, stories my heart swears I’ve heard before even if my mind can’t remember them.

“Once, long ago, in the early days of my tribe, there was a girl who loved a star,” he begins, summoning a delicious shiver from deep in my bones. I pull myself up to sit on the edge of the wall and draw my legs to my chest beneath my dress, grateful Needle gave me a full skirt rather than one of the narrow ones that make me teeter when I walk.

“It was a summer star,” Gem continues once I’m comfortable. “And it appeared in the sky just as the summer grass turned brown. It burned a fierce orange and red, and spent its nights boasting of all the worlds it had known and the creatures who had loved it.

“All the girls in the tribe enjoyed gazing at the star, but one girl, Melita, was captivated at first glance,” he says, the lulling rhythm of his words easing the last of the tension from my shoulders. “Every evening, she would creep from her family’s hut and lie down in the grass beneath the star. They would talk late into the night, telling each other their secret hopes and dreams, their messages carried between land and sky by the west wind.

“The girl told the star how she wished to journey beyond her tribe’s lands and see things no Desert Girl had ever seen before. The star told the girl how he yearned for someone with arms brave enough to hold him, strong enough to wrap around him at the close of the day and hold on until morning.

“Eventually, the two grew so filled with longing that the star’s wish was granted. The girl opened her arms and called him from the sky, and with a sigh, he fell, burning a trail through the night as his flame went out, leaving only his bone-white body behind.”

I drop my chin to my knees and close my eyes, suddenly feeling shy of this story.

It’s a love story. Gem has never told me a love story. It feels more intimate than his other tales. Sadder, too. I haven’t imagined the Monstrous loving the way we love, but I suppose they must. It makes me wonder if there is someone Gem left behind, a Monstrous girl whose arms he imagines holding him until morning.…

“The next morning, the girl awoke to find the star weeping in the grass,” Gem continues. “He had already grown tired of the girl’s arms. He craved the eyes of every creature of this world and the next and the next.

He mourned the loss of his spark and shine and the glory of burning brighter than anything else in the night. He cursed the girl, blaming her for his fall, and left her so he could find his way back to the sky, abandoning her long before the girl’s belly began to round with the new star he had put inside her.”

I blush so hard, my cheeks tingle. Heat spreads from my face, down my neck, to make my skin itch beneath my clothes.
The new star he had put
inside her
. By the moons. Yuan’s storytellers would never say such a bold thing. If Needle were here, she’d be scandalized.

The knowledge makes the story a bit more delicious.

“Months passed, and the time came for the baby to be born. It was a

cold night, near the end of winter, and both of the tribe’s midwives came to the girl’s hut, but the girl could not be saved,” Gem says. “After hours of suffering, the star baby came from her in a rush of fire, killing his mother as he shot toward the sky.”

I lift my head, lips parting in silent protest. Surely this can’t be the end of the story, the poor girl dying in childbirth?

“The west wind saw the tragic birth,” Gem continues, “and wished he had never carried the girl’s whispers to the star father. He plucked the girl’s soul from her burning flesh and held her in his arms, offering her a breath of his own magic to prove how sorry he was for the part he’d played. The girl used the magic to steal the language of our people from the stars, ensuring that no other Desert Girl would hear a star’s false promises or fall in love with one of the fickle creatures ever again.

“But still, the west wind felt his debt had not been paid. And so, from that day forward, he has continued to share his magic. He still comes to the Desert People as their funeral fires burn, granting each of us one last wish.

And that is how we were given death magic, and why our deaths are cause for celebration as well as sadness.”

He falls silent, but the air still hums with the power of the legend.

“
That
is a happy story?” I ask after an outraged moment.

“It is,” he says, a hint of laughter in his voice. “One of our happiest.”

“You’re mad!” I protest. “That poor girl. And whatever happened to the star?”

“He became the star of the true north,” Gem says. “And, in honor of his mother, he has guided the lost home to the tribal lands for hundreds of years.”

“No. I meant the other star, the one who left the girl alone to die.”

“He returned to the heavens,” Gem says. “He continues to fill the summer sky with orange and red, and unsuspecting women with babies. He put a baby in the harvest moon that has refused to be born for hundreds of years, for fear of hurting its mother, but that’s another legend.”

I’m about to say how unfair it was for the girl to die and the star to live on unpunished, but I stop myself before the words can leave my mouth. Of course it’s not fair, but … that’s the way life is. Gem and I know that as well as anyone.

Gem and I
. We have more in common than I ever dreamed we would. Sometimes, it feels like I have more in common with him than I do

my own people. Sometimes, I wish he wasn’t my prisoner and that we were more than polite acquaintances. Sometimes, I wish we could be friends.

But we can’t. And my only true friend is alone in the tower, waiting for me to apologize for acting like a spoiled child.

“I should go. Thank you for the story,” I say, tossing the words over my shoulder as I unwind my legs and start down the path, trailing my fingers along the wall to guide me.

“Good night, Isra,” Gem calls, something in the way he says my name making the hairs on my neck prickle.

I lift my hand and wave good-bye as I make my way into the heart of the royal garden, careful to give the rose bed a wide berth. Gem may have guessed that the roses allow me to see, but I’m not prepared for an audience while availing myself of their magic.

I didn’t plan to stop here tonight, anyway. I haven’t pricked my finger since the night the Monstrous invaded the city five weeks past. The unrelieved darkness weighs on me, but not as heavy as the memory of the hunger I felt pulling at me that night. The roses are tired of being teased with a drop or two of what they crave; they grow eager for a proper feeding.

“It isn’t time,” I whisper as I pass them by. It isn’t. Not for years and years.

I know I’m right, but still, I shiver as I step into the orchard. The air beneath the dome feels colder than it did a few moments ago, and I wish I’d brought the shawl Needle tried to press into my hands as we left the tower.

Autumn is dying, and winter will be here all too soon, a fact I would be wise to remember the next time I’m tempted to throw my shoes into a flower bed or linger listening to stories that have nothing to do with my people or our life beneath the dome.

SEVEN

“THE ground will be ready soon,” Gem says, his words underscored by the steady
chip, chap
of his hoe as it breaks up the soil that has proven too stubborn for our plow.

I follow behind him on my hands and knees, gathering clumps of grass, rocks, and springy roots in my giant pockets. Needle stitched me a new pair of overalls—in mourning green—but I wear them only out here, in the loneliest corner of the city, by the Desert Gate. I like it out here. It’s quiet and peaceful, and the guards hardly bother Gem and me at all anymore.

After a month with no show of claws, the soldiers began taking turns at Gem’s side. After eight weeks, they watch our progress from chairs at the edge of the field. Bo tells me one of them always has a blow tube and a sedative dart ready, but I’m not so sure. I catch snippets of their conversations, and it sounds like they’re more focused on card games than protecting their queen.

No matter how valuable my life is to the city, boredom eventually won out over duty. Knowing Gem as I do, I’m betting that’s part of his plan.

He has a plan. A secret. I’d bet my hands on it. I know him better than he thinks I do. You don’t spend every afternoon with someone—listening to his stories and teaching him songs—without learning a thing or two about the way his mind works.

“The herbs can be put off a month or two, but not the bulbs.” Gem

speaks our language like he was raised in the city now. There is nothing growly or rough about him. He is the perfect gentleman. Gentle-Monstrous.

“We need to get them into the ground,” he continues. “They should be planted while it’s still cold.”

“It will be cold forever.” A part of me believes it. Spring is a promise that nature doesn’t intend to keep.

“It won’t be cold forever.”

“It will. My nose will never be warm again.”

“Good thing blue suits you,” he says, making my lips twitch. “Have you spoken to Junjie?”

“I speak to him every day. Several times a day. Whether I like it or not.”

“You know what I mean.”

I sigh. “I do.” I sit back on my heels and tilt my face up, soaking in what warmth I can from the weak winter light penetrating the dome. Our great shield is made of ancient glass, designed by our ancestors to block the damaging rays of the sun, specially treated to keep the city from growing too hot during the summer or too cold during the winter. Still, the air is chilly in the winter months.

According to Gem, it’s even colder in the desert. If it weren’t for the risk of Monstrous attack, it would be possible for a citizen of Yuan to venture outside the city for a short time without fearing sun damage.