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food outside the gate.”
“Liar,” I grunt, fighting for breath.
“Maybe.” She bends close, and I smell her breath, sweet like sticky
fruit and … roses. “Maybe I am lying. The way you lied when you told me I’d
die without your help. But you’ll never know for sure, will you? And your
people will continue to starve.”
She smiles, and I move, faster than I thought I could after so much
time in a cage. I snatch her wrist, pull her fingers from my throat. She
comes for me with a balled-up fist that hits my chest and glances off
without damage, and I snatch that wrist as well, holding tight as she
struggles. I am so weak that my heart slams inside my chest and my head
spins from even this small effort, but she’s weaker. Like a child.
“Release me,” she demands.
“You’re the one who wanted to fight.” I pin her wrists together and
hold them, like Gare did to me when I was small and wanted to play rough.
I am determined to show her that I won’t tolerate her abuse, but she
struggles only a moment, before her neck bends and her forehead drops to
her hands.
I flinch as her eyes shut and her shoulders begin to shake. Water
spills from behind her lids, fat drops that slide down her cheeks to fall onto
my bare chest.
It wasn’t a fever dream, then.
“What is that?” I breathe.
She lifts her face. Her eyes aren’t empty now. They’re swimming with
misery and pain. This girl wouldn’t run through the garden laughing like a
child. The death of her father cut that part of her away and left her
bleeding inside where wounds hurt the most.
I tell myself it’s no less than she deserves, but my voice is softer
when I repeat, “What is that?”
“What?” Her hands squirm.
“The water.” I loosen my grip on her wrists. “From your eyes.”
She swallows and sniffs as she pulls her fists to her chest. “Tears?”
“Tears.” I remember the word, but only vaguely. It wasn’t one that
came up often in my lessons or Mother’s songs. My people don’t tear.
Water comes from our skin to cool it, from our body to rid it of toxins, but
not from our eyes. We aren’t leaky and fragile like the Smooth Skins.
Yet they hold all the power. They hold me prisoner. Their ruler smiles
as she speaks of my people’s hunger; their queen runs her hands over my
face and tightens her fingers at my throat, and I must lie here and do
nothing.
I smear the tears on my chest away, but some have already soaked
into my skin. I can feel them, as if she has marked me, infected me with
Smooth Skin weakness.
“Get out,” I growl, hatred burning in my belly.
“Not yet. I have—”
“Now!”
“Quiet, or you’ll wake the guards,” she hisses, her own hatred
flashing in her eyes. “You don’t tell me what to do. Junjie and the other
advisors tell me, but you do not. Your own father left you here. Forever. For
the rest of your life, you are mine. If you’d prefer that life to be a long one,
you’ll do what I say, when I say it.”
“I’ll cut you open,” I snarl through gritted teeth.
“You’ll do no such thing.” She doesn’t flinch, or move away from the
bed. “If you were going to kill me, you’d have done it already.”
“I nearly did.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Do you believe these?” My claws are at her neck a second later, the
tips puckering the skin at either side. Her lips part and a strangled sound
gurgles in her chest, but she doesn’t move. She has realized that the
slightest twitch will open her throat. “You seem curious about what will
happen when you die,” I whisper. “Maybe it’s time for your curiosity to be
satisfied.”
She sips air, swallowing like a three-hooved gert picking its way down
the rocky slope of a canyon. I tighten my grip. The five puckers on her
throat deepen. A little more pressure, and her blood will flow. I tell myself
it will be justice, but I’m not thinking about justice. I’m thinking about the
way she stuck her nose in the air when she told me I’d do as she says. I’m
thinking that I prefer fear in her eyes to any other emotion I’ve seen.
I’m thinking I would rather be a monster than her slave.
“Your father told Junjie that you were a healer.” Each word is careful,
formed mostly with her lips, using as little breath as possible.
“I am a warrior.” I come from a family of warriors, the greatest family
of warriors. At least until I was born into it.
“Then you don’t know plants?” she asks, a new fear creeping into her
voice. “You don’t grow and mix herbs for the Monstrous?”
“We are the Desert People.”
And my name is Gem, I silently add. Thank you for asking. Thank you
for offering your name before you started giving orders.
But why would she give her name? In her eyes, I’m an animal. My
only hope of becoming anything more, of gaining enough freedom to
escape the domed city, is to win the Smooth Skins’ trust. So far, none of
them have bothered to speak to me. Only this girl. But she is the
princess—no, the queen— and has power, even if it isn’t as much as she’d
like. And she wants to know about herbs Father said I could mix. I know
certain common remedies, but I’ve never mixed a true healing pouch in my
life.
My father isn’t a stupid man. There must be a good reason for his lie.
If I weren’t on the verge of committing murder, I could probably think of it.
I relax my grip. Almost immediately, my head clears— grow and mix
herbs. The gardens. Father was paving the way for my escape with the
roses, giving the queen a reason to let me out of my cage.
“I know plants. And herbs.” I retract my claws. The queen gives a
shuddery breath. “Why?”
“I have … a field. A large one,” she pants, hands fluttering at her
neck. “I want you to help me plant it with healing herbs, especially those
that the Mon”—she clears her throat—“that the Desert People use to ward
off further mutation.”
Herbs to ward off mutation? There is no such thing. At least, not that
I know of. But just like my lie about the poison in my claws, this lie must
serve a purpose. If I agree to assist this girl, I will find out what it is.
“All right,” I say. “I’ll help.”
“Good.” She stands, wobbling in her narrow dress. “I’ll talk to Junjie
and have guards sent to fetch you in the morning. You’ll be bound when
you leave this room, but the chains will be loose enough to allow you to
work.” She goes to the door but turns back almost immediately. “When the
guards come, tell them nothing about what we’ll be growing. I don’t want
my people to know. Not yet.”
“Why?”
She pulls a silver key from a pocket near her hip. The sight of it makes
my damaged legs ache. If I were whole, I could rush her and take the key.
But I’m not whole. Thanks to this girl and her men.
“You seem like a clever beast,” she says, fitting the key in the lock.
“I’m sure you’ll understand. Sooner or later.”
I am not a beast. I swallow the cry pushing at my lips. It would do no
good to tell her. I must show her. Tomorrow I will begin, I think as she slips
out the door as swiftly and silently as a tear down a Smooth Skin’s cheek.
Tomorrow, I will serve and obey. I will be on my very best behavior. I
will use only Yuan words and keep my claws sheathed. But tonight I will
close my eyes and pretend I am not her prisoner.
Tonight I will remember the fear in her eyes and let it fill my mouth
with a taste as sweet as her rose-and-sugar breath.