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sign.
Are you all right?
“I’m ready to leave.”
You can’t leave. Not without—
“I am queen. I can do what I wish,” I snap, pulling my arm away, only
for her to reclaim it a second later. “Leave me!” I demand. “I can find my
way from here.”
But your guards. They’re still at the banquet. They will want to—
“I am perfectly capable of getting back to my rooms without guards,”
I say, voice rising as I pull away a second time. “Why do I need guards,
anyway? Who would dare harm the sacrifice?”
Needle sighs her sad sigh but doesn’t try to retake my arm, and soon
I hear her footsteps hurrying away toward the tower. She knows better
than to argue with me. Arguing is pointless. I am stubborn and selfish, and
once I’ve made up my mind, I will not be swayed.
For a moment, I feel bad for taking my anger out on my only friend,
but soon I’m too distracted by the pain in my toes to think of anything else.
My slippers are too tight. I told Needle they were too tight, but she
insisted they were the same size I’ve worn for a year, and shoved them
onto my feet. Now they pinch so badly, I’m hobbling by the time I near the
royal garden. I stop, bend down, and rip them from my feet with a growl
that turns to a moan of relief as soon as my toes are allowed to spread on
the cool stones.
Ah. So much better. “Stupid things,” I mutter as I toss the slippers
into the flowers lining the path.
“Good choice,” comes a voice from high above, making me draw a
surprised breath. “Who needs shoes in a soft world like this one?”
“Gem?” I ask, though I know it’s him by the pronunciation of the
word “shoes.” His accent is changing, but still, no one else under the dome
sounds like him. “Where are you?”
“In my new room,” he answers. “New rooms. There are two. One for
sitting, one for sleeping.”
“They gave you the apartment overlooking the gardens?” I ask, tilting
my face in the direction of his voice.
I gave the order for Gem to be transferred to the soldiers’ barracks a
few days past. I requested that the apartment with the view of the royal
garden be converted to a cell—Gem mentioned that he’d like to see the
roses again—but there was some grumbling from Junjie about whether
such a prime space could be spared.
I told him to find a way to spare it and left it at that, but I wasn’t sure
he’d take my order seriously. Junjie seems to treat my commands as
suggestions he’ll take into consideration. If he remembers. If he approves. If
it’s convenient.
“They did,” Gem says. “Thank you.”
“You like it, then?” I ask, craving approval in this night filled with
condemnation.
“I do. Very much.”
“I know there are still bars on the windows, but …”
“It doesn’t matter. The view is nice. And I like the books,” he says,
before adding in an almost shy tone, “I’ve been trying to read them. My
mother taught me your letters and the sounds they make. It’s not as
difficult as I thought it would be.”
“I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon,” I say, feeling a little envious. “I
wish I could read. Being read to is wonderful, but I always thought the
stories would go faster if I could see the words myself.”
“I’m not very fast.”
“You will be. You’re clever.” He is. More clever than I could have
imagined before we started working in the garden together. The past two
weeks have only confirmed how foolish I was to underestimate Gem. He
has a vast knowledge of plants, speaks our language with the fluency of a
noble, and has more stories memorized than I’ve had read to me in my life.
“Soon you’ll have even more stories to add to your collection,” I say,
trying to smile. “You’ll have to tell me your favorites.”
“Of course,” he says, before adding in a softer voice, “What’s wrong?
You don’t sound like yourself.”
I lean against the retaining wall, and reach out, ru
over the wilting petals of the last of the autumn clematis. “I’ve done foolish
things tonight.”
“What kind of foolish things?”
“I was mean to Needle,” I say, tears stinging my eyes for the millionth
time since my father died. “I shouldn’t have been. She’s always so patient
with me.”
“She’ll forgive you,” he says, the lack of judgment in his tone making
me feel even worse.
“I know,” I mumble, wishing I hadn’t said anything. No matter how
well we’ve been getting along, or how much more human Gem is than I
could have dreamed a Monstrous would be, it was stupid to start
confessing things to him. He’s not my friend; he’s my prisoner.
“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