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mouth, and an almost guilty twitch in his neck as his head turns from side
to side, making sure the other guards’ eyes are averted.
I suddenly realize what a good job Bo has done of hiding his true
feelings. He cares for me more than I’ve assumed—there is genuine
concern in his expression—but he also fears for my mind more than I ever
would have guessed. He worries I’m more than odd. He worries I’m
touched by my mother’s madness, and that one day the queen he’s come
to care for may become a madwoman who’ll try to kill her children in the
night.
I don’t know if it’s the roses’ magic or my own intuition, but I am
certain that is what Bo feels. And I’m just as certain that he won’t leave my
tower without knowing how I managed to leave my shoes in a flower bed
only feet from the Monstrous’s cell.
I have to go. I have to go back to the tower. Now.
No sooner is the thought through my mind than the thorn withdraws
from my flesh and the vine loosens its grip on my wrist. I pull my hand back
to my chest, pressing it tightly to my sweater until I feel the bleeding stop.
Breath coming fast, I draw my knees to my chest. I am preparing to
leap up, run back to the tower, and hope I can make the climb up to the
balcony without being spotted by Bo or the guards—when the greater
implications of what has just happened hit hard enough to make my bones
weak all over again.
The roses knew. Somehow they knew what I was pla
don’t want me to go. They showed me just enough to make me afraid,
before setting me free.
But should I really be afraid? I wonder as I scoot away from the
containing wall, out of the roses’ reach.
It’s late, nearly midnight. Bo knows better than to come to my rooms
at this hour. If he finds the door locked and neither Needle nor I answer, he
might very well decide to leave and return tomorrow. Tomorrow, when
Needle will be at the tower to tell him I’m not feeling well and turn him
away.
Now that there’s no thorn buried beneath my skin, that scenario
seems as likely as the one I fear. More likely. But the roses didn’t want me
to think clearly; they wanted me to run along back to my prison. It could be
they simply have the interests of the city at heart—it is dangerous for me to
leave, to take such a risk when I am unmarried and the covenant is
unsecured—but the vision felt more insidious, the inexorable grip of the
vine more possessive than concerned.
As I rub the bruised skin around my new wound, I begin to doubt for
the first time in my life what I’ve been taught about the royal garden. The
legends say the roses grew after the first queen’s blood hit the ground, a
symbol of the sacrifice she’d made and the covenant that would keep Yuan
safe.
But what if—
“There you are.” Gem’s voice comes centimeters from my ear, close
enough to make me gasp. My ears are sensitive, but I didn’t hear a thing
until he was close enough to touch.
By the moons, I’m glad he’s here. I’m so glad not to be alone with the
roses. I’m weak with it. Strong with it. My blood starts to rush again; my
bones rediscover their sturdy centers.
“Thank you for coming.” I find his chest with my fingers, flattening
my palm against the thick fabric of one of his new shirts, hoping he can feel
my gratitude as clearly as I feel his heart thudding beneath his ribs.
Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump, bababump bababump bababump. The
beating grows faster as we sit in silence, our foggy breath mingling between
our faces. Mine is hot, but his is so much hotter and it smells nothing of the
cabbage he refuses to eat. Gem’s breath is fresh sawdust and sweet smoke,
chestnuts and celery root, as sharp and clean as the winter air. It’s a good
smell, a healthy smell that makes me wonder how breath like that would
taste on a kiss.
Ba-bump … bump. My heartbeat stutters, and I pull my hand away
from Gem’s chest so quickly that I hit my own throat and begin to choke.
“Are you all right?” He lays a hand on my shoulder, the same
shoulder he tore open months ago, the one that bears a tight, sleek scar
from the claw that cut the deepest. But now Gem’s claws are sheathed and
his fingers are careful, gentle.
He’s never touched me like this before. We haven’t touched in
weeks, and even then our only contact was in anger—my fists on his chest,
his hands at my wrists, my fingers on his throat, his claws at mine. But this
is not anger. This is … something else.
“I’m fine.” My whisper is hoarse. I clear my throat. “We should go.
The patrol—”
“They’ll be back soon,” he interrupts, his voice gruff. He pulls his
hand from my shoulder, leaving my skin colder. “Go back to your tower. If I
run, I’ll be back in my cell before I’m spotted.”
“No!” I say, louder than I mean to. I bite my lip, then whisper, “No.
We have to get the bulbs. I know of a secret door out into the desert. No
one will see us go, and Needle will make sure we aren’t missed.”
“And how will she do that?”
“I’ve canceled your escort to the field,” I explain, ears straining to
catch the scuff of boots. “No one will come to your room except to bring
meals. Needle says she can convince the girl who delivers them to allow her
to take over for the next few days. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?
You said it wouldn’t take more than three days. Two, if you were quick.”
He grunts. I can tell he isn’t impressed with the plan. “And what of
the queen? Won’t someone notice your absence?”
“I told Bo I don’t wish to be disturbed,” I say, throat tightening
around what I’ve left unsaid: the crack in the dome waiting to be
investigated and the fact that Bo stands at my tower door right now, and all
the rest. “He’ll honor my wish to be left alone for a few days, and Needle
will turn him away if he does not.”
Gem makes another dubious sound. When he speaks again, I can tell
he’s closer. His breath is warmer. It whispers across my lips, prickling my
skin. “If your people find out you took me into the desert with no one to
protect you, or prevent me from escaping, they’ll think you’re more rattled
in the brain than they do already. Junjie will lock you away, and you will
never rule this city.”
“I will never rule this city if I run back to my rooms,” I hiss. “I must
give the people a reason to see me as—or at least remember me—as
something more than …”
“More than?”
“The garden will prove I am a good and useful queen,” I say, cursing
myself for nearly losing control of my tongue. I don’t want Gem to know. I
don’t want him to treat me the way people treat a girl who has been
marked for death since her very birth. “The garden will—” A faint thud
sounds from the direction of the orchard. I freeze, falling silent, until Gem
whispers—
“An apple falling to the ground. There is still fruit on the limbs at the
very top.” Disgust creeps into his tone. “Your people have so much, you
leave food to rot.”
My answer. I have it. I know how to make Gem come with me. I hate
to make promises I might not be alive to keep, but I have no choice. “Help
me tonight,” I say, “and I will do what I can for your people.”
“You can do nothing.”
“Not now,” I agree. “But if we fetch these bulbs, and the herbs we
need later … If my garden is a success and my people are healed and learn
to love me, they’ll respect my judgment. Come summer, when the first of