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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 need to imagine you happy.”
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 does know. I can hear it in her voice, feel it in the way
she touches me. She knows that I … that I’m so close … and I only want
closer.
“I’ll take the food to my people and come back,” I say, threading my
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
won’t.
I draw her to me, tasting her tears before she opens her mouth and I
taste honey and roses and Isra. All the dark and light of her, all the fear and
selflessness, all the i
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 nothing.”
She blinks, but no new tears fill her eyes, and when she speaks, she
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 pla
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.
You’ve already risked it.
My hands ball into fists. I have already risked it. There will be no
reason for her to let me out of my cell now. I should fall on my knees and
beg her forgiveness. I should tell her I stayed with her because I care—it
wouldn’t even be a lie—but I can’t.
I can’t lie. I can’t tell the truth. I don’t know who I am or what I’m
supposed to do next. I only know that “You can’t marry him,” I say,
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