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would …” My words trail off. I’m still too shy to state it plainly, but
surely … I reach out, my hand trembling only slightly as I slip my fingers into
his open shirt, resting them over his heart. “Can’t we stop talking?”
Gem’s eyes flick to mine. There’s no doubt he understands my
meaning—it’s clear in the way his lips part, in the way he braces his hands
on either side of my hips, fingers digging into the rose upholstery—but
instead of kissing me, he says, “There has to be another way.”
“There is no other way.” My lips prickle with disappointment as I
withdraw my hand from his warmth. “The covenant is a binding contract,
signed in blood by the founding families of Yuan. Its terms are
no
“It’s the covenant that’s the source of the magic, not the roses?”
I nod. “The roses grew after the first sacrifice. They’re a symbol. Part
of the magic, but not the source of it.”
“A symbol of what?” Gem’s expression is so intense, it makes my
head start to hurt again just looking at him. “From what?”
I close my eyes, and rub the space above them with my knuckles.
“What do you mean?”
“What has entered into this contract with your people?” Gem asks.
“The magic of the planet has been quiet for hundreds of years. So, what
magic is this?”
“I don’t know.” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly colder. And
tired. “It’s just … magic.”
“But whose magic?” he asks. “Who or what accepts the offering of a
queen’s blood and grants Yuan vitality in return?”
I start to argue, but the words I need won’t come. What he’s saying
makes sense. Magic has to come from someone. Or something. I know the
roses grew after the first sacrifice—it’s the most written about and sung
about event in our city’s history—but as far as who or what made them
grow … what inspires the flowers’ hunger for blood …
“I don’t know,” I say in a small voice.
“You don’t know,” he repeats, as if I’ve confessed that I don’t know
how to feed myself or put on my own shoes.
“No, I don’t know,” I say, defensive and anxious at the same time. “I
know the legend, but I— The stories say the noble families arrived in one of
the fifteen great ships. They were in charge of supervising the building of
Yuan, making sure the dome would protect the colonists until they knew if
it was safe for humans to live outside. Everything went well until the
eleventh year of building. That’s when the workers constructing the
dome—the ones who spent the most time outside the ship—began to
change.”
“To mutate,” Gem says, as if he’s heard the story before, making me
wonder how much history we share.
“Yes.” I worry my earlobe between two fingers. “But they mutated
more quickly than people ever had on our home planet. Massive changes
within a month or two, instead of gradually over thousands and thousands
of years. Even the scientists had no explanation for it except magic.”
For the first time, it strikes me how strange that must have been for
my ancestors, for people from a planet with no magic to suddenly be
trapped on a world ruled by it.
“The mutated people turned violent,” I say, keeping my eyes on
Gem’s chest. “They attacked the ship where the colonists had been living,
and tore it apart, killing the people who hadn’t been transformed,
destroying all the books and the machines that stored the ancient
knowledge, and scattering them across the desert.”
I glance at Gem’s eyes. His expression is neutral, patient, waiting for
the rest. “The noble families escaped with a few dozen others whose
mutations were still minor,” I continue. “Together, they ran into the city,
and locked the gates behind them. They were safe inside—the dome was
finished and the central buildings constructed—but the city wasn’t ready to
support life. The animals they’d brought from their home planet were still
very young, the seeds hadn’t sprouted, and most of their medicines and
supplies had been left aboard the ship. They had water, but not much food,
and they were too terrified to venture outside the walls. The people were
starving to death when, one night, the woman who would become our first
queen had a vision.”
“A vision of what?” Gem asks, the intensity returning to his voice.
“I don’t know.” I lift my shoulders and let them fall, before tucking
my feet beneath my skirt. “Just … a vision. Of how to save her people. Of
the covenant,” I say, ignoring the prickle at the back of my neck I’ve always
associated with telling a lie. I’m not lying—not as far as I know, anyway.
So why does it feel like I’m telling Gem a fairy tale?
“All right,” he says, clearly unsatisfied. “What happened after the
vision?”
“The queen woke her husband and representatives from the other
noble families. They walked to the center of the city, where the king
transcribed the sacred words of the covenant from the queen’s dream onto
parchment. They all signed the covenant in blood and spoke the words
aloud. Then, as the sun rose beyond the dome, the queen …
“As soon as her blood hit the soil, the first bed of roses sprang up
from the ground. By the end of the day, crops that should have taken
months to grow were ready to be harvested. Yuan was saved,” I say,
though with less enthusiasm than my father used when telling this story.
“The king remarried that evening, and since then the city has never been
without a queen, or a daughter in line to be queen, for more than a single
night. There are similar stories about the other domed cities. Each one felt
the call and formed covenants of their own.”
Gem grunts his dubious grunt.
“That’s the story as I know it.” I turn my palms over to stare at the
lines creasing the skin, embarrassed without really knowing why. “The
covenant came to the queen in a vision, and the king wrote it down. No
mention of who or what made the roses grow. I suppose I’ve always
thought …”
“Thought what?”
“I don’t know. It seemed to me …” I peek at him through my lashes.
“Maybe it was the power of her sacrifice that created the magic.”
“I’ve seen sacrifice,” Gem says. “I’ve seen old men wander into the
desert to die to give their hut one less mouth to feed. I’ve seen mothers
choose between two babies when there isn’t enough milk for them both.
No magic roses sprang up when their blood was shed. There’s something
darker here.”
“What do you mean?”
He studies me a moment before saying, “My people have legends,
too.”
“I know that,” I say with a tired smile.
“I don’t mean legends like the girl who loved the star. I mean history.
Stories from when our tribe was young and some still remembered—”
A knock at the door makes us both turn our heads. Needle stands in
the doorway with the rope she took to Gem the night we left for the desert,
and an expression that clearly communicates she thinks it’s time for him to
go.
“Just a few more minutes,” I say, profoundly relieved Gem preferred
to talk instead of kiss. I can’t believe I didn’t think about the open door. If
Needle had come to fetch Gem and had found us kissing, or worse, she
would have been scandalized. She would be scandalized if it were any boy,
but a Monstrous boy …
I pause, studying Needle as she studies Gem. What does she think of
him? She set him free, and sent me out into the desert with him. She must
trust him, or at least trust me enough to have faith in my judgment. And
she didn’t seem afraid when he crawled onto the balcony. She seemed