Of Beauty and Beast

father hasn’t grown too powerful. I don’t like seeing him eager to spill royal blood. It feels wrong for him to speak casually about the sacrifice Isra will make.

“She is,” I say, choosing my next words carefully. I need Father to understand that I have no desire to hasten the moment of Isra’s death.

“I’ve come to care for her. I look forward to our marriage and wish her as much life as possible. I know the day I lose her to the garden will be one of the darkest of my life.”

Father smiles and clasps my shoulder in a rare display of affection.

“You sound like a king already.”

“Thank you.” I duck my head as I step out of the harness, grateful for the excuse to cross the roof and tuck the gear back into the box Nan holds open. I can’t look my father in the eye right now. If I do, I’ll see proof that he thinks I’m lying.

Worse, he’ll see proof that I’m not.

Baba has known Isra longer and more intimately than anyone else except the late king, but there is clearly no love in his heart for her. Maybe he knows something I do not, and Isra is a burden I’ll have to bear until the day of her death. I admit there have been times when I’ve worried about the state of her mind, like when I discovered her slippers in the mud outside the beast’s window two nights past. Her maid explained the slippers easily enough—Needle dropped them on her way to get them resoled—but there’s no explanation for Isra’s other odd behavior except … eccentricity. Maybe it’s harmless eccentricity, or maybe, as my father clearly fears, it’s the precursor to her mother’s madness.

I’m not sure which of us is right. I only know I can’t wait to give Isra the good news.

With a bow to my father, I step into the gondola and lower myself down the side of the building, the seventy-meter drop not nearly as intimidating after dangling three hundred meters in the air to inspect the dome. I reach the street to find a crowd gathered by the baker’s shop.

Worried eyes meet mine, and I smile, but I don’t stop to assure the people that all is well. Isra’s subjects will hear the good news from their queen, who deserves to know before anyone else that the danger has passed.

I hurry through the cobblestone streets—past the towering buildings where the poorest citizens live with their children crowded five and six to a room, past the squatter, more decorative buildings where the skilled workers and their families live and run their shops, past the soldiers’ barracks, and onto the path leading through the royal garden. I’ve been avoiding this route through the city the past two days, but this evening the roses hold no terror for me. They’re beautiful in the fading pink light, and I find myself lingering near the oldest blooms.

I can feel the spirits of the former queens of Yuan here. One day I hope I will feel Isra’s spirit even more intimately.

Possessed by the notion, I drop to one knee in front of the giant blooms. “I will take good care of her,” I swear, imagining that the dead queens can hear my promise. “And when she’s gone, I will visit her here every day for the rest of my life.”

I smile. Father’s right; I do sound like a king.

Drunk on promises, I rise shakily to my feet, dizzied by how close I am to being the most powerful man in Yuan. By the time I reach the door to Isra’s tower, I’m certain tonight is the night. I’ll assure her that death is nowhere in her near future and then make my offer for her hand. Father said he wanted to discuss the betrothal without the potential husband present—as is the custom when negotiating a royal marriage—but I want Isra to remember the moment we decided to marry as something between the two of us.

So I wait until her maid leaves the tower to collect the dinner tray she has fetched for the queen since Isra requested her privacy. Then I dismiss the guards at the door, retrieve the key from its hiding place behind the loose stone, and let myself in.

“Isra?” I climb the stairs swiftly, not bothering to keep my steps soft. I don’t want to surprise her. I’m sure she’s been worried. A shock is the last thing she needs. “Isra, it’s Bo!” I call again, louder than before, but still no answer comes from the rooms above.

She must be out on the balcony. She seems to favor it there, though she can’t see the impressive view of the city spread out before her … yet.

But by next week, or the following, for certain …

Returning her sight. Just another thing my queen will love me for.

With a smile, I push through the door to her apartments, pass her empty sitting room, leaving the door to her private chamber closed—I doubt she’s asleep at this hour—and make my way to her music room.

From the door, I can see that the balcony on the far side of the room is empty.

The bedroom it is, then, I think, secretly pleased to have an excuse to be alone with Isra in a room with a bed. I turn back down the hall and knock softly on her door. “Isra? Are you awake?”

Silence, but for the soft tick of a clock in the music room.

“Isra? It’s Bo. I have wonderful news.”

More silence, silence so complete that it’s hard to believe she’s breathing in the room beyond. But she has to be in there. She isn’t in any of the other rooms, and she hasn’t left the tower since I walked her here two days ago. The guards outside would have alerted me immediately. I gave strict orders.

“Isra? Are you well?” I ask, growing concerned. “Isra?”

More silence. My stomach shrivels. What if she’s ill? What if she’s suffering in the absence of the poison the way the wine lovers suffer when our stores run dry? What if I’ve put her health in danger?

“Isra!” I pound on the door with my fist. “Answer me, or I’m coming in!” I wait a long moment, giving her one last chance to call out, before I turn the handle.

The heavy wood hits the wall behind with a thud that echoes in the empty room. In the center, Isra’s bed is neatly made, the quilt tucked tightly at the edges. In the corner, the maid’s narrow cot is also made, but the mattress shows signs that it held a body not too long ago—dips and depressions, a sagging place on one side where she sat as she put on her shoes. Isra’s mattress, however …

I cross the room to stare down at it. Perfectly smooth. Not a dent or a shadow. Either Needle shakes the mattress out and reshapes it every morning, or Isra hasn’t slept here recently.

And if she didn’t sleep in her bed last night … where did she sleep?

And with whom?

“That lying … little …,” I murmur through clenched teeth.

My hands ball into fists, and it’s all I can do to keep from punching the wall near her headboard. Isra’s been using me to cover her indiscretions. She could be with another man right now, conceiving a bastard to bear after we marry.

I will not raise another man’s bastard. I will not.

She’d better pray there’s another explanation, I think as I slam the door to her bedroom behind me. If Isra loses my affection, she will have very few friends in this city.

And a queen without friends will find herself a dead queen sooner than later.

14 GEM

I woke before the sun, driven by the need to put an end to our adventure as soon as possible. After adding fuel to the fire and waking Isra long enough to assure her that I’d be back before the flames went out, I hurried up the mountain to fetch the bulbs we’d come for. I couldn’t risk telling her the truth about the garden.

No matter what happened between us last night, I still need an excuse to leave my cell. Come spring, I must steal the royal roses and return to my people.

Still, I didn’t like leaving her alone, even for a short time. I walked as quickly as my sore legs would carry me and was back by her side by the time the first pink light kissed the desert.

This time, she was where I had left her, curled in a ball on the ground, her sweater-covered hands pressed against her lips. I watched her sleep as I tied the gnarled roots of the bulbs together with strips of dried grass,