Of Beast and Beauty - Jay Stacey - Страница 49
- Предыдущая
- 49/73
- Следующая
more afraid of Bo, so … maybe …
“We’ll join you in the music room when he’s ready,” I say. The hope
that I might be able to talk to Needle about the way I feel about Gem lifts
my spirits. At least a little.
Needle moves a hand to her lips and then rubs the same hand in a
circle on her stomach, but I shake my head. “No, we don’t need anything
else to eat or drink,” I say. “Thank you.”
She takes a step back into the hall, but I can tell she’s reluctant to go.
Every minute Gem’s here is another minute we could be discovered. Bo
could be fetching his father and a team of guards right now. I don’t think he
would risk his future—he wants to be king and understands how stubborn I
can be if I don’t get my way—but Needle’s right. We won’t be safe until
Gem’s back in his cell.
“Don’t worry,” I assure her. “We’ll be quick. I promise.”
Needle smiles—a grin that transforms her simple face into something
truly beautiful—and nods before disappearing down the hall toward the
music room.
“She’s happy you can see her,” Gem says.
“I’m happy I can see her, too.” I turn back to him. “I never
understood how much I was missing. We have our own language, but she
says a hundred things at once with her face.”
“She does. And she’s right. I should go. We can—”
“Not yet,” I beg, wishing he never had to go. “Tell me your people’s
version of the story. It won’t take long, will it?”
Gem’s forehead wrinkles, the scales there crinkling like tissue paper.
“Not too long …” He takes a breath, and his forehead smoothes. “The
legends of my people say the old ships brought too many colonists. They
expected many of the settlers to die in the first years here, falling prey to
predators or disease. But this world was good to them. Their numbers
grew, and by the time the domes were complete, there wasn’t enough
room inside for everyone. The people who organized the expeditions, those
in power, the people you call the nobles, saw what was coming and took
steps to protect themselves. They crept into the domes in the night and
locked the other colonists out.”
“Because they had mutated?”
“A little, but back then my people still looked more like the Smooth
Skins,” he says, taking my hand in his and turning it over, running his finger
over the flaky skin where my claws would be if I had them. “They didn’t
fully mutate until months later.… The summer heat was brutal that year,
and brought new predators from the mountains. My people were dying of
sunstroke and animal attacks. They left their settlement and returned to
New Hope to—”
“One of the first cities,” I say, pleased I paid attention to my history
lessons. “But that’s hundreds of miles south, past Port South even.”
“My people were originally part of the New Hope settlement,” he
says. “So they returned there, begging to be allowed in until the heat
passed, but the people inside refused to open the gates. That’s when my
ancestors started north. They hoped the summer would be easier here, but
it wasn’t. They made it as far as Yuan before being taken in by another
group of outsiders. They had built shelters with the remains of their ship
and were weathering the heat a little better.”
He crosses his arms, emphasizing the breadth of his shoulders. It was
hard for me to imagine him being descended from the same people as the
small, narrow men of this city. Learning that half of his people came from
somewhere else makes sense.
“The real changes started not long after,” he continues. “But my
ancestors were grateful. They considered the mutations a blessing.
Mutation allowed them to survive the heat, and fight off predators. In
those days, there were still giant horned cats hunting the lands here.”
I blink. “Horned cats?”
He nods. “At first, the creatures left us alone, but when the land
outside the domes began to die, their usual prey died along with it and they
began hunting people.”
“It’s strange to think of the world being so … different.”
“But it was different,” he says with a passion that assures me this
isn’t just a story for him. This is his history, the legacy of his people. “There
were forests and grasslands and fruit and game. In the early days, there
was no reason for my people to envy the people in the domed cities. We
had everything we needed. Even when the forests died and the grassland
turned to desert, we survived. After the mutations, our children were all
born larger and stronger than Smooth Skins, with scales and claws and
other adaptations that allowed us to survive.”
“Then why …” I hesitate, knowing I’ll have to phrase my question
carefully. “Why did your people and the others outside the domes attack
the cities? I understand you need food now,” I hurry to add, “and it’s a
matter of survival, but the first of the domes fell four hundred years ago.”
“That’s when the tribes began to realize the truth,” he says. “That
while our land was dying, the land beneath the domes grew more and more
fruitful. Our elders said it was bad magic, and some of the more violent
tribes decided it was time for the cities to be destroyed.”
“But if that’s true,” I say, finally understanding all his talk of Yuan
robbing the land beyond our walls, “then why hasn’t the desert come back
to life? Almost all of the domed cities have fallen. There are only three left.
Shouldn’t the world beyond the domes have recovered with fewer
cities … draining the lands outside?”
Gem looks away, watching the lamp on my bedside table burn,
uncertainty clear in his eyes. “Some of the tribes to the north think all of
the cities must fall before the planet will begin to heal.”
“What do you think?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “Maybe they’re right. My chief thought …”
“She thought what?”
“She thought …” When his gaze returns to me, his eyes are so full of
pain, it summons a sound from my throat.
“What’s wrong?” I ask, coming to my knees on the floor in front of
him.
He shakes his head. “I can’t …”
“Tell me.” I run my fingers down his cheeks, over the whiskers on his
chin. They’re black, even blacker than his hair, and sharp enough to tickle
the skin around my mouth when we kiss.
A kiss. It seems the thing to do. I lean in, pressing my lips to his
forehead the way he pressed his to mine, offering comfort, but after only a
moment he takes me by the shoulders and sets me gently away.
“I should go.” He rises from the floor in one effortless movement and
starts toward the door.
“All right,” I say, trying not to be hurt by his eagerness to leave. He’s
right. We’ve already been longer than the “moment” I promised Needle.
“I’ll send the guards at the usual time tomorrow.” I come to my feet
much less gracefully, struggling with my skirts, and follow him down the
hall to the music room. “We can talk more while we work in the garden.”
He casts a narrow look over his shoulder.
“I know what you said about the bulbs, but it will give us an excuse to
meet.” I clear my throat, pushing down the sadness rising inside me as
Needle hands Gem the rope and gathers her sweater.
It doesn’t matter that the garden is a lie. I’m not tainted, and Gem
isn’t a monster. There might be no need for herbs to impede mutation. If
the people in the Banished camp have scales or claws or other mutant
characteristics, there’s nothing wrong with that. What’s wrong is the way
the rest of the city treats them. I’ll find a way to convince the whole citizens
- Предыдущая
- 49/73
- Следующая
