Of Beast and Beauty - Jay Stacey (читать хорошую книгу txt) 📗

the floor. My hands were encased in silk gloves until I was forced to remove

them for the feast, and my feet are snug inside new slippers. Even my legs

are bundled into thick cotton stockings. If I trip and my dress rises up,

Needle and I wanted to be sure every inch of tainted flesh was covered.

We were so careful, with my dress, with my hair—slicked into a bun

so tight it’s impossible to tell how wild my curls usually are—but all the

preparations were a waste of time. I’m still taller than every whole citizen

of Yuan. I’m still big-boned and sharp-featured, with hands too large and

lips too wide and eyes too sunken.

The common people saw me for the tainted thing I was the moment I

stepped out on the dais. They gasped. One shocked collective breath,

followed by a silence so thick and terrible I would have turned and fled if I’d

been sure where I was going.

The cheering and clapping started soon after, and Needle insisted the

people were simply surprised by how “lovely” and “exotic” I looked, but it

was too late for her kind lies to make a difference. I know the truth. My

people are horrified by their queen. Yuan has never had a tainted ruler. I

am the first, the contemptible offspring of the king’s mad second wife. Her

insanity almost cost the people their lives, and now her tainted daughter

sullies their throne.

I’m sure they’re all praying I will die before having children of my

own. As long as I’m married, the covenant will be secure. My king will be

able to remarry, and the poor noble girl forced to wed him will take on the

mantle of sacrifice.

Sacrifice. Blood and bones. That’s all I am.

The common people cheered, and the nobles have spent the feast

flattering me, but the truth is that none of them sees me as anything but a

walking dead girl. There have been queens who ruled with wisdom and

power, but none of them were tainted. Or blind. Or locked away and

hidden from the people. I will have to be truly extraordinary to lift myself

above all my failings.

“Should I have the servants bring more sweet wine?” Bo asks, laying

a hand on my wrist and letting it linger there too long.

“No, thank you.” I pull my hand away, scratching between my sticky

fingers to cover my escape.

The more wine Bo drinks, the more familiar he becomes, ensuring

that I can’t help remembering the kiss he stole when he was the first to

know I was queen. In hindsight, that kiss is nothing if not suspicious. For

twenty years, Junjie has been the most powerful man in Yuan aside from

the king. There’s nowhere left for him to rise except to the throne. He’s

already married and too old to wed me himself, but I’m sure he finds his

son an acceptable substitute.

“You are beautiful tonight,” Bo whispers, his wine and rosemary

breath warm on my cheek. “Your eyes are like springtime.”

“Thank you,” I mumble, struggling to keep my expression from going

sour. There’s nothing wrong with Bo’s lies. They’re pretty lies. Kind lies.

There’s nothing wrong with him wanting to be king, either. Someone

will be my king. It might as well be Bo. He is solicitous and flattering. Our

marriage would make his father happy, and the people relieved. It would

fulfill my duty as a daughter of the covenant, and secure the future of the

city. All good reasons to relax and let his hands linger, but for some reason

my body remains tense no matter how much wine I drink.

“May I walk you to your rooms tonight?” Bo asks, his arm snaking

around my shoulders, trapping me in my chair.

Around us, the buzzing grows hushed for a moment before resuming

at a more insistent drone. The nobles are talking about me. They’ve been

talking about me since Needle led me to my chair on the raised platform at

the center of the room. The hall eventually grew too noisy to pick out

individual words, but before it did, I heard more than enough.

Words like “large” and “mad” and “mother.” Words like “sad” and

“strange” and “frightful.”

“Would that be all right?” Bo’s fingers grip my shoulder, making my

pulse speed. I feel like a rabbit trapped beneath a falcon’s claws. Prey.

Something to be consumed.

… get her married …

… glad it’s not my son …

… an embarrassment …

The scraps of drunken conversation are arrows flying through the

roasted-duck-perfumed air, finding their marks in my heart.

I take a deep breath and remember the smell of the newly broken

ground in my healing garden. I remember the feel of the plow handles

beneath my palms, the sound of Gem’s new brace squeaking as he walks,

his gravel-and-grit voice telling stories of his tribe while we work the rocky

dirt by the Desert Gate.

Dry grass is all that’s ever grown there, and I know Junjie doubts

anything else ever will, but a patch of land is a small price to pay for an

absent queen. And why shouldn’t I be absent? It’s becoming increasingly

clear that no one intends to take me seriously. There might as well be a

stuffed toy sitting on the throne, for all the attention my advisors pay me

when I dare to speak up during their interminable meetings. There’s no

point in fighting them. I’d rather leave the running of things to Junjie and

the other cranky old men.

And so I have my field and my Monstrous to help me tend it, and four

guards to watch over me while I work, and Junjie meets with the other

advisors and the nobles and soldiers and farmers and shopkeepers alone,

without a blind girl getting in his way.

I find the garden a more-than-satisfying use of my time. The work is

hard but simple, and Gem has proven himself capable of making the best of

his captivity. He is cordial and pleasant and appreciative of the efforts I

make on his behalf. Best of all, with Gem, I never have to worry about what

I look like.

Heard she’s hiding … sickening … underneath. The whispers grow

louder, harsher.

“Isra?”

Repulsive … never … large. My fork falls to my plate with a dull clink.

Strange … mad … unnat—

I push my chair back, shrugging Bo’s arm from my shoulders as I

stand. If I don’t escape this room, I’m going to explode.

“Isra? Are you—?”

“I need some fresh air.” I hold out my hand, grateful when Needle’s

fingers immediately appear beneath. “I’ll be back in a moment. Have them

bring more sweet wine.”

I squeeze Needle’s hand, and she immediately sets off at a brisk but

reasonable pace, leading me down the platform steps, weaving between

the tables scattered throughout the hall.

Conversations stop as I pass by, and I swear I can feel the nobles’

eyes raking up and down my long body, clawing at my dress, hoping to

catch a glimpse of the scaled skin they’ve heard rumors about, eager for me

to do something wild and uncivilized.

I hold my head higher and press the tip of my tongue to the roof of

my mouth. I won’t cry. I won’t get angry. I won’t give them any reason to

bring up the older stories, the ones about how I abused the women sent to

care for me after my mother’s death, or the way I howled like a Monstrous

from the balcony of my tower in the middle of the night, giving the city

children nightmares.

I can’t remember that time—I was only four years old, by the

moons!—but Needle warned me that the stories live on. My people are

waiting for a reason to believe I’m still that feral creature, that girl as

tainted on the inside as on the outside.

As soon as we’re out of sight of the banquet hall, Needle begins to