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

“You’re right. I trusted you, and tomorrow I’ll have bruises in the

shape of your fingers on my arm.” I watch him flinch in shame, and the

wonder of sight hits me all over again. I can see. I can see, and my entire life

is going to change, and I can’t bear to spend another minute of this amazing

night with Bo. “But I can also see for the first time since I was a little girl. It

is more than I ever could have hoped for, and I thank you for that. Truly.”

Bo bows his head, his expression softening in the face of my

gratitude.

“But I will need to know how you learned about the poison,” I add.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow. I want to know everything, especially who you

suspect of drugging my tea.”

He pales, and his eyes widen before he looks away. I’m not sure what

that look means, but my gut tells me it isn’t good. I expect I’m not going to

like what Bo has to say. But then again, I expect I won’t like much of what

Bo has to say from now on.

“Leave us,” I say, meaning to use my position to my advantage until

the day Bo becomes my equal. “Forget about the healers. I’m feeling

better.” I am. Now that I’m seeing clearly, the vertigo is gone. My eyes still

ache, but it’s a wonderful ache, the pain of unused muscles doing

miraculous things.

Bo nods stiffly and flicks two fingers in Gem’s direction. “Come,

beast. I’ll return you to your cell.”

“You’ll do no such thing,” I say, earning another scowl from Bo. “As

you said, it wouldn’t be wise for it to be widely known that Gem was out of

his cell today. I’ll have Needle take him in an hour or two, after the city is

quiet. Tell the guards at the base of the tower that they’re dismissed.”

“I can’t leave you unguarded with this—”

“You’ll do what I tell you to do until the day we are married. Or you

and your father will both find yourselves expelled from the military force.”

Bo’s jaw drops. “You wouldn’t. The people would hate you.”

“Let them hate me. Any emotion would be preferable to their pity. I

don’t intend to be worthy of anyone’s pity, not anymore,” I say, hoping Bo

can sense the iron at the core of my words. “I decided that before I was

able to see. Now that I can, I won’t let anyone keep me from ruling my city

the way I see fit.”

Bo’s eyes tighten around the edges, and his soft mouth firms into a

pucker that isn’t flattering. I sense he would like to tell me a thing or two,

but he knows better. Until he’s my husband, he will have to bite his tongue.

Afterward …

I won’t think of afterward. If I think of my wedding night with Bo or

all the days after, I will be sick all over again, despite the fact that I have

nothing in my stomach.

“I’ll send for you tomorrow,” I say.

With one last glare at Gem, and an only slightly less fierce glance my

way, Bo turns and strides through the door, across the music room, and

down the hall. The door to the stairs slams a moment later.

I sag against Needle, too weak to hold myself up now that the

immediate danger has passed.

“Let me help,” Gem says, his arm coming around my waist. I lean into

him, looping my arm around his shoulders, but keeping my gaze on the

stones at my feet. I’m not ready to look him in the eye, not yet.

Needle slides from under my other arm and steps back far enough

for me to look upon her dear face. She’s similar to the picture my mind

painted all the times I traced her features with my fingers—straight brown

hair tucked under her cap, a face as round as a saucer, and enormous eyes.

They’re beautiful, kind and intelligent and sad, but determined and

just … everything I imagined Needle’s eyes would be.

I’m scarcely aware the tears are coming before they’re slipping down

my cheeks.

“Thank you,” I say. “For everything.”

I know she understands that I mean more than everything she’s done

the past few days. I mean every day she kept me from being so desperately

alone. Every minute she spent teaching me to understand her special

language. Every little-girl tantrum she tolerated when I was too young to

understand what a blessing she was to my life, and she not nearly old

enough to bear the burden of raising me.

I know she understands because she starts crying, too. Smiling and

crying and touching my arm, my shoulder, my cheek—all the places she

would touch to communicate her concern when I was blind.

By the ancestors, I’m not blind. I can see her. I can see.

I lean down to hug her with the arm not wrapped around Gem’s

shoulders, and end up bumping my forehead into hers. Not hard enough to

hurt, but hard enough to make us both laugh. Me, a soft giggle; her, a silent

shake of her shoulders.

“Sorry. I’m not judging distance well,” I say, pushing my hair—which

has already escaped from Needle’s quick braid—from my face,

remembering how terrible I look. I glance down, shocked by just how

rumpled and dirt-streaked my overalls are. Bo must be desperate to be king

if he can still stomach the thought of marriage after seeing me tonight.

Even dressed up and freshly washed, I’m far from a Yuan beauty.

My heart lurches, and my knees go weak. Myself. I’ll be able to see

myself. Finally, I’ll know what made every soul in Yuan gasp when I stepped

out onto the dais after my coronation.

But not now. I’m not strong enough. I need food and water and …

I need … to sit down.

As if reading my mind, Needle motions Gem and me inside, shooing

us over to the low couch where I sit to practice my harp, while she rushes

into the other room. The couch is black and blue. Black silk, with

midnight-blue flowers and black thread binding it to a frame so polished, I

could see my reflection in it if I tried.

I don’t.

I look up at Gem, studying his profile as he settles me on the couch

and sits awkwardly beside me. The seat is so low that his knees nearly

touch his chest. He looks out of place, but no more out of place than I do.

My filthy overalls and ratted halo of hair are from a different world than the

silk we sit on.

I lift my hand and pull one of the less fuzzy tendrils in front of my

eyes.

“Red,” I mutter, hand shaking as I pull the curl straight, before letting

it pop back into a coil.

“Brown,” Gem says, his voice as careful as it always is under the

dome. He sounds like a citizen of Yuan again. It makes me sad. I miss the

way he rolled his words when we were out in the desert, letting them

simmer at the back of his throat before spitting them out. “Your hair is

brown.”

“But it has red in it,” I say, looking up at him. “I didn’t expect that.”

He doesn’t turn my way. He stares at the wall, at a portrait of a girl

with light olive skin, dark hair piled on her head, green eyes, and a wide

mouth that dominates her face. She’s mysterious-looking. There’s

something sad but secretive and mischievous in her expression. I wonder if

she’s one of the ancient goddesses from our old planet that my father told

stories about, the ones who were always shifting into animals so they could

fly down from the heavens to spy on humans. The girl’s throat is so long

and elegant, I wouldn’t be surprised to see her turn into a swan.

“She’s beautiful,” I say, with a happy sigh. “Like one of the old

goddesses.”

“Yes.” Gem doesn’t sound happy.

My smile thins. “Thank you … for coming to—”

“Someone’s been poisoning you?” Gem turns back to me with a

guarded expression that tells me nothing about what he’s thinking.