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

day she insisted on working side by side with a monster that could kill her

in an instant. She’s put the entire city at risk. She’s selfish and childish, at

best. At worst, she’s on the path to becoming as mad as her mother.” He

sighs, and his arm drops to his side. “The king should never have married an

outsider.”

“Were all the people of New Persia mad?” I know the story—that

King Yuejihua married a woman from across the planet who arrived in the

last of her people’s flying carriages, fleeing a city on the verge of collapse in

the wake of Monstrous attack—but I never thought to wonder anything

more.

“No, not that I know of. It was a small city, but they kept their

technology functioning throughout the centuries,” he says, motioning to

the servant waiting in the shadows beneath the arbor, indicating we’re in

need of drink. “In the beginning, the king was more interested in the

technology than the wife. He wanted to see what our ancestors had given

up when they’d adopted our more primitive way of life. He agreed to marry

the king of New Persia’s youngest daughter only if the flying machine used

to deliver her was also his to keep.”

“He kept the flying machine?” What would it be like to see

something like that? Something from long ago, built on another world?

“Where is it?”

Father’s brows lift, clearly disapproving of my interest in the

machines our ancestors chose for us to live without. They believed

technology was evil and led to the destruction of our old planet.

“It’s in pieces,” he says. “Its parts put to other uses. The New

Persians failed to send fuel. Without it, the machine was useless. There was

no way to lift it off the ground, or to send Queen Kanya back to where

she’d come from.” He turns, fetching a goblet of peach juice from the tray

the servant has brought. When the tray is shifted before me, I wave it

away. I’m thirsty, but it seems wrong to sip something sweet at a time like

this. “But by then the king didn’t want to send her away,” Father continues.

“Kanya was a beautiful woman. Very tall, bold-featured. Nothing like our

women, but beautiful. As Isra is beautiful. And she was kind and gentle,

before the madness took her.”

I think on that for a moment, of Isra’s mother, and madness, and

beauty, and other things passed down from parents to their children.

“There will be no children for Isra and me,” I say, unable to imagine Isra

tolerating me in her bed.

“It’s for the best,” Father says. “Better to wait and try to be a true

husband with your second wife.”

My second wife. I haven’t even taken my first. It’s … too much. I can’t

think about it. Not now. I’ll think about it tomorrow night, when Isra and I

are married and I am king. Surely all of this will seem more manageable

then.

“If you don’t need me, I’ll go back to the barracks,” I say, with a deep

breath. “I could use some time to myself.”

“Go. I’ll have dinner sent to your room.” He drains the last of the

liquid. “After dinner, we’ll discuss how you’d like to take care of the other

matter.”

“The other matter?”

“The Monstrous.” He holds out his goblet. The servant and tray

magically appear to claim it and whisk it away. “You should kill it tonight.

Now that Isra’s been deemed incompetent, there’s no reason to wait. The

marriage will go forward with or without her consent.”

I swallow. I didn’t think Father would expect me to kill the Monstrous

myself, but I should have. “You’re right,” I say, refusing to show how

unnerved I am by the prospect of slaughtering the beast, the night before

my wedding no less. “I’ll choose my best men. We’ll go to the creature’s

rooms tonight and … kill it in its sleep. If possible.”

Father smiles, that same smile from last night, the one that assures

me he’s proud of who I’m becoming. “A wise plan. And a merciful one.” His

voice is as silky as it was when he praised Isra for her keen perception, and

for a moment I wonder …

I stop the thought before it can find its other half. I don’t wonder

anything. I know what must be done and I will do it, and come tomorrow

night, all the terrible things will be over.

TWENTY-TWO

GEM

I wait for her all day and long into the night, staring out the window

at the royal garden, watching for a shadow slipping from the orchard, but

she doesn’t come.

My prison gets smaller by the hour. The bars more hateful. I prowl

the confined space a hundred times. I do every one of my exercises a

thousand. By the time the three moons rise high in the sky, I should be too

exhausted to stay awake, but I’m not.

I can’t sleep. I can’t rest until I know what’s happened. If someone’s

hurt her … If they’ve locked her away …

I’ll break through these bars with my bare hands. I’ll kill every soldier

who stands in my way. I’m not sure if this is love or madness, but it doesn’t

matter. It’s real. True. And as inescapable as this wretched cage.

I growl and slam my balled fists into the door of my cell. It rattles on

its hinges, but doesn’t break or bend. Outside, there isn’t a sound. The

guard from my early days is asleep in his own bed. The Smooth Skins are so

sure of their doors and locks. But Isra found a way out of her prison. If she

can do it, I can do it. I will do it.

I spin and stalk back to the window, claws slicking out as I move. I

haven’t tried my claws on their bars. I wasn’t ready to escape before, but I

am now. I have to make sure she’s all right.

She’s not all right. She’s marked for death, and refuses to fight for her

life. If she had someone else read the covenant and it offered no hope …

I clench my jaw, grinding the thought to dust between my teeth. It

doesn’t matter. Isra would come if she could. Even if it was only to say

good-bye.

I won’t let her say good-bye.

My claws strike the bars hard enough to send pain shooting up the

backs of my hands into my forearms. I curse and shake my fingers at my

side, moaning as my claws draw painfully back into their chambers. Every

nerve in my arm is on fire, and the skin above my nail beds is ripped and

bleeding, but the bars don’t have a nick on them.

I curse in my language, adding in a few foul Smooth Skin words I’ve

picked up from listening to the soldiers. I kick the wall beneath the window

hard enough to bruise my toes through my thin boots, and curse again, but

manage to keep myself from further self-destruction by wrapping my

fingers around the bars and shaking them with all the strength in my body. I

shake and shake, tensing until the muscles in my neck threaten to snap. By

the time I’m finished, I’m even more exhausted than I was before.

Maybe enough to sleep. Or at least to rest …

I’m turning to my bed when I see it. The shadow near the garden.

A woman’s shadow, winding her way through the orchard. She seems

familiar, but I can’t place her until she steps onto the paving stones and the

moonlight catches her curls. It’s Isra, but she doesn’t walk the way she did

before. She doesn’t reach with her toes before she steps; she doesn’t

hesitate before allowing the rest of her body to catch up with her feet. Her

eyes have changed her. It will take time for me to recognize her in the dark,

time I don’t know if we’ll have.

I want to call out, but I don’t dare. The guards will be through the