Monstrous (8 page)

I will rest for a few more minutes, just to be sure he is gone. Then, and only then, will I resume my task.

WHEN I WAKE ON THE FLOOR OF THE TOWER ROOM, FATHER WAITS IN THE
armchair in the corner, studying me carefully. The limp bundle of girl remains on the bed where I placed her last night. I waited a long time before fetching her and was so exhausted that I must have fallen asleep as soon as I set her down.

“Something troubles you, my dear,” Father says.

My face burns and I take a seat on the edge of a bed. My dreams were plagued with images of the strange boy, and the haunting vision of the little blond girl. I cannot lie. Father can see into the recesses of my mind and sense everything I know.

“That boy,” I say, fearing his anger. “He saw me on the way to the prison. He called for me to stop.”

Father grabs my arms. “What? How could you let someone see you? Did you speak to him?”

I flinch. “I ran. I hid. He did not catch me.”

The tension in Father's shoulders relaxes. “Good. You are certain he did not follow you to the prison?”

“I am certain,” I assure Father.

“You must be careful, Kymera. If anyone else were to find the secret prison, they would be in danger, too. Only you can go in and out safely.”

Shame slinks through my belly. For some reason, I do not like the thought of the boy getting caught by the wizard. I brush the strange feelings away as Father paces the circular room. He taps his forefinger to his chin as he often does when he thinks hard about something.

“What I do not understand is why the boy was out after curfew. The king's proclamation allows for no exceptions.”

My face reddens. “I might know something, but I cannot make sense of it.”

Father stops and stares. “Well, go on, child.”

I clasp and unclasp my hands. They are sweaty, which strikes me as odd.

“I am not sure the king is in power anymore.”

“What?” The look on Father's face makes me want to giggle. Confusion, mixed with fear and a tinge of happiness. So much conflict in the span of a mere two seconds.

“The palace is empty.”

“Tell me, how do you know this?” he whispers.

“I am sorry, Father, but I had to see it for myself. All the fairy tales revolve around a palace, and after all you've
told me of our city, I could not help it. But when I arrived, no one was there. Except that boy.” I frown, realizing how much this could upset Father. I wish I had held my tongue.

“No one? What do you mean, no one?”

“The only guards were at the gates, there was no heavy breathing of sleep—one of the halls even seemed to be falling apart. That boy knew secret ways in and out.” My hands quiver as the uneasiness from the night before descends again, and I clasp them together.

“What did the boy do in the palace?”

“It was all very strange. I followed him to the throne room and watched him open a panel in the dais stairs. He hid a note there and ran off.” I grin. “But I am sly and I read his note. I put it right back. No one will know.”

“What did it say?” Father's voice is throaty and he seems to be having trouble swallowing.

“The meaning baffles me. It said: ‘More girls sick. K suspects wizard. Will remain where he is. More guards.'”

Father's hands shake, but then he laughs out loud, startling me. “He is running away. The king is running away and using a mere boy to deliver secret messages for him. No wonder the city council still makes a show of entering the palace every day. They are only there to retrieve messages, not truly holding court.” He sighs and runs a hand through his silvery hair. “Kym, our king is a grand fool. If you can intercept his messages, he has no hope of keeping them from the wizard. He may as well deliver them right to his doorstep. And sending a boy! After curfew! As though no one would notice.”

I am pleased Father is amused by my discovery. “The king must fear this wizard.”

“Indeed he does.” Father's face takes on a grave expression. “The wizard sacrificed his daughter, too. The crown princess.”

I suck in my breath. “Oh, the poor girl.” I picture a girl in fine clothes, withering in the prison under the wizard's thumb. It breaks my heart. In a way, it reminds me of that fairy tale about the princess in the tower. “I wish I had been alive in time to save her.”

Father cups my cheek. “You would have done a fine job of it, too, I am sure. But we can only save those who remain. Mourning the lost will not help those who can still be found.”

I am lucky to have such a wise, kind father. It fuels my boldness.

“Father, was there another girl? A small, blond one who I may have played with?” I cannot hide the tremor in my voice.

“Another girl? No, my dear. You are my only child. We lived in Bryre but briefly, and after that it was only you and I and your mother here in our cottage.”

Mother
. That word again. Every time I hear it, the hollowness inside me expands. I do not know about magic, but words are powerful things indeed.

“Why do you ask?” Father says.

“It was another sliver of memory,” I say. “I could have sworn it was a little girl.”

“Perhaps it was a memory of you looking in the mirror,
or a friend you made when we were in Bryre.”

“Yes, that must be it,” I agree. “When can I hunt down the wizard? I want to destroy him.” The remnants of my shattered memories may be all I have to remind me who I was before, but I know who I am now.

The vehicle of the wizard's destruction. Every day I embrace this more wholeheartedly.

“In good time, child. I am still trying to find him. It seems he and the king are well hidden both from each other and from me.”

“I know you will find him.” If anyone can do it, it is Father. I just hope it is soon.

I flutter through the moonlit woods with a heavy heart. Even though he is no longer upset, Father's words still ring in my ears.

How could you let someone see you?

How could I, indeed? I had not meant to, but I have not seen many humans aside from Father and this boy. I must have stared too long at him in the palace and somehow caught his attention. He would not have noticed and followed me otherwise. My curiosity will be our undoing.

Our work is too important for me to risk. I must push the boy out of my head. It is, according to Father, the only way. I do not see any other.

So why is my pulse pounding and my breath shorter than usual?

Pausing at the edge of the city walls, I check for guards, then bound up to the walkway at the top. I take a deep
breath, inhaling the glorious scent of roses beneath as the night blooms waft upward.

Though I saw it for only a moment, that face is etched upon my heart, with lines and planes different from Father's. Younger. And . . . handsome. Yes, that is the word.
Handsome
. And his expression, a mix of shock and something I cannot identify. Perhaps no one looked at my former self in such a manner so I have no word for it in my lexicon.

But I must push him out of my thoughts. I do not know this boy, and Father is certain he will be trouble. He will cause us to fail. Or worse, he might be working with the wizard. Why else would someone be out after curfew lurking around the palace? Yes, the boy cannot be up to anything good.

My mind flits back to the prison filled with girls in pain. I jump down and run so fast through the alleys that I may as well be flying.

I slow as I reach the square with the fountain, now wary of entering an exposed place. I slink through the shadows, losing a feather or two to the rough stone walls. The welcome cool seeps through my wings and cloak to my taut muscles and flaming skin. A familiar scent meanders through the square—that of baking bread.

A flush creeps up my patchwork neck and I switch to my cat's eyes. Before I can complete a scan of the square, the boy steps around a column and approaches the fountain. The smell of bread grows stronger.

I freeze, switching back to my human eyes. I will myself
to blend into the black shadows surrounding me.

When he reaches the fountain, he stops and rests something on the rim. The playful cherubs block my view of it. My throat closes. I am trapped. If I move an inch he will see me.

The boy tosses something into the fountain, then runs a finger through the waters. He raises his eyes and—to my shock—meets mine without flinching and winks. Before I can recover my senses, he bows, then runs off down his usual alley.

All instincts are on alert. Is this a trap? What did he leave at the fountain's rim? How did he know I was here? I curse myself for my stupidity. Despite my efforts, I have not been cautious enough. I am not good enough to fulfill the mission Father created me to complete.

I am a failure.

I close my eyes, listening to the night sounds and sniffing the breeze to ensure the boy has truly left. The echoes of his steps and his familiar scent fade as he travels away from me.

I breathe out slowly. He saw me. How strange are his manners!

What did he leave on the fountain? Curiosity rears its head, too powerful for me to resist. I must know.

I leave the safety of my shadows and circle the fountain, the cherubs happily spraying me as I pass.

There, on the edge of the fountain, is a perfect red rose. Its scent must have mixed in with the other roses in the area, masking it from me until now.

The boy who smells like bread and cinnamon left me a rose.

I pick it up, wary of thorns and barbs. I press the crimson petals to my nose. It tickles, but smells divine. The warmth on my neck rises to the crown of my head.

I like this flower. I like this boy. Someone working for the wizard would not leave a gift like this. Would they? I must ask Father, I know, but part of me resists. What if he thinks the flower is under a spell? What if he makes me get rid of it? I want to keep it, smell it, and stare at it as long as it lasts.

It is the loveliest thing I have ever seen. That boy left it for me. It is mine. I should not have to give it up.

Perhaps I will tell Father in the morning. Tonight, it is just for me.

A smile creeps over my face and I dip my hand in the water, swirling the images of shining coins at the bottom. I wonder what those are for. Father will know.

I tuck the rose into my thick, braided hair and hurry to the prison.

Tonight, a new pair of guards is posted outside, and I am forced to circle around. I watch their patrol carefully and time my own movements to evade their notice.

On the roof, it does not take me long to pry the shingles up. More shadows than before are posted in the girls' room. I count at least five tonight. I toss down the vial of powder and watch the smoky plumes curl around all the bodies in the room, girls and guards alike. Soon they all slumber, and I can go about my business.

I have devised a system for deciding which girl to take each night. I go bed by bed down the line. It is fair and requires less thought.

These girls, they are beginning to unsettle me. While I am grateful not to be a weak child anymore, sometimes I wish I could remember what it was like to be completely human. To have a simpler life, free from the call of duty, and the strange impulsive tugs of animal instinct.

One where I could meet a boy offering roses by a fountain without fear of the repercussions.

As I gather the girl in the designated bed, I realize another child has already taken the place of the one I took the night before and each night before that. Every bed in the prison is filled again. I gape for a moment too long and hear the creak of the front door opening below. The guards posted outside return for the change in shifts, just like they do every two hours.

Instinct takes over. I bolt through the rafters.

The second I hit the trees beyond the walls, I wing home, letting the night air wash away my fear that all my efforts to save the girls of Bryre and defeat the wizard will come to naught.

I LIE ON MY BED, ALLOWING THE MORNING SUN TO WARM MY NAKED,
mottled arms. I stretch toward it, grinning as I recall the secret stashed beneath my pillow. I reach under it to retrieve the latest rose. The boy has left one for me at the fountain for the past several nights. The petals of this one are flattened, but the scent lingers. I press it to my nose and remember the boy.