says beneath his breath, as if he knows my moment of sightedness in the garden is a secret. “By the roses.”
“Only sometimes,” I whisper. “And only since I was ten.”
My tenth birthday, to be exact, the last day I was knowingly allowed out of the tower. Before then, Baba and I went to the royal garden every year on my birthday, but that was the first year that he let me explore on my own, let me feel my way around the edge of the ancient flower bed to the place where the vines spill over one side.
I pricked my finger by accident, and the sunlit world rushed up to meet me. The roses showed me the city from high above, all the flowers
and the green, green springtime grass, and every tall, white building gleaming in the morning light. It was beautiful, breathtaking to a girl who had nearly forgotten the world of color and light.
I would have stayed there forever, grateful tears streaming down my face, if my father hadn’t pulled me away.
As soon as he realized I was bleeding, Baba carried me back to the tower, but the damage was already done. I knew the roses had more magic than anyone else realized. I knew they could be my eyes. I told Baba, but he forbade me to speak of such mad things and refused to take me to the garden again. Months passed, but I didn’t forget that shining moment. It took a year, but I found a way out, risking death climbing over the edge of my balcony, rather than returning to the hopeless darkness.
The loss of hope is the worst kind of loss. I don’t want to be the cause of that in someone, even if that someone is a monster.
“I will help you recover,” I say, with an intensity that surprises me. “I swear it.”
“Thank you. Isra.” My name is uncomfortable in his mouth, strange-sounding in that accent of his, but there’s something nice about it all the same. Something nice about being Isra instead of “my lady.”
Before I can assure him there’s no need to thank me, the healers arrive. Needle pulls me to my feet, guiding me down the hall after Gem and the healers, fingers busy beneath my palm as she describes the scene. Two male healers carry Gem back to his room, but it is a woman who runs her hands lightly over his legs, examining the Monstrous with a gentleness that Needle approves of.
“How is he?” I ask when the healer is finished.
“There’s no bleeding on the inside, my lady,” she says. “But the muscles are still healing.”
“But they will heal. He’ll be able to walk again?” I ask, anxious for her answer.
“I don’t see any reason why not,” the healer says. “He’ll need a brace on the left leg and crutches for a time, but the muscles should mend. If I’d been notified he was to work today, I would have had the aids prepared.”
Her tone is nothing but deferential, but I feel chastised all the same.
“I’ll consult with you before we try again,” I say. “How much time do you think he needs? A week? Two?”
“He should begin exercising as soon as the leg is braced,” she says.
“We don’t have anything in his size ready-made, but the brace makers work quickly. I can have him fitted this afternoon and able to work tomorrow, my lady.”
Brace makers. Surely Yuan doesn’t have need of more than one brace maker to service the thousand-odd souls under the dome? But then, maybe people turn ankles and break wrists more often than I assume. There’s so much I don’t know about my city, my people.
“What do you think, Gem?” I ask. “Will you be up for trying again tomorrow?”
“Does it matter, my lady?” he asks, mimicking the healer’s subservient tone perfectly.
I get the strong feeling that he’s mocking me, and I scowl, but clench my jaw against the harsh words on the tip of my tongue. He’s hurting, and despite the fact that I didn’t intend for him to suffer, that hurt is my fault.
“Yes. It matters,” I say. “Do you think
“Only sometimes,” I whisper. “And only since I was ten.”
My tenth birthday, to be exact, the last day I was knowingly allowed out of the tower. Before then, Baba and I went to the royal garden every year on my birthday, but that was the first year that he let me explore on my own, let me feel my way around the edge of the ancient flower bed to the place where the vines spill over one side.
I pricked my finger by accident, and the sunlit world rushed up to meet me. The roses showed me the city from high above, all the flowers
and the green, green springtime grass, and every tall, white building gleaming in the morning light. It was beautiful, breathtaking to a girl who had nearly forgotten the world of color and light.
I would have stayed there forever, grateful tears streaming down my face, if my father hadn’t pulled me away.
As soon as he realized I was bleeding, Baba carried me back to the tower, but the damage was already done. I knew the roses had more magic than anyone else realized. I knew they could be my eyes. I told Baba, but he forbade me to speak of such mad things and refused to take me to the garden again. Months passed, but I didn’t forget that shining moment. It took a year, but I found a way out, risking death climbing over the edge of my balcony, rather than returning to the hopeless darkness.
The loss of hope is the worst kind of loss. I don’t want to be the cause of that in someone, even if that someone is a monster.
“I will help you recover,” I say, with an intensity that surprises me. “I swear it.”
“Thank you. Isra.” My name is uncomfortable in his mouth, strange-sounding in that accent of his, but there’s something nice about it all the same. Something nice about being Isra instead of “my lady.”
Before I can assure him there’s no need to thank me, the healers arrive. Needle pulls me to my feet, guiding me down the hall after Gem and the healers, fingers busy beneath my palm as she describes the scene. Two male healers carry Gem back to his room, but it is a woman who runs her hands lightly over his legs, examining the Monstrous with a gentleness that Needle approves of.
“How is he?” I ask when the healer is finished.
“There’s no bleeding on the inside, my lady,” she says. “But the muscles are still healing.”
“But they will heal. He’ll be able to walk again?” I ask, anxious for her answer.
“I don’t see any reason why not,” the healer says. “He’ll need a brace on the left leg and crutches for a time, but the muscles should mend. If I’d been notified he was to work today, I would have had the aids prepared.”
Her tone is nothing but deferential, but I feel chastised all the same.
“I’ll consult with you before we try again,” I say. “How much time do you think he needs? A week? Two?”
“He should begin exercising as soon as the leg is braced,” she says.
“We don’t have anything in his size ready-made, but the brace makers work quickly. I can have him fitted this afternoon and able to work tomorrow, my lady.”
Brace makers. Surely Yuan doesn’t have need of more than one brace maker to service the thousand-odd souls under the dome? But then, maybe people turn ankles and break wrists more often than I assume. There’s so much I don’t know about my city, my people.
“What do you think, Gem?” I ask. “Will you be up for trying again tomorrow?”
“Does it matter, my lady?” he asks, mimicking the healer’s subservient tone perfectly.
I get the strong feeling that he’s mocking me, and I scowl, but clench my jaw against the harsh words on the tip of my tongue. He’s hurting, and despite the fact that I didn’t intend for him to suffer, that hurt is my fault.
“Yes. It matters,” I say. “Do you think
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