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Authors: Stacey Jay
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you’ll be ready?”
“Anything to escape these white walls for a few hours,” he says, but there’s still something … off in his voice.
“We can wait. I’m eager to begin, but I don’t want you to be in pain.”
“That’s kind of you, my lady, but I’m also eager to begin.” There’s a sneer beneath the words this time, I’m sure of it. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether he’s wrong to think me contemptible. Yesterday, there was no doubt in my mind which one of us was the monster, but now …
I’m the one who neglected to ask his name. I’m the one who insisted he be pulled from his bed without consulting the healers to make sure he was fit to work. I’m the one who has treated him like an animal when I know that he has language and at least a certain degree of intelligence.
The thoughts make me feel sour inside. They make me wish I could have a moment alone with Gem to speak frankly. I want him to know that I understand what it’s like to be a prisoner. That I know what it’s like to walk a road I didn’t choose to a destination I fear, and that I will do my best to make his life in Yuan tolerable.
But the guards and the healers would never knowingly leave me alone with a Monstrous, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I am Gem’s jailer and his enemy. Why should he feel anything for me but contempt? He shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t care one way or another.
“Tomorrow, then,” I say, taking Needle’s arm and allowing her to lead me from the room. I have enough misery to bear. There’s no need to
take the hatred of a beast to heart.
But as I walk away, I can’t help remembering Gem’s cry in the hall, how desperate and human he sounded, and how much something inside me wanted to protect him from the soldiers.
From Yuan. From … me.
GEM
THE healer gives me more bitter water to drink, and the agony in my legs fades to a distant ache. My eyes grow heavy, but I fight the muddying of my thoughts. I don’t want to sleep.
I want to lie here and stare at the white wall until my mind is as soft as windswept sand. Then I will bury all my hate deep beneath it, so deep that not even an outline can be spied from the surface. The queen may be blind, but she saw through me. I have to try harder.
She was kind today, open in a way she hasn’t been before. She even confirmed my suspicion that the roses’ magic gave her the power to see for that moment in the garden. I should have welcomed her confidence. I should have shared a story of my own. I should have done something to begin the long journey to earning her trust.
Instead I mocked her. I mocked her because the worry in her eyes hurt more than my legs. Because her promises to help made me hate her more than I did before.
It’s too late for kindness. No amount of kindness can change who she is or what her people have done to mine. Her moment of compassion only proved she’s worse than I first assumed. To be cold and incapable of pity is one thing; to have compassion and use it only when it’s convenient is nothing less than evil.
I hate her so much my body aches with it, but I hate myself more. I hate that I felt even a moment of pity for that little girl with her nightgown on fire, or for the queen whose guards roll their eyes before obeying her commands. No warrior of my tribe would ever treat his chief with such a lack of respect, but the soldiers clearly feel no need to conceal their disdain from the blind queen or her silent attendant.
Or from the monster whimpering on the floor.
They should be more careful. Everything I see and hear is my weapon. Everything. From their disdain, to the way the silent woman’s fingers move with words, to the flash of guilt in the queen’s eyes.
“Isra’s eyes,” I correct myself aloud. “Isra.”
I practice saying her name again and again, until it sounds the way it did when she said it, until I sound like a
“Anything to escape these white walls for a few hours,” he says, but there’s still something … off in his voice.
“We can wait. I’m eager to begin, but I don’t want you to be in pain.”
“That’s kind of you, my lady, but I’m also eager to begin.” There’s a sneer beneath the words this time, I’m sure of it. The only thing I’m not sure of is whether he’s wrong to think me contemptible. Yesterday, there was no doubt in my mind which one of us was the monster, but now …
I’m the one who neglected to ask his name. I’m the one who insisted he be pulled from his bed without consulting the healers to make sure he was fit to work. I’m the one who has treated him like an animal when I know that he has language and at least a certain degree of intelligence.
The thoughts make me feel sour inside. They make me wish I could have a moment alone with Gem to speak frankly. I want him to know that I understand what it’s like to be a prisoner. That I know what it’s like to walk a road I didn’t choose to a destination I fear, and that I will do my best to make his life in Yuan tolerable.
But the guards and the healers would never knowingly leave me alone with a Monstrous, and it doesn’t matter anyway. I am Gem’s jailer and his enemy. Why should he feel anything for me but contempt? He shouldn’t. And I shouldn’t care one way or another.
“Tomorrow, then,” I say, taking Needle’s arm and allowing her to lead me from the room. I have enough misery to bear. There’s no need to
take the hatred of a beast to heart.
But as I walk away, I can’t help remembering Gem’s cry in the hall, how desperate and human he sounded, and how much something inside me wanted to protect him from the soldiers.
From Yuan. From … me.
GEM
THE healer gives me more bitter water to drink, and the agony in my legs fades to a distant ache. My eyes grow heavy, but I fight the muddying of my thoughts. I don’t want to sleep.
I want to lie here and stare at the white wall until my mind is as soft as windswept sand. Then I will bury all my hate deep beneath it, so deep that not even an outline can be spied from the surface. The queen may be blind, but she saw through me. I have to try harder.
She was kind today, open in a way she hasn’t been before. She even confirmed my suspicion that the roses’ magic gave her the power to see for that moment in the garden. I should have welcomed her confidence. I should have shared a story of my own. I should have done something to begin the long journey to earning her trust.
Instead I mocked her. I mocked her because the worry in her eyes hurt more than my legs. Because her promises to help made me hate her more than I did before.
It’s too late for kindness. No amount of kindness can change who she is or what her people have done to mine. Her moment of compassion only proved she’s worse than I first assumed. To be cold and incapable of pity is one thing; to have compassion and use it only when it’s convenient is nothing less than evil.
I hate her so much my body aches with it, but I hate myself more. I hate that I felt even a moment of pity for that little girl with her nightgown on fire, or for the queen whose guards roll their eyes before obeying her commands. No warrior of my tribe would ever treat his chief with such a lack of respect, but the soldiers clearly feel no need to conceal their disdain from the blind queen or her silent attendant.
Or from the monster whimpering on the floor.
They should be more careful. Everything I see and hear is my weapon. Everything. From their disdain, to the way the silent woman’s fingers move with words, to the flash of guilt in the queen’s eyes.
“Isra’s eyes,” I correct myself aloud. “Isra.”
I practice saying her name again and again, until it sounds the way it did when she said it, until I sound like a
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