Monstrous (16 page)

“You may.”

“Why do you come into the city each night? I know I said before that I shouldn't pry, but I'll tell you what I do, if you'll tell me. I worry for you. The wizard steals young girls, and usually at night.” He grasps both my hands and
stops my breath with a single look. “I've grown fond of you, Kym, and I'd hate for anything to happen to you.”

My head spins. Ren is fond of me. How wonderful is that? But I cannot betray Father, not for anyone. Even Ren.

“I told you before that I work for the king as his page boy,” he continues. “That is true. But I am also responsible for delivering messages between the king and the city council. They're the reason he's hiding. They're afraid the wizard will find him too easy a target if he remains in the palace. And with the rate that briar patch is growing, I daresay they may be right.” He pauses and looks at me hopefully.

“My father is very . . . overprotective,” I say. “He will not let me go into Bryre during the day. But when he's asleep, I sneak out. I love the city, its alleys and roads and fountains. It is the only time I get to see even a hint of other people. I just wish I could visit more during the daylight.”

“Please be careful. I confess, I rather like seeing you here at night. But it's very dangerous.”

I grin. “Not very dangerous. I have you to protect me, do I not?”

“Always.” Ren picks up the pace again. “But even I can't protect you from the wizard's disease curse.”

“This curse—how does it work? Do you know?”

“Sort of. It only attacks Bryre's girls. But anyone can carry it unwittingly.”

I smile. “Then you need not worry about me. I am not one of Bryre's girls.”

Surprise lights Ren's eyes. “You aren't, are you? Though
if you come here often enough the spell might take you for one.”

“I doubt the curse is that smart,” I say, and Ren visibly relaxes.

He stops before an unusual building. It begins as a square, but the top takes off into spires and huge colored windows with wrought-iron filigree covering it all.

I step forward to the gates. “What is this place?”

Ren laughs at my expression. “It's called a church. Do you want to go inside?”

“Very much.”

He opens the heavy door for me. Then he takes my hand and guides me inside. “What do you think?”

Rows of benches fill most of the space, leading up to a marble dais. Huge tapestries depicting dragons, merfolk, and centaurs line the walls between the windows. Hundreds of candles almost burned down to the ends of their wicks give the space a soft, glowing atmosphere.

“Lovely,” I breathe. Ren squeezes my hand and tugs me toward the windows.

The moonlight teases his hair with faint colors, only a shadow of what the sun would do with the colored glass, but the effect is still breathtaking. I hold up my hands to see the effect on myself. It reminds me of the differing hues of my skin hidden beneath my cloak. I pull my hands back. Even that is too close a hint of my true nature.

“When you said how much you liked the topiary figures, I thought you might like the windows here, too,” Ren says.

The windows are not mere colored glass as I'd first thought. They're scenes of creatures, just like my books, but gigantic and lit up like jewels. I gently press my hand against one of a dragon. Its silver scales remind me of Batu.

“Why are these here?” I ask. “And the hedge creatures at the palace? Who were they?”

Ren smiles, but with an odd expression on his face. “They're just decorations, Kym.”

“What?” I know for a fact that is wrong.

“They existed once, or something like them. But they're gone now.”

“But you said there's a wizard around here? And magic? Aren't these creatures magic?”

“The only magic left in this world is dark and rotten.” Ren scowls, then lifts his gaze back to the dragon on the pane in front of us. “Maybe it wasn't always that way, but it is now.”

My breath catches in my throat as I recall Ren's face the other night in the garden. “You lost someone to the wizard's magic. Who was it?”

His head snaps up and his grip on my hand tightens.

“I'm sorry. You do not have to tell me,” I say, regretting my impulsive words.

His hesitation hangs in the air between us, thick as fog.

After a moment long enough to make me think I've ruined our entire evening, Ren speaks again. “I was wondering,” he says, “do you like music?”

Music
. I have heard of it, of course, in my books. They play music at balls, but I do not quite understand what that
means. “I'm not sure. What is music?”

“You're serious?” Ren's expression turns into disbelief. “You don't have music where you're from?”

“Not that I'm aware of, no. Will you show me?”

His grin reappears and relief rolls over me. “Come on.”

Ren leads me down a hallway lined with shadowed tapestries at the very back of the church, until he finally turns in to a room. Moonlight spills in through high windows, revealing strangely shaped objects hanging on the walls and standing in the corners. Ren lights the candles resting on a nearby table. “What are these?” I ask, running my hands over one with many strings pulled taut across a hole cut in the middle. I yank my hand back as the strings vibrate and the sound resonates in the air.

“Instruments. That one is a lute. Nothing to be afraid of.” He winks and runs his fingers over it too, but in a different manner. The sound is more pleasant this time.

“How did you do that?” I stare at the lute and Ren in amazement.

“It takes practice to play an instrument. I only know a little of this one.”

He pulls another instrument off a hook on the wall. It looks like a bunch of reeds of different sizes tied together. He hands it to me.

“What do I do with this?” I turn it over, confused.

He tilts it toward my lips. “Blow across the reeds.”

I do, but the sound wilts. I laugh and hand it back to him. “I am no good at music.”

“I'll make a musician of you yet.” He sits next to me on
the bench, the warmth of his leg seeping through my cloak and skirts. If only I could take off my cloak, be closer to Ren. But he'd see my wings and my bolts.

He'd know I am different. I don't want to find out if Father is right, if he'd hate me. My heart is all too human; he never needs to know my body is not.

“This is a pan flute. I'm good at this one.” Ren puts it to his own lips.

The sound curls around me—
melody
, according to the words in my head. It lilts and weaves and sounds so sad, I nearly cry.

So
this
is music.

The tune rises and falls, as Ren moves along to the rhythm in his head. He and the music are one; it changes his whole appearance. The entire room hums, nudging my heart with the hint of a memory.

All this from the boy who smells of baking bread and a bunch of reeds tied together by string.

Perhaps music is a sort of magic.

The sound slows until it comes to a single haunting note. It echoes off the walls, resonating in my head and my soul. My hands quiver. If music is a form of magic, it is a powerful one indeed. I'm certain it is a good one, too. The wizard could never create anything as beautiful as this.

Ren sets the flute down on his knees. The silence makes me ache for more.

“That was lovely,” I whisper.

He smiles, but with a hint of sadness. “I learned how to play with . . . with the person I lost.”

I place a comforting hand on his arm, fingers trembling. “I am sorry, you do not have to—”

“No,” Ren says, the sadness leeching further into the lines of his face. “I have enough secrets as it is. The person I lost was a good friend. The best of friends, really. She was one of the first victims.”

“You miss her.” It is not a question. I take his hand. “What was she like?”

“She always had a kind word and smile for everyone she met. I can't even remember a time when we weren't friends. It's been months, but it's still strange without her.” His eyes meet mine, searching. “You lost your mother. Do you have that empty spot, too?”

I do. The hollowness has been growing for some time. Yes, something is missing inside me. Empty. A space that was once filled and now is not.

“Yes,” I whisper.

We sit there for some time, our hands intertwined, not speaking. Our pulses beat with the same rhythm.

For a few moments, just before the candles finally burn out, I think perhaps that empty spot can be filled.

THE SUN WAKES ME MUCH LATER THAN USUAL TODAY, CREEPING OVER
my face and clearing the shadows away like cobwebs. I throw off the covers with a start. It is nearly noon. Father didn't even wake me to feed the chickens.

Could he know why I arrived home so late this morning? That I lingered too long with Ren and his music? I still rescued another girl. That is all that really matters.

I slip into my pale blue dress and tiptoe out of my room. I peek around the corner to take in the kitchen and sitting room. Father nods off in his chair, a book open on his lap, with Pippa snoring beside him.

No hint at all that he is angrily waiting for me to wake up.

I snatch an apple off the counter and sneak past Father to
the front door. My roses must miss me. I should be sure they have enough water. The door squeaks as I open it.

“Kymera? Is that you?”

I flit to his side, smiling as innocently as I can.

“Well, I see you finally decided to join us. In another hour I was going to send Pippa in there after you.”

“Thank you for letting me sleep in, I did not intend to do so.”

He reaches out to take my hand. “Are you all right, my dear? Are you having trouble sleeping?”

“Yes,” I say, latching onto the excuse. “I fear I am.”

“Come and sit. What troubles you?”

Though I started out with a lie, many things have troubled me of late. “I have rescued so many girls from the wizard's secret prison, but more girls are there each night. How does he get them into the prison without anyone finding him out?”

“Ah, that is a good question. The wizard has many people under his sway. They do his bidding and deceive the people they love, often without even realizing it. Those are the ones who take the girls from the hospital when he has sickened them enough, and who you must outwit and avoid each night. Then they leave them in the prison for him to toy with at his leisure. You never know who you can trust. This is why it is so important you only go to the city during the night, when no one will see you. Even if the guards expect you, the darkness gives you the edge you need.”

A cold knot forms at the base of my spine. “He uses them and they don't even know it? How?”

“Magic, my dear, can do many things. Controlling people's behavior is only one of them and not the most impressive, either.”

I swallow the sand coating my throat. This confirms what Batu told me a few days ago. The wizard keeps the guards in his thrall. I wish I could tell Father about him, but the blood bond restrains my tongue. I do not like keeping secrets.

“That is awful,” I say, balling my fists into my skirts.

“It is. And it is why we must stop him. Why you must stay a secret and continue rescuing those girls. Only then can we stop him from sacrificing them for his dark magic.”

If only that did not mean avoiding Ren, too! For one long, horrible moment, I consider not stopping by the fountain to see him ever again.

The hollowness inside swells, threatening to swallow me whole.

I cannot fathom it for long—it is too awful. Like it or not, right or wrong, I must see Ren. Every fiber of my body hums at the expectation, and silences at the thought of life without him in it.

“Father . . .” I am not sure how best to put my next question into words. “Is there something wrong with me? Something missing?” I need a way to explain the empty feeling in my chest that persists no matter how many roses or Fathers or Rens or Batus I put into it.

“Wrong with you?” Father places a hand on my cheek. “No, Kym, you are perfect.”

“But I do not feel perfect. Something is missing.”

Father's face twists. “Ah, yes. Your memories, I suppose.” He sighs. “That is my biggest regret. That is a part of you I cannot bring back.”

“I am not sure that is it.” I frown. Indeed, I suspect my memories are coming back, piece by piece, despite Father's assurances that it is impossible. Either that or I am going mad. Those are the only explanations for the visions that occasionally take over my head.

“But what else could it be?” Father says.

“I don't know,” I admit. “I guess you must be right.”

I twist the lace edging on my sash. He is not right. Of that I am certain. The knowledge makes my hands feel weak.