Monstrous (19 page)

And two, Father was so angry with me that he completely forgot to have me sting her back to sleep.

TONIGHT MY HEART WEIGHS ME DOWN AS I LEAVE OUR COTTAGE. RAIN
pummeled the forest all day and now a thick mist coats the trees and paths. I can barely see my feet.

The last few nights I crept into the city along with the lengthening shadows, but I did not glimpse Ren at all. For a few seconds, I believed I caught his baking-bread scent on the cool night air, but it faded before I could trace him back to wherever he hid.

But I know he was in Bryre. He still left behind his notes in the palace like tantalizing, and confusing, breadcrumbs. The mysterious D has been an even more common theme in the messages than usual.
More girls sick. D was moved.
And then,
D is missing.
I am certain D is a person, though Father has suggested it could be anything from a person's name to a
code standing in for defenses or who knows what else.

Who or whatever D is, Ren knows and Ren keeps the others informed.

My resolve to keep him out of my mind falters with every hour. It is practically impossible when he has become so entangled with my own mission. The other girl is gone, on her way to Belladoma. I am glad of it. Why shouldn't Ren care for me again? The desire to see him, hear him, smell him, laugh with him is stronger than I am.

Father keeps me hidden away in the cottage like the princess in my book was locked in her tower. And like her, I need something else. The part that is the girl I once was longs for a deeper, human connection.

Love
is the word that pops to the forefront of my brain.

I roll it around, sounding it out in my mouth. I whisper it to the forest and it hovers there in the fog.

Love.

I am in love with Ren.

I can't help shivering.

And yet, I am angry. My heart is divided. I want to both hug him and rip him to shreds. Is this how humans feel all the time? A whirl of conflicting emotions tugging them in two directions? I do not think I could stand it. A wave of gratitude fills me. Father made sure I was not just a human. The animal parts he incorporated must spare me from the full brunt of these feelings.

The fog reaches all the way to the city walls. Once the guard patrols by this section of the parapets, I climb without hesitation. I must focus on rescuing the girls.

Forget Ren. Let him stay in your dreams where he belongs.

I run, skimming the shadows. The mist follows me into the city, too, wrapping every tree and house in fluffy clouds. Moisture clings to my skirts and tangles my hair, making me look as wild as I feel. I run faster.

I halt in my tracks, just outside the square with the fountain.

Bread baking and cinnamon fill my nostrils. Every part of me goes numb, from the top of my head to the tip of my tail.

He's here. Ren is here. At our fountain. Hope thrills me, spurring my frozen body into action.

I step cautiously into the square. Until Ren hears and glances up.

The expression in his eyes roots me to the spot.

Grief,
whispers my mind.

His face is torment, but he tries to smile. I take a step closer. We're only ten feet apart.

“Kym,” he says. “I thought you were gone.” Warmth spreads throughout my body at the sound of my name on his tongue. He has not forgotten me after all.

I close the gap between us. “No, not gone.”

“Where were you? You said you came here because you loved the city, but then you disappeared.” I can't meet Ren's gaze for fear there will be an accusation there.

“My father,” I say, latching onto the lie I told him before. “He has been sick. I haven't been able to sneak out again until now.” I lean against the fountain, the silver and gold coins winking up at me from under the water. “Why are you so unhappy?”

I must know. It pains me to see his grief so tangible.

He stares into the fountain. He is not the same boy anymore. I miss that boy. I'd do anything to make Ren that boy again.

His fists clench and unclench. Then he slaps the edge of the fountain hard enough that I fear he will injure his hands. Humans are fragile.

“She's gone.” Ren's voice is hoarse and throaty. The sound scratches my ears.

“Who?” My entire body goes cold. I believe I know the answer already.

His torso curls inward, as though someone has struck him in the stomach. I tentatively reach out my hand and place it on his shoulder, wishing to soak up his pain through my palm.

“Someone I was responsible for.” He slaps the fountain again, making me jump. I've never seen him in such a state.

“She fell ill a few days ago. The people she was staying with put her in the hospital before I knew she was sick. They thought she'd be safe, but now she's gone. It is all my fault.” He looks me square in the face and I shudder. A tear rolls down his cheek. I wipe it away before I can think better of it. His tear is warm and rolls off my finger into the fountain.

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“The king and the council—they instructed the hospital staff to keep the disappearances secret. It's bad enough that the demon wizard is sickening Bryre's girls, but letting on that he steals them from the quarantine ward too would
cause mass panic. The city's full to the brim now because of the briar forcing people from their houses, so we don't even have anywhere else to hide them. All our attempts to keep them safe have failed, and now the wizard has taken
her
, too.”

My breath catches in my throat. It is the girl I saw him with the other night and saved from the wizard's prison.

“I'm sorry.” I want to say more, to tell Ren that I'm working to stop the wizard, that it's why I come to the city every night, that I saved his friend, but I bite my tongue. Father would be furious.

“All those girls, stolen.” Ren puts his head in his hands as he leans over the fountain. “I should have warned the people she was staying with, but I didn't because of the council.” He stares into the swirling waters. “I was responsible for her. I failed her.”

I squeeze his shoulder. I hate this wizard. I want to rip his heart out with my bare teeth just like I ripped out that rabbit's throat when I was first training.

“Maybe she'll escape,” I say.

“No one escapes.”

The urge to tell him that is not true chokes me. I help them escape. That is why I live and breathe.

“What does she look like?” It kills me that he misses her so much, but I must know for certain whether it is the girl I saved.

“She has light hair and blue eyes. Almost as tall as me. She's always smiling.” Clouds sweep over his face and I can guess at his thoughts. She's probably not smiling much right now.

“What is her name?”

“Delia.”

The blood drains from my face. D . . . Delia. Could this be the mysterious D who was moved about so much in Ren's messages?

“Who is she?” Jealousy stirs within me even though she is gone.

“Someone important.” Ren's face pinches. He straightens up and steps closer. My heart rises in my chest. “When you didn't come to the fountain, I was so worried. I thought the wizard must have taken you, too,” he says.

I hang my head. “I am sorry. I should not have abandoned you for so long. Can you forgive me?”

Ren smiles, just a little, and it is like the dawn breaking. “There's nothing to forgive. I'm just happy you're here now.” He takes my hand, sparking tingles down my fingers. “Can you stay a little while tonight? There's some people I'd like you to meet.”

I breathe out with relief, and my heart tries to follow by leaping into my throat. “Yes, I can.” More people? Who else would be up at this hour for Ren to introduce me to?

He leads me into an alley headed opposite the direction I usually go. “Where are we going?” I ask.

“Home,” he says.

Home
. Something balloons in my chest at that word, and my inner vision fills with a red-roofed cottage, a tower, and a rose garden. What does home mean to Ren? My breath quickens; I will soon find out.

Worry gnaws at me as we walk through the winding
streets and I unconsciously clutch my cloak more tightly around me. I have never been inside a human's house before, but we usually remove our cloaks when we enter our cottage. Will they think I am odd—or worse, suspect I'm in the wizard's thrall—if I keep mine closed?

I cannot risk removing it, nor should I risk going to Ren's home. If my tail slips out, or a single feather molts, it could give me away. But it's Ren, and refusing him anything is so very difficult. It has taken all my will not to tell him what I'm really doing in the city each night. Instead I wrap myself in lies even more tightly than my cloak. Tight enough to strangle.

Yet what worries me the most is whether Ren's family will like me. Will they think I am too dull looking for their son? Not normal enough? Not as good as Delia, for whom I'm sure they grieve, too? If they ever saw the true me, they would certainly not approve.

When we arrive at a small stone house, Ren slows. It is a low building, with red shutters and flowers in a white box hanging off the front window. They are not roses, but still quite pretty. It seems small at first, but it extends back from the street and must have several rooms. The gray stone walls have a warm, welcoming feel in the moonlight, and I am pleased to see Ren's home is not in shambles like many in Bryre. The vicious briar plant has not attacked his section of the city yet. A vegetable garden lies in one corner of the small yard, and flowered shrubbery lines the walk. Even here on the street the hint of cinnamon that always clings to Ren lingers.

“This is your home?” I ask.

He squeezes my hand and pulls me up the path to the front door. In mere moments, I'll meet Ren's family. My throat tightens and I mentally check my cloak fastenings, then flatten my wings closer to my back. My tail is so tightly wound around my thigh that I begin to lose feeling in that leg.

He pushes the door open and a blast of warmth and that wonderful bread-baking smell wash over me like sunshine. Someone in this house loves to bake. Voices chatter by a fire and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the lighted candles. A woman stirs a pot of soup over the fire and waves at Ren as he enters. Her smile falters when she sees me.

My stomach drops into my feet. Could she see through my disguise so easily?

“Ren! What're you doing? Who is this?” she says.

“Mother, this is Kym.” He points to me. “Kym, this is my mother.”

She puts a hand on her hip and waggles the ladle at Ren. “You shouldn't have brought her here. You know how dangerous it is! It's bad enough you're scampering around the city after curfew to begin with! Now you're inviting guests over? After . . .” She swallows the end of the sentence like a rotten egg.

“Laura, calm down,” a man's voice says from the chair by the fire. He has his back to us and I cannot see his face, but his graying hair peeks over the top. It is not long like Father's, but not close-cropped, either. For a second, I wonder if he's Ren's father, but then another man—younger
than the first—steps out of the hallway and barrels toward Ren to give him a bear hug. They look so much alike, it is clear this is his true parent.

“Yes, Laura,” Ren's father says. “We're all worried, but there's no need to be rude to our guest.” He winks at me—just like Ren does—but with deep sadness etched in his face. This is where Ren gets his odd manners. “I'm Andrew,” he says. I curtsy back like I've read girls are supposed to do in my fairy tales.

“See? She's all politeness.”

Laura folds her arms. “It isn't safe for Bryre's girls to be out after curfew. Not with the epidemic.”

“I am not from Bryre,” I say, using the same excuse I gave Ren for my immunity to the wizard's disease.

“The wizard's curse can't hurt her, you see?” Ren says. I can't help noticing his demeanor has altered since the moment we entered this house. Does this place cheer him or does he hide the grief I saw at the fountain for the sake of his family?

Ren's mother narrows her eyes, then harrumphs and returns to her soup.

“It is a pleasure to meet you all,” I say, still wondering who the gray-haired man is. Ren takes my hand again and leads me to a chair. I sit—as elegantly as I can manage—and watch in amusement as Ren throws a log on the fire. I've never seen anyone do that before. As I watch, the flames lick the wood. It's burning it. We never use wood at home. The flames simply come and go when they should.

“Kym.” Ren draws my attention away from the
strangeness in the hearth. His eyes reflect the fire and my cheeks warm from that more than the fire itself. “This is Oliver. He's a guest, too.”

The older man tilts his head in my direction and holds out his hand to shake. I clasp it, unable to escape the feeling of familiarity.