Monstrous (20 page)

I look closer at his eyes. Shock ripples over me. This man, Oliver—he was in one of my visions showing me the roses in the palace garden. He looks much older now, but the resemblance is unmistakable.

So the images I see are not just appropriations of the present. How else can I explain this man's face in my head? The once-me, she knew him. Of that I have no doubt.

My stomach flips. That means the memory of her and Ren could be real, too.

Oliver frowns, continuing to hold my hand, and squints—have I done something wrong? Father taught me little of etiquette. He never intended for me to mix with humans. All I know, I've gleaned from my books.

He'd be furious if he knew where I was right now. The thought makes my palms sweaty and my hand slips out of the man's grasp. Up close, I can see he is not so much older than Ren's father after all; his hair has just gone gray earlier.

“What did you say your name is?” Oliver's face bears an odd expression.

“Kymera. Kym.”

He repeats my name strangely, as though it leaves a bitter taste. I wrack my brain, trying to understand how I offended him.

“I don't recognize that name.” He pauses and I hold my breath. “You remind me of someone. Your eyes, they're similar. It's—well, no matter. That someone is long gone. And you are here and have befriended our dear Ren.” He tousles Ren's hair. A question stands on the tip of my tongue, ready to leap off into the conversation, but I bite it back.

Father has been quite clear. No one can know who I am. Apparently, not even me.

This man must have known me well if he can see the girl I was in my eyes. But perhaps it's just a trick of the light and Oliver is thinking of someone else.

Andrew joins us, passing around cheese and slices from a loaf of freshly baked bread. Ren tears into them and offers some to me. I take a bit of each, then hand them back.

“Thank you,” I say, nibbling on the cheese. It is sharp and creamy, and the bread tastes exactly the way Ren always smells. Delicious. I can't keep my eyes off him. He tries to be happy, but underneath runs a current of despair. That girl, Delia. They all knew her and mourn her. Fear hovers in the air of this house, I can smell it.

I could allay all those fears. I could tell them Delia's safe. That I took her and sent her to the beautiful shining city of Belladoma.

But that would provoke questions, all of which would expose Father to the wizard's wrath. I can't betray him like that. Not even for Ren.

“Kym is new to the area,” Ren says to Oliver. “She lives in a cottage outside the city.”

Oliver raises an eyebrow at this. “Really? Where did
you come from, my dear?”

My breath hitches. I can't answer this line of questioning either. I must change the topic and fast. “Nowhere of consequence,” I say. “Bryre is far finer than anywhere else I've been.”

Ren's father laughs. “Well, you must've been to some run-down, rancid places.”

Oliver gives him a stern look and he stops laughing at once. “Bryre was once the height of excellence and beauty. But I fear we have fallen on hard times.”

“Oh yes, Ren told me about the castle and the thorns.”

Ren winces and sinks down in his chair. I realize too late I shouldn't have mentioned that. His mother gasps and even his father frowns.

“Did he now?” Oliver says. “Showing her the seedy underbelly of the city, are you, boy?”

“Well, I, uh—”

“No!” I object, “not at all. While it's sad to see the palace in such a state, there's something lovely about it. Ren has shown me many beautiful things around the city, too. Like the palace garden. I just adored that. Roses are my favorite, and the king's are the best I've ever seen.”

A light flashes in Oliver's eyes, but it extinguishes just as quickly. “Yes, the roses were one of Bryre's prized possessions. They're still kept up for . . . memory's sake.”

This makes me more certain than ever that this man must be the palace gardener. “Whose memory?” I ask.

Everyone goes quiet. Andrew looks embarrassed and Ren himself squirms in his armchair. I regret asking.

Finally Oliver answers. “For the children who died at the hands of the wizard. My eldest daughter was one of them.”

My body freezes from tail to nose. “I'm sorry, I should have guessed.”

“It's all right, child. You're new to the city. One cannot expect you to know all our dirty secrets, even if Ren here is showing you the highlights.”

Ren gazes into the fire, a sad, faraway look in his eyes. I know for a fact he thinks of Delia. I wonder if he looked that way about the once-me when she disappeared?

“I hate that bloody wizard,” he says, hands balling into fists.

“Why don't we just find him and slit his throat?” My own hands clench over the arms of the chair as I watch Ren and Oliver's faces change with surprise. My outburst is no doubt an unusual one for a human girl, but I don't care. Between what the wizard did to Father and me, Batu and his clan, and now to poor, kind Oliver, I want to destroy him more than ever.

Oliver's face softens and he pats my taut fist. “I am afraid that is not possible. It is suicide to do such a thing.”

My brow furrows. “What do you mean? When it comes down to it, the wizard is just a man, isn't he? Albeit a powerful one.”

Ren's eyes widen. “You really don't know?”

I stiffen my back. I don't wish to seem naive and ignorant in front of Ren, least of all in front of his family. But then he squeezes my other hand and I melt. He has such a
strange hold on my emotions.

Oliver gives Ren a stern look. “It's all right. Not every city is as haunted as we are. Yes, the wizard is a man. And yes, he would die from a knife to the throat like any other. But wizards aren't feared and revered just because they can work spells. The magic lives inside them, it's a part of them. No wizard has ever been buried. When they die, the magic leaves, burning them up in the process.”

“Why would that stop someone from killing him?”

“The person who kills the wizard would be incinerated, too.”

My limbs go numb. Incinerated? Father never mentioned that. There must be some mistake.

“What if we shoot him with a longbow? Surely magic could not reach that far.”

Oliver shakes his head. “Magic is canny. It has life and intelligence of its own. There's no hiding from it. That's why the wizard's cursed disease only attacks girls of this city and ignores you, along with our men and boys. Magic burns up the dead wizard's body because it seeks a new host. It will always choose the person who killed its master. But only a wizard could withstand an influx of magic like that. Anyone else would be overcome and perish in flames.”

I shudder. “Only another wizard could kill ours? No one else?”

“Not anyone who wants to live to see another day. But yes, another wizard would stand a chance. Or some other magical creature strong enough to overpower him. A dragon, maybe. A nice griffin would do, but they haven't
been seen near Bryre for decades. Unfortunately, good wizards, griffins, and dragons are all in short supply.” Oliver leans back into his chair. His gray hair slips over his forehead. In some ways, Oliver reminds me of Father. Does Father know about this tricky business of how to kill a wizard? He knows all about the origin of wizards and dragons, so he should. But what if he doesn't and he tries to kill the evil man himself? I don't want my beloved father to die so horribly. Did he omit this detail so I would not try to stop him?

I try, just for a moment, to imagine what that would feel like. All that heat melting me into nothing at all.

Despite the horror that thought inspires, there is a way around it—Batu. I must redouble my efforts to convince him to help. Father and I may not be able to kill the wizard after all, but Batu can.

“Even a good wizard, if such a thing existed, would demand too high a price,” Ren says, snorting with derision. “That's what got us into this mess in the first place.”

“What do you mean?” I am suddenly curious. Father has told me nothing of this part.

Oliver shakes his head. “Ren, she doesn't need to know every detail . . .”

“We can trust her,” he says. Heat lights up my face. “I trust her. Tell her the story.”

“Ah, to be young again.” Oliver fondly ruffles Ren's hair. “All right. I'll give her the condensed version. Not long ago, the king of Bryre was in a fix. Another king from a distant city was rumored to be marching on Bryre, set to
take it over by force. We are a peaceful people. War is not in our blood. We have guards, but they would be no match for an entire army of trained soldiers and mercenaries.”

“I wish I'd been old enough, I would have fought them,” Ren says.

“I'm sure you would've fought well,” Oliver says, “But it never came to blows. A man appeared at the palace gates one morning, claiming he could make the warmongers go away forever. The king and queen were desperate. The man said he'd only name his price when he was successful. It sounded fair to them at the time. As they discovered, the man was a wizard and he put warding charms in place all over the city. No person intending to kill or harm our citizens could enter. To this day, the spells hold.”

“How does the wizard operate in the city? How does he steal the girls?”

Oliver spreads his palms out. “I wish I knew. All we have are guesses. Either he has spies here in Bryre or the charms don't keep him out, since he made them. Magic is as tricky and fickle as the wizards who wield it.”

Ren scoffs. “Now that's an understatement if I ever heard one.”

“What happened next?” I ask.

“Once the rival king discovered an invisible wall of magic blocked his path into the city and could find no chink in Bryre's armor, his army retreated. The king and his army made a second attempt six years later, but the spell was still too strong. We haven't heard from them since.”

“That's a good thing, isn't it?”

“Oh yes, it is.” Oliver nods.

“What went wrong?”

“The price. There's always a price.” Oliver studies his hands miserably. When the silence grows long enough that I'm ready to break it, he speaks again. “He wanted the king's firstborn child. A daughter. She was three years old at the time. The king and queen refused.”

I gasp as confusion fills me. “Did he want to marry her?” That is the only real use of princesses in my fairy tales.

Oliver shudders. “No, the blood of a royal firstborn is the key component to a spell that could give him power over all the magic in the realm. Dark magic. The king and queen didn't suspect until then that he practiced anything other than white magic. They were terribly wrong.” Another long pause passes, which makes me nervous. “Needless to say, the wizard didn't take the king's refusal well. He stormed out of the city, swearing to return and take his revenge. Ten years passed and the royal family grew comfortable within their warded walls. The princess grew up into a lovely, though sheltered, young girl. One day, rumors began of the wizard's return. The king and queen did everything they could to protect their daughter, to keep her hidden away in the palace. But the wizard found a loophole to his own spells. He returned to the palace to claim the princess who was rightfully his according to the blind, yet binding, deal the king and queen had made. The guards were no match for his tricks. Nor was the queen. When it came down to it, no one could stop him. The deal had been sealed by magic and his only intent was to take what was rightfully his. He killed
the girl in the palace and then they disappeared in a burst of darkness. There wasn't even a body to bury.”

Horror rolls over me in waves. What an awful thing. To deprive a father of his beloved daughter. Oliver, with his pained expression, reminds me so much of my own father, that I wish to throw my arms around his neck and squeeze the sadness out of him. But I resist for fear of appearing unseemly.

“Did the wizard's spell finally work? Does he truly rule all the magic in the land now?” I ask.

“Not exactly,” Oliver says. “The spell loses potency if the royal firstborn has matured. He may have drawn some power from murdering the princess, but nothing like he would have if he had done it when she was a mere babe. The more cruel and abhorrent the act, the more it feeds the dark magic.” He gazes into the fire. “No, instead he bided his time, scraping as much magic from the realm as he could the hard way—killing every magical creature he could find, stealing every potion and amulet he could track down. There were precious few hybrids left at the time; now they are extinct.”

“What a horrid creature,” is all I can say.

“Now he is back for the rest of the girls,” Andrew says.

The silence that follows is heavy. Even Laura stops her fussing by the fire. I can almost taste the salty sadness in the air.

“I'm afraid it's long past time for me to retire.” Oliver stands up from his armchair. He suddenly looks much older than he is. “My dear girl, it was a pleasure to meet you. Do
take good care of Ren and keep him out of trouble, will you? And, please”—he squeezes my hand—“be very careful if you must be out in Bryre at night. The curfew is in place for a reason.”

“I will,” I say.

Oliver pats Ren's shoulder and bows to the others and me. “Good night.”

“It is getting to be time for you to go to bed, too, Ren,” Laura says with a meaningful glance in my direction.

“Of course it is,” I say, rising. “I must go home, anyway.”

“So soon?” Ren scowls at his mother, then gives me a pleading look. “Can't you stay a little longer?”

“No, she can't,” Laura interrupts, waggling that ladle again. I suspect she is not one to be trifled with.

Grumbling, Ren walks me to the door. “I'm going to see her to the gates, and I'll come straight back, Mama.”