Monstrous (23 page)

I leap up to the rooftops, skimming along until I reach the walls and can fly off without fear of being seen by human eyes.

But the guilt of what I've done to Ren, and the lingering fear of something
wrong
, follows me all the way home.

THE SUN WAKES ME, BUT I'M COLD WITH CONFUSION AND TROUBLED
dreams. Nothing makes sense anymore. Ren despises me. I can't believe I stung him again. I wish there was a way to make him understand we're saving the girls, not hurting them.

I roll out of bed, my legs like jelly. I must tell Father about Ren and beg his forgiveness. Perhaps he'll have an idea on how to convince Ren our mission is a good one. I'm sure he'd want to help if he understood. He hates the wizard as much as we do.

If only I could tell Father about Batu, my rock dragon, but I push that thought aside. Even if it weren't impossible due to the blood bond, my friendship with a dragon is not something that would compromise our mission. Ren's
awareness, left unchecked, definitely could.

I tiptoe into the cottage proper, but Father is not in his usual spot by the fire.

Pippa whines in the corner, begging to be let outside. She loves to chase the chickens. I open the door and she zooms into the yard. I wander after her, but Father is not outside, either. He must be working in his laboratory. The tower door creaks open at my touch, but no other sounds present themselves. I pry open the trapdoor with my claws and climb down the stairs. The room is empty and dark. Has he gone out for a walk? I'll have to wait for him to return.

I shiver from the chill of the boxes Father keeps down here. There are so many more now that it makes the room colder than I recall. What does he keep in them all? Is he preparing an army of goat-footed chickens to defeat the wizard? The locked box comes to mind. I can't be sure what I saw, but it was very strange. Curious, I crack the lid of the nearest one—more chickens waiting to be returned to life. The next contains a large owl; its beady, empty eyes glare back and I quickly shut the lid. The next has the oddest thing yet—huge curved claws. Like a giant version of my own.

I approach a fourth box, the one in the same place the locked cold box once was. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them on my dress. I have no reason to fear this box. It is only more parts for Father's creations.

It could not be anything else.

This does nothing to calm me, and my heart beats a
staccato rhythm in my chest. I place my hands on the top of the cold box and thrust it open. I yelp, clapping my hands over my mouth.

The sickly girl whose death I hastened with my venom lies inside. Her hands are crossed over her chest as though she's trying to keep warm in her sleep. It
was
a hand I saw slip out of the cold box. Panic rushes over me. Father said he sent her off with Darrell to be buried in Belladoma. How did she get back here? Did Darrell return her for some unfathomable reason?

More important, why didn't Father tell me?

Another body comes to my mind. That faun Pippa uncovered beneath my garden. A chill slinks from the crown of my head to the tip of my tail. Was this girl here all along? I know why he kept his faun friend's body, but why would he keep hers? He keeps only bodies for parts in the boxes. . . .

What about mine, when he first found it? Did he keep me in a cold box once, too?

“Kymera?” Father's voice echoes down the stair, and my heart lurches into my throat. My palms continue to sweat in spite of the temperature as I drop the lid on the girl's cold-box casket.

“Down here, Father,” I say, keeping my voice light. I'm desperate to ask about the girl, but fear gnaws at my gut. Father didn't want me to know. If he had, he would've told me. He kept it from me for a reason.

But what could that reason be?

“What are you doing?” He frowns. I slide my blue eyes into place and give him a shaky grin.

“Looking for you. I must speak with you.” Despite the shock of finding the girl, I have not forgotten why I sought him in the first place.

“Of course, my dear. Let us go sit by the fire.” He takes my arm and begins to lead me up the stairs. Does he not want me in his laboratory? I feel much less welcome now than the time I watched him make a new chicken.

“Wait,” I say, pulling my arm out of his grasp. I take a deep breath and brace for Father's anger. “I opened the cold boxes. I saw
her
. Why is that girl who died still here? Why didn't you tell me?”

For one second, Father's face slips into an angry mask, but it's gone before I even blink. “You should not play down here. There are dangerous, powerful things. I would not wish you to be hurt accidentally.” His cool fingers wrap around my shoulder, radiating numbness toward my head. “The girl is only here in case you need spare parts. But you will forget all about that.”

“But I . . .” I struggle to hold on to the thread of conversation, but it slips from my mind like an eel through the river. What was I so concerned about a moment ago? I glance back down the stairs as Father leads me out of the tower. The usual boxes, stone table, and shelves filled with an array of gruesome jars look back, just as they ought.

The unsettling feeling of something missing haunts every step I take away from the laboratory. I clench my hands in frustration, but Father won't let me out of his grasp. If I could just go back down those stairs I might remember why.

When we're settled in our usual chairs, Father clears his throat. “Now, what did you wish to speak to me about?”

I may not remember why I was upset in the laboratory, but I do know why I was looking for Father: to tell him about Ren. My hands are clasped so tightly in my lap that the tips of my fingers turn white.

“I have something to confess,” I begin. “You will not like it.”

Father raises an eyebrow. “That is not an auspicious beginning.”

I swallow. “I spoke to that boy. Many times.”

Father's face pales, then reddens like my roses. “You what?” His hands grip the arms of his chair hard enough that I fear he will rip out the stuffing. “You disobeyed me?”

My face matches his. “I'm sorry, Father. I didn't intend to disobey you, but he was persistent and I was curious. I couldn't help it. I have no one to talk to when I go into Bryre.”

I have no one to talk to at all but you,
I think, but refrain from saying. Father would keep me locked away like the fairy-tale princess trapped in her tower, alone and unaware of the outside world. But like her, I couldn't resist the desire to break free.

“You do not talk to the people of Bryre because you are supposed to be sneaking their girls out of the city!” Father leaps up and begins to pace.

This does not bode well. He hasn't even heard the worst of it.

“There's more.”

He spins, eyes blazing, and I shrink back into my chair. Even Pippa cowers under the table. Neither of us has ever witnessed Father in such a state. “What did you do?” he says.

“I was only doing as you instructed last night, as I do every night. I snuck into the prison and took one of the girls with me. Ren must've been nearby because—”

“Ren?
Ren?
You know his name?”

I blush deeper, though I didn't think it possible. “And he knows mine,” I whisper. Father throws his hands up, grumbling. He resumes stomping around the room.

“On my way out of the city, he found me and saw the girl.” I pause, remembering the confused, horrified expression on Ren's face. “He didn't understand what I was doing and I couldn't explain. I stung him.” I grip the bottom of my chair, steeling myself in the face of Father's fury. “I want—I need—to tell him everything. What we do, what I am, everything.”

Father grasps my shoulders and shakes me until my teeth rattle. “Are you out of your bloody mind, girl? Tell him?”

“He will understand!” I manage to spit out. “He will help us if he knows! He hates the wizard as much as we do.”

“Oh, I am sure he does.” Father snorts. “He is just a stupid boy. He cannot help us.”

I bristle at his assessment of Ren. “He's no such thing. He's smart and sneaky. The king trusts him to carry secret messages to his advisers!” I leave out the fact that Ren also introduced me to his family and possibly the king himself.

“That is true.” Father stops pacing and scratches his
chin. “He trusts you, then? You might redeem yourself yet.”

Hope surges in my chest. Might I have both Father and Ren? “How? What can I do?”

Father shrugs. “You will bring him back here on your next trip to the city. I will be the judge of whether or not he truly works for the king.”

“You want me to bring him here? I doubt he'll come with me. Our last meeting did not go well.”

He laughs and it chills me. “Kym, all you have to do is sting him. I will interrogate him and find out what he knows about the wizard, the king, and any plans he may be privy to.”

My lungs stop working. “You want me to put him to sleep?” Panic surges where hope flamed moments before. I don't want to sting him again—I already feel terrible about the times I did. “You won't send him away to Belladoma, will you?” I can't fathom Ren being that far away.

“Of course. You cannot believe he will want to stay near you once he discovers what you are, can you?”

I can. I do. Of all people, I need Ren to believe in me, whatever form I may take. It is the secret wish of my heart that I've hardly dared to utter. My face blanches.

“You do?” He takes my chin in his hand, harder than usual. “How many times must I tell you, Kymera: No human will ever trust you. Accept you. Or love you. Not like I do. I am the only one because I made you. They would kill you as soon as look at you.”

I wrest my chin out of his grip. “Ren would not. He's upset because he saw me taking that child, but once he
knows everything he'll understand. I know he will! He will help, because I'm certain he has nothing to do with that wizard!”

I stand, every limb quivering.

Father folds his arms and stares deep into my eyes. “No, Kym. He will not understand. He will hate you. He already hates you.”

“No!” I scream, kicking over the chair and scaring any of Pippa's remaining wits right out of her head.

Then I do the one thing I can.

Run.

The only thought filling my mind is how much I don't want to be near Father. How much I crave Ren's company. Heedless of the daylight and Father's objections, I throw myself into the hedge path.

The air is cooler here, but my entire body is aflame with misgivings. Father can't be right. Ren does not hate me. He can't hate me! I love him. I'll do anything to redeem myself in his eyes.

I'll explain everything. I'll apologize for taking so long to tell him. He'll understand.

He has to.

I'll confess that I rescued Delia. I wish I hadn't given her to Darrell to bring to Belladoma. I should've taken her to Ren instead. But I allowed jealousy to cloud my vision and made the wrong choice. Still, Ren should be relieved she's safe and in a happy place. He won't have to worry anymore even if he misses her. Perhaps we can visit her someday.

Hope buoys me as I break free of the hedge and enter the forest proper. I pull back my cloak and flutter my way between the trees. When the road comes into view, I clutch my cloak around my body, pulling the hood up over my head, and wind my tail around my thigh. No one can stop me from finding Ren. Not Father, not the city guards.

I wish I could fly, but I can't take the risk in the daytime.

The sun is high and sweat trickles down my spine as I pass other travelers. I barely give them a second glance. My thoughts have one focus.

By the time I near the gates, I realize I may have trouble getting into Bryre. The guards appear to be stopping everyone. Surely I will not be an exception. I veer into the woods and wind my way toward the wall nearest the forest edge. Closing my eyes, I listen for sounds of the guards on the parapet above. A dull roar echoes somewhere out of reach. When the nearest guard passes out of range, I climb up the stones using my claws. I must be stealthier now than at night. I reach the top and leap into the nearest tree. The whole city is alive with motion. I'm not sure what to make of it.

This is very different from the quiet, sleeping city I've grown to love.

I'll have to find my way to Ren. To apologize, to explain. I must see him.

I drop out of the tree and crouch on all fours in the yard of a house. A young boy watches me with wide eyes
through the back window.

“Mama, look!” The child points and I freeze. “There's a girl in our yard!”

I burst into the streets and hit a wall of people. There are so many. Young, old, in between. The colors of their clothes swirl around me in streaks of reds, blues, greens, and browns.

All of them are talking or moving or making noise. So much noise! I've never heard this much at one time before. This is the dull roar I noticed in the forest, realized as a true cacophony. I slap my hands over my ears and crumple to the cobblestones. It's so loud that it hurts. I can't stand it. I wish I could curl up and dissolve into the ground.