Monstrous (25 page)

It's me.

My sting is the only connection between all those things. The venom—it doesn't just put people to sleep—it must make them forget, too. I shiver. Why did Father never tell me this? Does he even know or is this an unforeseen side effect?

I dig my hands into the mossy bank in frustration. What can I do about it? Nothing. I can do nothing to change what I am, and it would seem that is a part of me, too.

I smell my dragon before I see him—the dank, metal-tinged scent is unmistakable. He is as glorious as ever as he materializes. Shimmering scales, refracting the sunlight like tiny prisms, and huge leathery wings flapping as he gets his bearings. Golden eyes above his regal snout gaze down at me with affection.

I don't understand how dragons travel, but I love to watch the effects. Surely, not all magic can be evil if dragons are made of it.

Sister
. He puffs in my direction, lowering his snout to my level.

“I am glad you found me today,” I whisper. “The people of Bryre hate me.”

Ah, the humans do tend to fear that which they do not understand.

“That is what Father said,” I say miserably. “But I thought he was wrong. We save the girls from the wizard, but the king's messenger, a friend, caught me in the city. Father told me to bring him home so we could find out what the king knows about the wizard's movements, but then he would send him far away from Bryre. I couldn't bear that, so I went into Bryre during the day to find my friend, and . . .” The tears spring forth and my voice is lost.

And you were caught by the humans.

I can only nod. Batu nuzzles me with his snout in reassurance.

You escaped?

“Yes, my friend helped me. He doesn't remember the night before.”

Batu snorts, seeming to consider my words.
That is very strange.
If I didn't know any better, I might think Batu frowns, but he says nothing more. The revelation about my venom is still so fresh I can hardly believe it, so I keep it to myself. For now.

I settle back on the riverbank, watching the patterns of
the swirling water. “I must return home, but I can't shake the feeling that . . . well, I don't know what it is. This bad feeling every time I think of home.”

Perhaps you should heed it. Your unconscious mind may know more than you realize.

Something hides between the spaces of the dragon's words. A brief flush of fear and anxiety that is not my own washes over me. It lingers longer than I'd like.

“I cannot abandon Father. I am all he has left, and he sacrificed so much for me. I will have to face him again. I miss him.”

Batu huffs an earthy breath in understanding.
That is not your only home. I would open my nest to you, if you need it, sister.

“Thank you.”

Have you considered that this sense of foreboding may have to do with your father? You would be returning to him, after all.

“My father?” I say, swallowing down the unexpected burst of discomfort that accompanies that suggestion.

Has he been acting strangely lately? Could he be in the wizard's thrall? Your animal senses might pick up on that in a way your human eyes cannot.

“There is no one less likely to be under the wizard's thrall than my father. He never ventures near Bryre, and only leaves occasionally for the traveling markets.” While I say this with all the certainty I can muster, I can't help thinking that Father has been more short-tempered with me lately than usual. And more secretive than ever. I can't deny that the unpleasant sense of something wrong has been nipping at my heels. The discovery that my venom steals
memories is only making it worse. Father is so careful and smart that he must have known. The fact that he kept it from me troubles me deeply.

Before Batu can respond, an awful wail pierces the forest. I am on my feet in seconds.

I must leave.
The dragon begins to shimmer and fade.
Good-bye, sister.

I fly through the forest in the direction of the sound. It continues, a terrible keening. When I hear shouts from the road join it, I freeze between the trees, terrified I've been spotted. But it is not the sight of me that makes them yell. Something's being carried to the city gates in a simple wooden cart. A small, limp foot hangs off the back. My heart ricochets in my chest.

Someone died.

But who could it be? Has the wizard, thwarted by our efforts, exacted a new and terrible form of revenge?

I
must
know.

This could directly affect our mission; nothing less could possibly inspire me to return to Bryre in daylight.

Instead of using the road as I did the day before, I hide in the trees and keep close to the shadows. It's the long way but I don't want anyone to recognize me. I'll have to find places to hide in the city. Luckily, I've seen many on my nightly excursions.

An invisible vise around my ribs hitches tighter with every step I take. Returning to Bryre is not something I relish. All those hands grabbing and mouths screaming—so
much noise! But something is wrong, and nightfall is much too far away.

When I reach the city walls, I remain in the trees until the guards pass. I scale the walls and drop silently into the bushes below. A crowd of people meet the cart at the gate, and I follow their wailing until they stop in a large square before the palace gates. The wrought iron curls against the blue sky. The tops of the hedges peek over the walls, and the scent of roses wafts over my hiding spot in a shadowed alley. I sneak a look around the corner, and the crowd's words begin to make sense.

“Murderer!”

The crowd chants as a tradesman carries the limp body up to a platform in the middle of the square and a woman throws herself on the girl, keening and pounding the planks.

Mother. That's her mother.

Did my mother love me like that?

Shock jolts through me as I catch sight of the dead girl's face. It's the girl I killed with my venom.

Her poor mother. How did the girl get here? I—

Something slams at the edges of my vision, forcing me to my knees. It is out of reach, but it fills me with the same uneasiness that has trailed me for the last few days. A buzzing rings in my ears as I struggle to push past it to the memory that wants to return. Some other part of me, locked away, is filled with a desperate need to break through—and seeing that girl's face triggered it.

Did I know her? Have I seen her somewhere else?

A small hand, reaching over the edge of a box . . .

I grasp for more, but the image flits away, frightened by the truth that still can't get through. Where was that? From my past or more recently? And if it is recent, why can't I remember it? It almost looks like . . .

One of Father's cold boxes.

The block in my mind shatters, searing my skull with ice and chilling me down to my very marrow.

The girl lies in the cold box, still as death, arms folded across her chest. Frost coats her skin in a thin, glittering sheen. The fear I felt when I saw her skitters over my arms and legs and digs its roots into my heart.

Why did Father keep her?

Why did I forget?

And how could the city folk have found her when she was in Father's tower?

Has the wizard found us or is Father hiding many more things from me than just this girl? The fear in my heart twists at this thought and I shove it down. Father loves me. And he loves this city. He has nothing to gain by enraging the city folk and blaming me.

But the wizard would. First the questionable effects of my sting on memories, and now this girl . . . I cannot decide what to think. If the wizard has enchanted Father, we are lost.

My eyes burn, but I can't look away as the father pulls the mother off their dead child. Father lost my mother, too. He would never do anything to make another parent feel that way, would he? Their twisting expressions stab my
heart. The man clutches her to his chest like he is afraid of losing her, too. The mob swells in noise.

“The beast is in league with the wizard!”

“The beast is a murderer!”

The beast. That's what they think I am. They believe I work for the wizard. Me! Who was murdered by the wizard before Father brought me back to life. The chanting of “murderer” grows louder with each passing second. I clamp my hands over my ears and fold over in the alley's corner. I am responsible for that girl's death, but it was an accident. I can't fathom why Father kept her. If I'd known she was too weak, I never would've stung her. I only want to help these people, and now they hate me.

Father's right; humans are strange, fickle creatures. I'm glad I'm no longer one of them.

When the noise in the square dies down to a dull roar, I relax the death grip on my head. A man speaks over the crowd. I poke my head around the corner—who managed to quiet the angry mob?

A familiar gray-haired man stands on the platform, framed by the palace in the background.

Oliver. He wears a crown. He really is the king.

My heart aches even more for Bryre's plight. The story he told—that was his daughter, his wife, who died by the wizard's hand. I nearly forgot about that after I told Father I overheard things. I wish I'd been here to help them both.

“Please,” Oliver says, raising a hand in the air. “Please, calm down. This is a horrible and unfortunate event. I know exactly what you're feeling right now.”

“Murderer! Kill the murderer! Kill her accomplice!”

“Stop!” Oliver shouts, but it has little effect. “More blood will not solve this. Let's break this vicious cycle of death and retribution. Bury our dead and stay the higher ground.”

“Find the creature and kill her!” yell several voices in the crowd. “Kill the murderer! Kill her accomplice!” I clap my hands over my ears again to block out the awful refrain as it echoes through the city. I tremble. Accomplice? Have they figured out I belong to Father? I may have powers they don't, but I'm afraid. They want my head. They'll kill me if they find me.

They'll kill Father if they discover he made me.

Whatever he may have hidden from me, whatever he may have done unwittingly or otherwise, he is still my father.

“We've found the beast's accomplice!” a voice shouts from the crowd. The crowd parts as two men drag a wriggling person between them.

When they shove Ren to the ground, my heart nearly stops.

“What?” Oliver says, his face going white.

One man—who I recognize as the guard Ren put to sleep—steps forward, pointing his finger and sneering. “That boy gave me a sleeping draught in a bottle of rum. Said it was a gift from the king and his council for watching over the monster. When I finally woke, the beast had escaped and my keys were in the wrong pocket.”

My breakfast threatens to come up. Stupid, stupid Ren.
Why did he do that? He took such a foolish risk to help me. He must think he'll get leniency because Oliver is fond of him. I doubt the grumbling crowd will allow any fondness the king has to dull their bloodlust.

“Ren, please tell me you didn't.” A warning tone slips into Oliver's voice.

Ren rises to his feet and sticks his chin out. “I did. She isn't responsible for the girls who've gone missing. And she didn't kill this girl, either.”

“Oh, Ren, how could you?” Oliver whispers, barely audible over the thrum of the crowd.

“I know her. She may not be like us, but that doesn't mean she's a monster.”

The mob pays Ren no heed. “You helped the murderer!”

“You let the beast escape!”

He struggles with the guard holding his arms behind his back. “She is not the murderer—it's the wizard! Can't you see that?”

“Ren,” Oliver says, “you are only making things worse.”

“No! They're fools if they can't see what's right in front of them.” He turns toward them again. “The wizard is back, we all know it! Killing her won't solve a thing.”

My heart constricts as the mob descends. I thrill to know Ren believes in me, but I'm ashamed that he's only half right, and that it's only because he doesn't remember. I did kill that girl. Just not the rest. Ren disappears in the masses as they cart him off down the street. Where are they taking him?

Oliver sags on the edge of the platform as the crowd disperses, leaving him and a handful of guards behind.

I shudder. Something awful is about to happen to Ren. Something Oliver—even as king—is powerless to stop.

No. They will not harm my Ren. If Oliver can't save him, I will.

When the noise of the crowd begins to fade, I creep into the alleyways. I close my eyes as I run, orienting on the sound of the crowd. All those voices. So much anger, hate.

All the blame they want to place on me focused on Ren.

My blood roils at the thought, claws aching to rip apart the fools who don't understand that the problem is not us; it's that blasted wizard. Who else would go around killing girls?

Ren's right; they're afraid. Can I blame them for that? Perhaps not, but I will blame them if they harm a hair on Ren's head.

Determination spurs my feet to move faster and soon the crowd is close. Their steps make the ground quiver and my ears burn with noise.

“Hang the traitor!” cries a voice. Then another. Soon the whole crowd chants the refrain. “Hang him!”

If only I had many tails with barbs, I could sting them all and silence them long enough to get Ren away.

A low whine slips out between my teeth. Instinct rears its head and I have to squash it down. Fight and flight are not real options. Saving Ren is the only one.

I crouch down within the alley shadows, close to the wall. The crowd lies around the corner with Ren. I hear the
creak of wood and the rustle of what I guess is rope. What on earth are they doing?

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. And another. The ache in my hands retreats. I open my eyes to peek around the corner. The crowd surrounds a wooden platform with a high crossbar. A rope with a loop at one end hangs from the bar.