Ravenous

For Jason, Tootsie, and Milo—my family, my heart, my favorites

THOUGH I SIT BY THE WARM, WELCOMING HEARTH IN THE HOME OF THE
king's page boy, Ren, one small sentence is all it takes to drag me back to that awful place. To my nightmare.

“We are sending aid to Belladoma,” King Oliver said moments ago, propelling us all into confusion.

Belladoma.

I stand in the tower again, the nauseating smell of sea brine stinging my nose and a guard's hands pinning my shoulder to the rough windowsill. Below us, black water swirls against the cliff's edge and one long tentacled arm gropes up the rocks.

All those other girls King Ensel holds captive as meals for the sea monster, the Sonzeeki, are too soft, too coddled.

I have to help them. I have to try, no matter how futile it seems.

But every month, we're taken up to the tower like clockwork, and terrible, helpless rage curls around me like a strangling cloak.

“We are sending aid to Belladoma.”

“You must be joking,” I say. The mere thought of that place makes my stomach lurch. I grip the edge of my chair, nails digging into the wooden frame.

Laura, Ren's mother, bristles in the chair next to me. I've known her almost as long as I've been friends with her son; she hates Belladoma too. “Greta's right. Why should we help them? They murdered our children. They aided the wizard.”

How can I forget those empty-eyed courtiers in Belladoma, or the poor who hid, safe in their houses, while King Ensel sent yet another of my friends off the cliff to sate the ravenous beast in the bay? They did nothing to help us. Why would they? Without us, the Sonzeeki would destroy their city with floods unless they sent their own children to it. The sea monster that haunts every Belladoman child's dreams has spread like a disease to disturb the slumber of Bryre's children too.

I don't need to look at Ren to know what he is feeling. He tried to save us, only to fall victim to Belladoma's evil king too. Out of the corner of my eyes, I see his hands clench and unclench, much like my own. But he doesn't say a word to the king he adores and serves. In spite of everything.

And there is Delia, who should be as disgusted by this idea as any of us. We were both among Bryre's stolen girls. But she simply stands beside her father, the king, staring at
her feet. Her golden hair drapes in such a way that I can't see her expression.

King Oliver sighs. “I do not expect any of you to be happy about this. But it is not the people's fault their king was a horrible man. He was a usurper, and he was mad; he was never going to be a good ruler. The people of Belladoma have long suffered, and we can help. Now that Ensel is dead and no one feeds the Sonzeeki, it floods their city every month, poisoning the soil with salt so nothing can grow.”

He stands, and for a moment he resembles the king I recall from when I was a child. Tall, strong, decisive but kind.

If only the transformation wasn't on behalf of Belladoma. Bryre—our own city—needs its king's full attention now more than ever.

“They starve,” King Oliver says. “The few children they have left who weren't victims of King Ensel's sacrifices are dying. I will not stand by and watch.”

I cannot bite my tongue like Ren and Delia. “
They
joined forces with the wizard and his evil magic.
Their
king woke the angry sea monster with a taste for young girls. The wizard stole Bryre's girls, my friends. Haven't
we
suffered enough?”

“She's right,” Laura says, putting a hand on my shoulder. “We should show them the same measure of kindness they showed us.”

The disappointment in the king's face sears my heart.

“It grieves me to hear that,” King Oliver says. I can't
meet his eyes. The emotions twisting inside will explode from my chest if I do. I wrap my arms around my middle, and Ren's mother rubs my back. At least someone here understands.

The king sighs again, then bows and leaves the cottage silently. Delia follows like his shadow, but her betrayal lingers, needling my skin like tiny knives.

“Greta, Mama,” Ren says to me and Laura, “I don't like it any more than you do, but if the king says we must, we have no choice.”

“If the king said we must give over our girls to help them, would you go along so easily? Our focus should be on our own city, on Bryre. We need our king here, not running off to some other place.”

Ren frowns, and it pinches my heart. “Belladoma is repulsive to me, too, but we can't let people die needlessly.”

“But how can we help another city when we can't even help ourselves?” I stand, pulling my cloak around my shoulders.

Laura pats my arm. “Just wait—perhaps the king will see reason tomorrow. Belladoma might refuse our help. They've always been a proud people.”

The fire flickers, throwing shadows all over the small room. “I can't bear to watch it happen.” A buzzing in my ears, like frenzied waves crashing, grows louder with every second.

“Greta.” Ren tries to follow, but I flee. This is worse than the nightmares that still plague me after all these months.

But the worst part is that our own king would offer help to the city that attempted to destroy us before he heals Bryre's own deep wounds.

Our city may have come back to life, but its occupants have a long way to go.

I wander through the city streets, meandering toward the palace, trying to escape the sound of waves crashing that won't let me rest. I know what draws me in, but it's foolish. This won't help a whit. And yet . . .

The guards know me well now. Ever since I fought against King Ensel and the wizard with Kymera the monster girl, they have treated me with more tolerance than they ever would have before as a commoner. They let me into the gardens without batting an eye.

While I have visited the palace many times since the battle with the wizard, there is one place I have avoided.

A strange flower lies at the edge of the garden not far from the palace steps. A beautiful red rose that's always in bloom, never closing up for the night to sleep. It never wilts, and it probably doesn't need watering, though the gardeners water it anyway. After the battle, it rooted in a broken pillar, and King Oliver built the Altar of the Rose around it in an enclosure of fine silver-veined white marble, with an opening to let in the moon and sun and rain.

Strange occurrences are often followed by rumors, and Bryre's rose is no exception. A steadily growing faction in the city claims the rose has the power to grant wishes, to fulfill unspoken needs, and to right wrongs. They visit the
flower regularly to leave offerings and pay respects, their red cloaks marking them as followers of the rose.

But I don't believe in rumors. I believe in myself, and what I can do with my own two hands. Yet the righting of wrongs, the tempting idea it might be possible, now draws me in at last.

I enter the alcove, the moon high above, its light piercing through the opening and illuminating the rose in all its perfect beauty. Just seeing it quiets the ocean in my brain.

There's enough room inside for a handful of people to circle the rose on a marble walkway. The walls have shelves from floor to ceiling, and many of the city folk, not only the cult, leave tokens and offerings here. There are a few statuettes of dragons, and many carved in the monstrous likeness of a girl with claws, a serpentine tail, and black wings. Other oddities line the shelves too—dried flowers and roses mostly, but also bits of bone, thorns, and pottery of dubious shape and origin. And there on the bottom row lies a book of fairy tales.

I kneel on the marble path, a foot away from the flower. The petals are like soft velvet; its leaves are green and strong, and its thorns are fierce.

“I don't know if you can hear me,” I say. An odd desperation has settled in my chest: if the rose does look after Bryre, it would not approve of the king's plan, I'm sure. “I don't know where else to turn. Our king wants to help Belladoma, to give them supplies and food. They can't feed the Sonzeeki any longer, and it has been terrorizing and flooding the city.” I ball my fists in my skirts as the image of
that awful black shell rising from the depths dances in front of my eyes. “I pity them, but I can't stomach the thought of helping them. They sat idly by and did nothing while King Ensel held us captive, while he threw my friends off the cliff. They don't deserve our help.” Unwanted tears burn the backs of my eyes.

The night breeze brushes over the petals of the rose.

“Would you aid the people who tried to destroy your city? If you have any power to stop the king, I beg you to do it. He hid from the wizard for so long, and now Bryre needs him here. We need him
more
.”

The rose doesn't answer, but a cloud passes over the moon, removing all the light from the altar chamber. I leap to my feet.

My hands quiver. It's only a rose. Nothing more.

A single beam of moonlight pierces the cloud, striking the book of fairy tales on the alcove shelf.

A memory stirs within me. The book reminds me of something an old friend once held dear. I kneel by the wall and put my hands on the book. The clouds shift again, and moonlight fully illuminates the room. The change is so sudden, it startles me and I drop the book. A pressed rose slips from between the pages, and as I pick it back up I realize the book is filled with the pressed flowers.

Someone treasured this book once. I'll take the fairy tales—my brother, Hans, will love them—but I don't feel right taking these.

I carefully remove each pressed rose, making a strange sort of bouquet. When it's complete, I tie them together
with a piece of string I find and rest the flowers back where the book once stood.

It must be the wind whispering through the palace garden, but I think I hear a sigh as I put the book in my satchel and leave the Altar of the Rose.