mouth, and an almost guilty twitch in his neck as his head turns from side

to side, making sure the other guards’ eyes are averted.

I suddenly realize what a good job Bo has done of hiding his true

feelings. He cares for me more than I’ve assumed—there is genuine

concern in his expression—but he also fears for my mind more than I ever

would have guessed. He worries I’m more than odd. He worries I’m

touched by my mother’s madness, and that one day the queen he’s come

to care for may become a madwoman who’ll try to kill her children in the

night.

I don’t know if it’s the roses’ magic or my own intuition, but I am

certain that is what Bo feels. And I’m just as certain that he won’t leave my

tower without knowing how I managed to leave my shoes in a flower bed

only feet from the Monstrous’s cell.

I have to go. I have to go back to the tower. Now.

No sooner is the thought through my mind than the thorn withdraws

from my flesh and the vine loosens its grip on my wrist. I pull my hand back

to my chest, pressing it tightly to my sweater until I feel the bleeding stop.

Breath coming fast, I draw my knees to my chest. I am preparing to

leap up, run back to the tower, and hope I can make the climb up to the

balcony without being spotted by Bo or the guards—when the greater

implications of what has just happened hit hard enough to make my bones

weak all over again.

The roses knew. Somehow they knew what I was planning and they

don’t want me to go. They showed me just enough to make me afraid,

before setting me free.

But should I really be afraid? I wonder as I scoot away from the

containing wall, out of the roses’ reach.

It’s late, nearly midnight. Bo knows better than to come to my rooms

at this hour. If he finds the door locked and neither Needle nor I answer, he

might very well decide to leave and return tomorrow. Tomorrow, when

Needle will be at the tower to tell him I’m not feeling well and turn him

away.

Now that there’s no thorn buried beneath my skin, that scenario

seems as likely as the one I fear. More likely. But the roses didn’t want me

to think clearly; they wanted me to run along back to my prison. It could be

they simply have the interests of the city at heart—it is dangerous for me to

leave, to take such a risk when I am unmarried and the covenant is

unsecured—but the vision felt more insidious, the inexorable grip of the

vine more possessive than concerned.

As I rub the bruised skin around my new wound, I begin to doubt for

the first time in my life what I’ve been taught about the royal garden. The

legends say the roses grew after the first queen’s blood hit the ground, a

symbol of the sacrifice she’d made and the covenant that would keep Yuan

safe.

But what if—

“There you are.” Gem’s voice comes centimeters from my ear, close

enough to make me gasp. My ears are sensitive, but I didn’t hear a thing

until he was close enough to touch.

By the moons, I’m glad he’s here. I’m so glad not to be alone with the

roses. I’m weak with it. Strong with it. My blood starts to rush again; my

bones rediscover their sturdy centers.

“Thank you for coming.” I find his chest with my fingers, flattening

my palm against the thick fabric of one of his new shirts, hoping he can feel

my gratitude as clearly as I feel his heart thudding beneath his ribs.

Ba-bump, ba-bump, ba-bump, bababump bababump bababump. The

beating grows faster as we sit in silence, our foggy breath mingling between

our faces. Mine is hot, but his is so much hotter and it smells nothing of the

cabbage he refuses to eat. Gem’s breath is fresh sawdust and sweet smoke,

chestnuts and celery root, as sharp and clean as the winter air. It’s a good

smell, a healthy smell that makes me wonder how breath like that would

taste on a kiss.

Ba-bump … bump. My heartbeat stutters, and I pull my hand away

from Gem’s chest so quickly that I hit my own throat and begin to choke.

“Are you all right?” He lays a hand on my shoulder, the same

shoulder he tore open months ago, the one that bears a tight, sleek scar

from the claw that cut the deepest. But now Gem’s claws are sheathed and

his fingers are careful, gentle.

He’s never touched me like this before. We haven’t touched in

weeks, and even then our only contact was in anger—my fists on his chest,

his hands at my wrists, my fingers on his throat, his claws at mine. But this

is not anger. This is … something else.

“I’m fine.” My whisper is hoarse. I clear my throat. “We should go.

The patrol—”

“They’ll be back soon,” he interrupts, his voice gruff. He pulls his

hand from my shoulder, leaving my skin colder. “Go back to your tower. If I

run, I’ll be back in my cell before I’m spotted.”

“No!” I say, louder than I mean to. I bite my lip, then whisper, “No.

We have to get the bulbs. I know of a secret door out into the desert. No

one will see us go, and Needle will make sure we aren’t missed.”

“And how will she do that?”

“I’ve canceled your escort to the field,” I explain, ears straining to

catch the scuff of boots. “No one will come to your room except to bring

meals. Needle says she can convince the girl who delivers them to allow her

to take over for the next few days. That should be enough, shouldn’t it?

You said it wouldn’t take more than three days. Two, if you were quick.”

He grunts. I can tell he isn’t impressed with the plan. “And what of

the queen? Won’t someone notice your absence?”

“I told Bo I don’t wish to be disturbed,” I say, throat tightening

around what I’ve left unsaid: the crack in the dome waiting to be

investigated and the fact that Bo stands at my tower door right now, and all

the rest. “He’ll honor my wish to be left alone for a few days, and Needle

will turn him away if he does not.”

Gem makes another dubious sound. When he speaks again, I can tell

he’s closer. His breath is warmer. It whispers across my lips, prickling my

skin. “If your people find out you took me into the desert with no one to

protect you, or prevent me from escaping, they’ll think you’re more rattled

in the brain than they do already. Junjie will lock you away, and you will

never rule this city.”

“I will never rule this city if I run back to my rooms,” I hiss. “I must

give the people a reason to see me as—or at least remember me—as

something more than …”

“More than?”

“The garden will prove I am a good and useful queen,” I say, cursing

myself for nearly losing control of my tongue. I don’t want Gem to know. I

don’t want him to treat me the way people treat a girl who has been

marked for death since her very birth. “The garden will—” A faint thud

sounds from the direction of the orchard. I freeze, falling silent, until Gem

whispers—

“An apple falling to the ground. There is still fruit on the limbs at the

very top.” Disgust creeps into his tone. “Your people have so much, you

leave food to rot.”

My answer. I have it. I know how to make Gem come with me. I hate

to make promises I might not be alive to keep, but I have no choice. “Help

me tonight,” I say, “and I will do what I can for your people.”

“You can do nothing.”

“Not now,” I agree. “But if we fetch these bulbs, and the herbs we

need later … If my garden is a success and my people are healed and learn

to love me, they’ll respect my judgment. Come summer, when the first of