Ravenous (23 page)

Two Weeks Later

SUNSET LIGHTS THE TOWERS OF THE PALACE, WHILE ON THE NEW GRANITE
steps below a ceremony begins: the new queen of Belladoma will be crowned at last.

The drowning city has begun to dry, and the fear of unkind rulers and beasts in the deep abates. Over the last few weeks, neighbors have helped one another clear out old debris from the last flood, shore up cracked foundations, and replace swollen wooden beams, revealing a new city.

They turn over the earth in the fields, confident in the knowledge that their crops will not be ruined; this time they will have the chance to flourish, and there will be extra hands to till the soil. New inhabitants join them, hybrid refugees from a hidden village, bringing their own resources and talents to make Belladoma the beautiful
place it was in times past.

A steady supply of food from Bryre pours through the streets until the citizens can replace it with their own. The treasury, long hoarded by unscrupulous guardians, has been opened and distributed to the people of the city.

Beyond the castle, in the cavern deep below the cliffs, a creature of times forgotten finally sleeps, its long, slippery arms cradling a small horn-shaped basket, and its beady, blank eye mourning for the other creatures who shared the basket once upon a time.

Today, hope is written on the face of every man, woman, and child as they gather on the steps of the palace. A rightful ruler—a young and brave one—will soon be back on the throne.

An old man places a shining circlet of gold on the head of a dark-haired girl, then a thinner one of silver on the blond-haired boy next to her. Together, they inspire the hope and loyalty of the crowd. Nearby stand, a delegation from Bryre and a centaur boy. The onlookers, a mix of human and hybrid, cheer their names like a victory cry:

Greta, Hans! Greta! Hans!

The sun dips into the ocean behind the palace, smudging the horizon with red haze, but tomorrow, a new day will dawn in Belladoma.

A
Monstrous
Novella

THE SPAN OF MY LIFE CAN BE MEASURED BETWEEN THESE WALLS. WALLS
that protect Bryre from the wizard. Walls that keep him out and me, the crown princess Rosabel, very much in.

If my mother and father had their way, I'd have nothing to amuse me save my garden and my sister. They would have me remain here, where I am now, where I am every day, coaxing roses from the ground, never dreaming of leaving the palace.

Never having any dreams at all.

They did not count on Ren.

I twirl a bloodred rose in my hand and wander through the garden maze. It begins behind the palace and leads to a forest of topiary beasts and rosebushes marching all the way to the main gate. It's patrolled by guards, but if I remain
between the hulking shadows of the sculpted hedges, they won't see me at all.

But Ren will find me. He always does.

Mama and Papa believe the palace is the one place I'm safe, but they're wrong. They can't watch me all the time. Someday, I will take their place as ruler of Bryre. How can they expect me to properly rule a people I'm not even allowed to see? Their fear of the wizard clouds their vision on this topic.

Fortunately, my own eyes are crystal clear.

I rest on a bench in the shade of a centaur-shaped topiary and wait for my escape.

Before long, the telltale rustle of Ren running through the maze reaches my ears. I can't help but smile. Soon he sits beside me, out of breath and bright-eyed from delivering messages for my father. His wild brown hair falls around his face.

“A perfect morning to walk to the market, isn't it?” He grins in a lopsided manner that never ceases to pluck my heartstrings.

We keep our eyes and ears open for servants passing by as we stroll through the maze. Papa and Mama know how much I love the gardens, so this never raises suspicion.

But if they heard we were opening a trapdoor in the old fountain nearly swallowed up by the hedges, they would definitely be alarmed.

It was drained of water long ago, and now the cherubs play only in dust. No one ventures this deep into the maze
but us, and I suspect the gardeners have simply forgotten about it. The fountains in the squares and in the front of the palace gardens are much better maintained.

Cracks mar the edges of the small fountain, but Ren and I know the true secret that lies beneath it. All castles have escape routes. When we were small, Ren, my sister, and I found the hidden passages in the castle and followed them all to their ends. They were musty and filled with dirt, dust, and secrets. This one leads to an old church in Bryre in one direction, and inside to the pantry and kitchens in the other. It is also one of the few that we discovered after those childhood antics, and that Delia does not know exists. If we want to get to the market, the garden entrance to the tunnels is our best route.

Ren tugs at the arm of the highest cherub and it swings down easily. Stone groans as the floor of the fountain lowers and shifts into stairs.

“After you,” he says with a bow.

I laugh. We only play at gallantry. Ren never stands on ceremony with me. It's a relief not to have to tiptoe around each other like we do with everyone else in the palace. We creep down the steps into the darkness. I pull a box of matches from my pocket and light the nearest torch, while Ren pushes on the counterlever and the fountain slides back into place. No one will guess where we've gone. No one ever does.

Ren's brown eyes shine devilishly in the half light. “Better hurry,” he says, “the good stuff won't stick around all day.” With that he runs down the passage. I follow blindly; I know this route by heart. Within minutes we reach the
exit and surface in the crypt of the old church, filled with shadowed catacombs and the bones of the dead.

The one good thing about having been hidden away most of my life is that very few people in Bryre know my face. Besides, I have no interest in dressing richly when no one but my family and the palace staff see me. My gowns, while finely made, are simple. That is how I like it, and Mama doesn't mind quite as m
uch if I happen to ruin one while gardening.

We slip out by a side door we discovered years ago. Occasionally we run into the old padre who cares for the church, but hardly anyone attends services here. That made it the perfect place for Ren and me to take music lessons when we were younger. But even that stopped a couple of years ago. Unlike the larger, more fashionable church in the main square, this one has character and history, all tied up in its huge, stained-glass windows and intricate tapestries. But we're not here for that today.

We sneak down the alley and are out in the market proper in minutes. Sunlight glints off the gaudy reds, blues, and yellows of the stall canopies. People are out, haggling and laughing. Spices scent the air with a sweet and salty mix in one direction, a peppery one in another. Someday we'll come here and all we'll do is sample every stall.

But not today. I've been harboring a purpose. I have been tending a small garden plot, hidden in one of the dead ends of the maze. I love tending to the roses, but Papa does not wish me to get dirty in the planting and caring. He only wants the results, for me to enjoy the flowers like a
proper princess. But I want the whole process. Mama and Papa would be unhappy if they suspected I prefer my small, haphazardly filled garden, so I spend plenty of time adoring the roses they've had planted specially for me. But each week we come here and I purchase a seedling or bag of seeds to try my hand at growing. Some fail miserably, like that poor orchid last week. It was dead in two days. But others flourish. The pretty flowering moss, for example, grew quite nicely.

It may seem a small thing, but it's mine. Something I do all on my own. Everything else I have is handed to me or done for me. There is no glory in that. There may be no glory in moss, either, but I am proud of it just the same.

It doesn't hurt that it gives me an opportunity to escape the cloying confines of the castle.

Ren guides me through the bustling crowds, weaving deftly between people and carts. When we stop at the flower vendor, she lifts her ancient head and smiles sweetly at me. “Back again, pretty one?” she says, as she does each week. Her gray shawl slips off her wild silver hair and falls to her shoulders. She frightened me at first, this old woman with crooked teeth and a mass of hair as thick and wiry as snakes. But something in her eyes makes me inclined to trust her. Something like kindness. Knowledge.

That's what I thirst for the most. The knowledge my tutors cannot share. The kind that comes of having lived in the world, the best and worst parts, and learning how to tell the difference between them.

“Yes, Old Mae,” I say as I help adjust her shawl. She pats
my hand with papery-skinned fingers.

“I have something special for you today.” She summons Ren, and he exchanges a hopeful look with me. We're both curious. “When I saw this, I knew it was meant for you. There, boy.” She points to a small pouch on the rack attached to the bottom of her cart. “Grab that for me, will you?”

“Of course,” Ren says. “Please sit, don't trouble yourself.”

She sits, a little out of breath, but hums and smiles to herself. “You'll like this one. Though I warn you, pretty one, they weren't cheap.”

Ren holds up the pouch, but before he can peer inside, she raps him on the knuckles. “Only she may touch them.”

He frowns but laughs it off and hands the pouch to me. Inside are several tiny seeds. Each one is small and dainty, the size of a tiny pearl bead, and they shine like them, too.

“They're lovely,” I say. “What are they?”

“The trader I got them from said they grow into Crown-of-Roses. Very rare, very beautiful. Don't they look like little stars?” She cackles and starts to cough. Ren fetches her canteen. “Thank you, boy. You're too kind.”

I must know what these seeds will look like when they sprout. I put on my best haggling face as I pull my nose out of the seed bag. “How much?”

“Well, they cost me a pretty penny. I'll give them to you for fifty pieces of silver.”

“Thirty, and not a penny more.”

She narrows her eyes at me. “That's less than I paid for
them myself. Forty-five.”

“Forty. That's my final offer.”

She's still for a moment, then breaks into a laugh. “You get better at haggling every week, my dearie. It's a done deal.”

I hand her the coins and tuck the seed bag into my skirts. I certainly hope the price is worth it. My parents give me a small amount of money each week so I can send servants to make purchases from the merchants when I wish. These seeds cost a whole week's allowance. We bid the old woman good-bye, but as we walk away, I still feel the weight of her ancient eyes on my back.

“Come on,” Ren says. “Now that your errand's done, let's see what else is here. Last time, I swear I found a treasure map in one of the stalls. I want to see if it's still there.”

I laugh. “A treasure map? What do you need that for?”

He shrugs. “To make my fortune, of course.”

“Why do you need a fortune? You already work in the palace.”

He's silent for a moment while we amble between the stalls. “What if I don't always want to work in the palace? What if I want to have my own?”

“What if you do? Is the map going to lead you to one?” I fiddle with my sleeves. Despite the best of tailors, they never do quite seem to fit. “Besides, having your own palace isn't all it's cracked up to be. All sorts of responsibilities and rules and restrictions. I'd be happy just to have a nice cottage in the woods with a garden and a stream and maybe some chickens. Something simpler.”

Ren smiles. He always looks so warm when he does that, like the sun fills him up and spills from his face. “If I had enough money, I could have my own palace, and a cottage for you, too.”

Cold creeps up my chest, battling the warmth in my heart. I hide it behind a smile. “I'm the princess. I can't leave Bryre.”

This time Ren's silence lasts for several stalls.

We slip quietly back into the church and head for the garden maze. No one sees us come up through the old crumbling fountain. Ren helps me off the rim and at last seems to be returning to his normal self.

“I'll fetch your watering can.” Ren runs off down the path. He has a knack for guessing exactly what I wish for. And delivering. If only Mama and Papa could see and understand my heart so clearly.

I pull the small bag of seeds from my skirts as I meander toward the garden hidden deep in the maze. Tiny, sparkling things like miniature stars in my hands. I can't wait to see what they become. That's what I love most about growing things—you never know what you'll get, even from the shabbiest-looking of starts. Some of the ugliest seeds I've seen have become the loveliest of flowers. Rose seeds, for example, are plain, but quite the opposite when they're grown.

You can't judge them by how they start, only by where they end up. When I'm queen, I hope to be a ruler who judges people in the same manner. For now, though, I'll
content myself with flowers.

“Here you are, Rosabel,” Ren says, handing me the brimming watering can. He eyes the seeds in my palm. “What do you think they'll look like?”

We turn the corner to the garden and I consider the seeds again. “Like something I've never seen before, I expect. Something new and unusual.”

“For the price you paid, I should hope so.”

Ren helps me turn a small plot of soil. Then we carefully space the seeds out and tuck them into the earth. Now all we can do is wait and water them every day.

“If these are anything like the ones we got a couple of weeks ago”—I eye the sunflowers in the corner, reaching greedily toward the sun—“they should sprout in a day or two.”

“I bet it'll be sooner. You could coax anything out of the ground.”

I laugh. “I hope that's true. I do look forward to meeting them.”

We make the rounds to the other flowers, checking for weeds, making sure they all have enough water. It isn't long before the maids begin calling for me.

“Race you?” I ask.

We run back to the palace, laughing the entire way.

I beat him to the veranda, as always. Tog
ether, we creep back inside the palace, avoiding the maids on the prowl and careful not to cause any commotion or raise suspicion by walking too close together. I'm the princess, he's my servant, and we march steadily on, headed somewhere important. At
least, that's what I want the rest of the servants to believe. When we're sure no one is in sight, we duck into my quarters, giggling like naughty children. The maids will find me soon, but for now, I can pretend I'm just a girl sharing a secret with her best friend.

“Where have you two been?”

Delia, my little sister, sits by the window, partially hidden by the lace curtains. My heart catches in my throat. That window looks out on the garden maze; could she have seen us? My quarters are the only ones high enough on this side of the palace to see that old fountain.

Ren stutters an excuse, but I wave him off. “Delia, why are you in my chambers?'

She looks petulantly at me. “You always answer questions with more questions.” She folds her arms over her chest, and her tight blond curls shake as she stands up. She's nearly my height, despite the two years or so that separate us. I suppose she is not little anymore. “I was bored, and I thought you might like to . . . to play that piece with me on the piano while I practice singing.” A frown mars her pretty face. “We haven't played together in a while. I miss it.”

My heart sinks. I've been neglecting Delia. We used to include her in all our plans and games. But as Mama and Papa began allowing me fewer freedoms over the past several years, I stopping letting her in on my plans to circumvent them.

Mama and Papa can never know that I sneak out, and least of all that Ren aids me.