skin, somehow managing to work up a sweat despite the winter chill.

Frozen nose, damp undershirt. Eck. I should have taken off a layer

when the sun grew warm in the afternoon. At least then I’d be dry right

now. I’m discovering the only thing worse than cold is cold and damp.

“I’m going down the mountain for something to drink,” Gem says

tightly, making it clear he’s noticed that my nose is as far in the air as it can

get without tipping me over backward. He sounds even angrier.

Good. Let him stay angry. I’ll stay angry, too, and we’ll both be better

off.

“If you want me to bring some back for you, I need your shawl to

soak up the cactus milk,” Gem says. “I’d use my shirt, but I’m sure you don’t

want to drink from that.”

His shirt. He wasn’t wearing a shirt the night I saw him through the

roses’ eyes, but I don’t remember what his bare chest looks like. I was too

focused on his immense size and large, white teeth.

You should still be focused on his teeth.

I should. I lick my lips and think of my father, but even imagining

Baba’s horror is no longer enough to banish the tingling at my fingertips. I

would like to see Gem’s chest with my hands. I would like to see his face

again, to find out if his hair has grown, and if it’s still as soft.

Abomination. My internal voice is as venomous as ever, but harder to

hear over the wind whistling through the rocks.

I love the wind more than I thought I would, even when it is tangling

my hair into fantastic knots and freezing me to the bone. I can’t remember

ever feeling so alive, so—

“As you wish, my lady,” Gem snaps. “But don’t complain of thirst

come morning.”

I reach for my shawl, but before I can hand it over—or tell him I was

only thinking, not ignoring him—he’s stomping down the mountain.

“Ridiculous,” I mutter beneath my breath, but it’s hard to hold on to

my anger for long. I’m the one who’s being ridiculous.

Why am I letting this madness distract me? For seventeen years I’ve

had close to no interest in the opposite sex. The only men in my life were

Baba and Junjie, and what the roses showed me of boys my age did little to

pique my curiosity about the rest of the male population. The soldiers were

self-important, and the idle nobles were overly impressed with themselves.

I knew Baba would choose a husband for me from one of the

founding noble families, so I took a closer interest when the roses showed

me those boys, but just close enough to assure myself the possibilities

weren’t too terrible. That was enough to put the business of boys and

husbands out of my mind. I knew love wasn’t in my future—not the

emotion, and certainly not the … other kind of love. I knew I’d have to

welcome my husband to my bed until a child was born, but I didn’t expect

to enjoy the process. It seemed best not to think of it.

Now I can’t stop thinking about it. Even being frustrated with Gem

doesn’t banish the awareness of his smell, his touch. When he stood behind

me and cupped my hands in his—teaching me to drink from the cactus he’d

sliced open—it felt like my entire being was catching fire. It was terrifying.

Is it the tainted part of me that makes me ache for a Monstrous boy?

Does this mean I’ll never feel this way about Bo? That I’ll never learn to

enjoy his attention as much as the other women of court clearly do? The

thought of being with a man I didn’t desire was disturbing before I knew

what desire felt like, but now the notion sickens me. Soft hands on my skin,

instead of Gem’s rough fingertips. Thin lips on mine, instead of Gem’s full

mouth. My name whispered silkily in my ear, instead of growled against my

throat.

Sick. Sick, sick, sick.

I huddle closer to the fire, trying to focus on the pleasant warmth

thawing my fingers and nose. I don’t want to think about the future or my

duty or the fact that I am hours and hours away from my tower, utterly

alone for the first time in my entire life and experiencing my lack of sight in

a way I haven’t in a long time.

Back home, I know the shape of my world. The tastes and smells and

textures of Yuan are familiar, and there’s only so much trouble a blind girl

can get into in a domed city. Not so out here. I might as well be on another

planet. A dangerous planet where millions of unseen things can kill me

before I don’t see them coming.

Ha ha.

I’m able to find the private joke funny until the fire begins to lose its

heat and I’m forced to venture away from the rock wall to hunt for more

fuel. I know Gem piled the wood close. I remember his repeated huffing

and the hollow sound of dry branches tumbling to the ground. But as to

where the pile lies …

I pat the ground on one side of the fire and then the other, moving a

little farther out each time, nerves electrified by every pebble and dip in the

dirt I come across, certain that at any moment I’m going to happen upon

one of the zions Gem warned me about.

I can’t afford a poisonous stinger in the hand or a slow death in the

desert. I must return from this adventure with spoils shoved into my deep

pockets and ensure the future of my people. I must. I can’t allow my

decision to lead to the fall of my city. The shame of it would follow me

beyond the grave, torment me for eternity, never allowing me to forget my

irresponsible, unqueenly failure.

And so, after only a few minutes of searching, I give up trying to find

the wood. I scuttle back to the place where Gem left me and press myself

against the rocks.

All too soon, the fire snuffs out and the wind picks up. Night falls, and

the temperature plummets. Within thirty minutes, my nose is as chilled as

it was before. Within an hour, the places where my underclothes were

damp feel as if they’ve frozen to my skin. My fingers and toes go numb,

then my arms and legs. The chill creeps into my shoulders, licking an icy

tongue down to tease at my ribs.

I begin to shake all over in what seems to be my body’s attempt to

warm itself, but I only grow colder. And colder. I have never been so

miserable in my own skin or so tired. Sleepy. So, so sleepy … My mind drifts

until I’m no longer sure if I’m asleep or awake, hallucinating or

remembering.…

One moment I’m alone in the desert, the next I’m back in the tower

as it burns. I watch the flames leap, and I scream for Mama while the fire

rages and my father beats at the door, begging her to let us out.

Mama. Where is she? Why did she lock the door? I can’t see through

the smoke, and I’m dizzy and sick and exhausted, but I can’t sleep. I can’t! I

have to find Mama. She and Baba and I have to get out. We have to get

out!

I look up and see a woman’s face in the burning beam above my bed,

watch her eyes go wide and her mouth move urgently, but I can’t hear her.

I can’t hear anything except terrible moans, as if every monster in the world

is crying out for my blood.

I open my mouth to scream again, and suddenly I’m back in the

desert, wandering along a rocky path without even my new walking stick to

guide me, shaking like a pan of popping corn, not sure which world is the

dream. With a strangled sob, I tear my shawl from my head and fling it from

me, gasping as the wind whips through my hair.

What are you doing, fool?

I don’t know. I know only that ridding myself of the thing clutching at