fitting his front to my back with such gentleness that I don’t startle from my

near sleep as much as drift to the surface of myself like a bubble.

“When I thought you were dying …” His arm tightens, pulling me

closer. “I would have done anything to keep you with me,” he whispers into

my hair. “Anything.”

I put my hand over his and leave it there in silent acceptance of his

not quite apology. No matter how much his words hurt tonight, I don’t

want to fight. I need him too much. And he needs me. There will be no

garden for my people, or food for his, if we’re at each other’s throats.

And what he just said leaves little doubt that he cares for me. No

matter how misguided he thinks I am, he cares. He really does.

The thought is thrilling.

And petrifying.

I will be married very soon, and Bo will come to my bed, and he will

give me royal babies and they will become kings or, if they’re unlucky,

queens, and I won’t live to see them fully grown. That is my future. It is

inescapable.

It makes me want to push Gem away and curl up in a tight, lonely

ball.

It makes me want to turn in his arms and shed my two pairs of

overalls and peel off my long underwear and reveal everything to him, do

everything a man and a woman can do—no matter how the thought

terrifies me—because I’m more terrified I’ll never have this chance again.

But in the end, I’m a coward.

Leaping blindly from a balcony ledge or walking out into the desert is

nothing compared to this. I can’t afford to be any more haunted than I am

already, and a night with Gem would haunt me, I have no doubt.

THIRTEEN

BO

A dead snake. It’s only a dead snake—mangled skin and a bit of dried

entrails dropped by a bird as it flew over the city—now stuck to the glass.

That’s all. No crack in the dome, no danger, no sign that the covenant is

weakening. Just a festering dead thing that will be washed away if the rains

ever come again.

I give the signal that I’ve finished my examination, and Father

personally reels me back in from my great height above the city. But even

when my feet touch down on the stones atop the tallest building in Yuan,

I’m still floating inside.

Isra is safe. For now. And now is all I want to think about.

“It’s nothing. Just a snake skin,” I pant as the other men unhitch me

from the wire. “Some guts on the dome. Nothing to worry about.”

Relieved laughter erupts as the tension that has followed everyone

attending to the inspection evaporates. Lok slaps me on the back, Nan

clasps my hand for a hard shake, and Ru has the nerve to ruffle my hair like

I’m still a boy, but I don’t care, because Isra’s blood is staying in her body,

and I’m even more thankful than I imagined I’d be.

I can’t wait to tell her, to feel her arms around me when she thanks

me for handling the investigation personally—and so quickly, too. I am the

one who ordered that the crews setting up the rope-and-pulley system

work day and night, allowing my inspection to take place a full day and a

half early. She will be elated. She’ll certainly want more than a kiss on the

cheek tonight, and I will most gladly oblige her. I will kiss her until she

trembles in my arms and begs me to stay and warm her lonely tower bed.

“Are you certain there was no sign of weakness?” Father asks, pulling

me from my thoughts.

He’s the only man on the roof not smiling. Beneath his oiled

mustache, his cheeks droop solemnly on either side of his mouth; his eyes

are as troubled as they were hours ago when he reminded me of my duty

to report whatever I found, regardless of how frightening it might be for

our people.

“There was nothing.” I hold his gaze as I work the buckles on my

harness. “It was a dead snake. There wasn’t a nick in the glass. I swear it.

The covenant is still strong.”

“That’s wonderful news,” he says, before adding beneath his breath

in a voice too soft for the men beginning to dismantle the pulley system on

the other side of the roof to hear, “But even if the dome were weakening, it

wouldn’t change your destiny. You will be king. She has to live only long

enough to speak her vows.”

My fingers grow clumsy. I drop my eyes to the buckles. “I don’t wish

the death of my queen.”

“Of course not,” he says. “None of us do. She’s a dear girl.”

He says “dear girl” the same way he’d say “unfortunate accident,”

and for the first time I wonder if my father hasn’t grown too powerful. I

don’t like seeing him eager to spill royal blood. It feels wrong for him to

speak casually about the sacrifice Isra will make.

“She is,” I say, choosing my next words carefully. I need Father to

understand that I have no desire to hasten the moment of Isra’s death.

“I’ve come to care for her. I look forward to our marriage and wish her as

much life as possible. I know the day I lose her to the garden will be one of

the darkest of my life.”

Father smiles and clasps my shoulder in a rare display of affection.

“You sound like a king already.”

“Thank you.” I duck my head as I step out of the harness, grateful for

the excuse to cross the roof and tuck the gear back into the box Nan holds

open. I can’t look my father in the eye right now. If I do, I’ll see proof that

he thinks I’m lying.

Worse, he’ll see proof that I’m not.

Baba has known Isra longer and more intimately than anyone else

except the late king, but there is clearly no love in his heart for her. Maybe

he knows something I do not, and Isra is a burden I’ll have to bear until the

day of her death. I admit there have been times when I’ve worried about

the state of her mind, like when I discovered her slippers in the mud

outside the beast’s window two nights past. Her maid explained the

slippers easily enough—Needle dropped them on her way to get them

resoled—but there’s no explanation for Isra’s other odd behavior

except … eccentricity. Maybe it’s harmless eccentricity, or maybe, as my

father clearly fears, it’s the precursor to her mother’s madness.

I’m not sure which of us is right. I only know I can’t wait to give Isra

the good news.

With a bow to my father, I step into the gondola and lower myself

down the side of the building, the seventy-meter drop not nearly as

intimidating after dangling three hundred meters in the air to inspect the

dome. I reach the street to find a crowd gathered by the baker’s shop.

Worried eyes meet mine, and I smile, but I don’t stop to assure the people

that all is well. Isra’s subjects will hear the good news from their queen,

who deserves to know before anyone else that the danger has passed.

I hurry through the cobblestone streets—past the towering buildings

where the poorest citizens live with their children crowded five and six to a

room, past the squatter, more decorative buildings where the skilled

workers and their families live and run their shops, past the soldiers’

barracks, and onto the path leading through the royal garden. I’ve been

avoiding this route through the city the past two days, but this evening the

roses hold no terror for me. They’re beautiful in the fading pink light, and I

find myself lingering near the oldest blooms.

I can feel the spirits of the former queens of Yuan here. One day I

hope I will feel Isra’s spirit even more intimately.