would …” My words trail off. I’m still too shy to state it plainly, but

surely … I reach out, my hand trembling only slightly as I slip my fingers into

his open shirt, resting them over his heart. “Can’t we stop talking?”

Gem’s eyes flick to mine. There’s no doubt he understands my

meaning—it’s clear in the way his lips part, in the way he braces his hands

on either side of my hips, fingers digging into the rose upholstery—but

instead of kissing me, he says, “There has to be another way.”

“There is no other way.” My lips prickle with disappointment as I

withdraw my hand from his warmth. “The covenant is a binding contract,

signed in blood by the founding families of Yuan. Its terms are

nonnegotiable.”

“It’s the covenant that’s the source of the magic, not the roses?”

I nod. “The roses grew after the first sacrifice. They’re a symbol. Part

of the magic, but not the source of it.”

“A symbol of what?” Gem’s expression is so intense, it makes my

head start to hurt again just looking at him. “From what?”

I close my eyes, and rub the space above them with my knuckles.

“What do you mean?”

“What has entered into this contract with your people?” Gem asks.

“The magic of the planet has been quiet for hundreds of years. So, what

magic is this?”

“I don’t know.” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly colder. And

tired. “It’s just … magic.”

“But whose magic?” he asks. “Who or what accepts the offering of a

queen’s blood and grants Yuan vitality in return?”

I start to argue, but the words I need won’t come. What he’s saying

makes sense. Magic has to come from someone. Or something. I know the

roses grew after the first sacrifice—it’s the most written about and sung

about event in our city’s history—but as far as who or what made them

grow … what inspires the flowers’ hunger for blood …

“I don’t know,” I say in a small voice.

“You don’t know,” he repeats, as if I’ve confessed that I don’t know

how to feed myself or put on my own shoes.

“No, I don’t know,” I say, defensive and anxious at the same time. “I

know the legend, but I— The stories say the noble families arrived in one of

the fifteen great ships. They were in charge of supervising the building of

Yuan, making sure the dome would protect the colonists until they knew if

it was safe for humans to live outside. Everything went well until the

eleventh year of building. That’s when the workers constructing the

dome—the ones who spent the most time outside the ship—began to

change.”

“To mutate,” Gem says, as if he’s heard the story before, making me

wonder how much history we share.

“Yes.” I worry my earlobe between two fingers. “But they mutated

more quickly than people ever had on our home planet. Massive changes

within a month or two, instead of gradually over thousands and thousands

of years. Even the scientists had no explanation for it except magic.”

For the first time, it strikes me how strange that must have been for

my ancestors, for people from a planet with no magic to suddenly be

trapped on a world ruled by it.

“The mutated people turned violent,” I say, keeping my eyes on

Gem’s chest. “They attacked the ship where the colonists had been living,

and tore it apart, killing the people who hadn’t been transformed,

destroying all the books and the machines that stored the ancient

knowledge, and scattering them across the desert.”

I glance at Gem’s eyes. His expression is neutral, patient, waiting for

the rest. “The noble families escaped with a few dozen others whose

mutations were still minor,” I continue. “Together, they ran into the city,

and locked the gates behind them. They were safe inside—the dome was

finished and the central buildings constructed—but the city wasn’t ready to

support life. The animals they’d brought from their home planet were still

very young, the seeds hadn’t sprouted, and most of their medicines and

supplies had been left aboard the ship. They had water, but not much food,

and they were too terrified to venture outside the walls. The people were

starving to death when, one night, the woman who would become our first

queen had a vision.”

“A vision of what?” Gem asks, the intensity returning to his voice.

“I don’t know.” I lift my shoulders and let them fall, before tucking

my feet beneath my skirt. “Just … a vision. Of how to save her people. Of

the covenant,” I say, ignoring the prickle at the back of my neck I’ve always

associated with telling a lie. I’m not lying—not as far as I know, anyway.

So why does it feel like I’m telling Gem a fairy tale?

“All right,” he says, clearly unsatisfied. “What happened after the

vision?”

“The queen woke her husband and representatives from the other

noble families. They walked to the center of the city, where the king

transcribed the sacred words of the covenant from the queen’s dream onto

parchment. They all signed the covenant in blood and spoke the words

aloud. Then, as the sun rose beyond the dome, the queen …

“As soon as her blood hit the soil, the first bed of roses sprang up

from the ground. By the end of the day, crops that should have taken

months to grow were ready to be harvested. Yuan was saved,” I say,

though with less enthusiasm than my father used when telling this story.

“The king remarried that evening, and since then the city has never been

without a queen, or a daughter in line to be queen, for more than a single

night. There are similar stories about the other domed cities. Each one felt

the call and formed covenants of their own.”

Gem grunts his dubious grunt.

“That’s the story as I know it.” I turn my palms over to stare at the

lines creasing the skin, embarrassed without really knowing why. “The

covenant came to the queen in a vision, and the king wrote it down. No

mention of who or what made the roses grow. I suppose I’ve always

thought …”

“Thought what?”

“I don’t know. It seemed to me …” I peek at him through my lashes.

“Maybe it was the power of her sacrifice that created the magic.”

“I’ve seen sacrifice,” Gem says. “I’ve seen old men wander into the

desert to die to give their hut one less mouth to feed. I’ve seen mothers

choose between two babies when there isn’t enough milk for them both.

No magic roses sprang up when their blood was shed. There’s something

darker here.”

“What do you mean?”

He studies me a moment before saying, “My people have legends,

too.”

“I know that,” I say with a tired smile.

“I don’t mean legends like the girl who loved the star. I mean history.

Stories from when our tribe was young and some still remembered—”

A knock at the door makes us both turn our heads. Needle stands in

the doorway with the rope she took to Gem the night we left for the desert,

and an expression that clearly communicates she thinks it’s time for him to

go.

“Just a few more minutes,” I say, profoundly relieved Gem preferred

to talk instead of kiss. I can’t believe I didn’t think about the open door. If

Needle had come to fetch Gem and had found us kissing, or worse, she

would have been scandalized. She would be scandalized if it were any boy,

but a Monstrous boy …

I pause, studying Needle as she studies Gem. What does she think of

him? She set him free, and sent me out into the desert with him. She must

trust him, or at least trust me enough to have faith in my judgment. And

she didn’t seem afraid when he crawled onto the balcony. She seemed