Monstrous

by MarcyKate Connolly

  He considers me for a long moment, then paces the area before the hearth. The fire jumps each time he passes.

  I can’t move. I can’t even breathe. The fire in Ren’s hearth did not behave like that.

  And despite Father’s easy answers, no animal I’ve read about can erase memories with a single sting.

  Memories flood over me. Father pressing his hand to Darrell’s arm, the angry man calming. He did the same to the girls on occasion. The flames of our cooking fire burning without wood. The always full sack of feed. The chickens with goat legs.

  Me.

  Why me?

  Why do I have visions of the palace in my head and none of Father?

  Why Belladoma?

  The awful truth threatens to crush me into the ground. Why else would Father want to silence Ren so thoroughly?

  “It’s true.” The words choke from my mouth before I can bite them back. “You are the wizard.” Terror marches over every inch of my body like an army of tiny ants.

  Father stops in front of the hearth wearing the strangest look on his face. The flames are so high now, they leap into the chimney. A slow chuckle rumbles in his chest. The rumble grows into an outright guffaw, manic in its intensity.

  This terrifies me far more than his angry outbursts.

  He stops laughing long enough to speak. “Yes, I am the wizard they all whisper about in Bryre. Why do you think I never go into the city?” He taps his head. “Because I cannot. I set up the warding charms to prevent anyone who would do the city harm from entering. That is where you came in. You were perfect.”

  Horror rolls over me in hot and cold waves. I wobble to my feet, claws and tail taut with tension. “What do you mean?”

  “You were naive and innocent. Not to mention absolutely certain you were aiding the city and its people.”

  Dizziness threatens to overwhelm me. “Belladoma really is the city that attacked Bryre?”

  He nods. “Fitting, is it not? Sending Bryre’s girls off to its enemy.” He chortles again and I shudder. Even now, I cannot quite grasp that the Father I loved is nothing like I thought.

  “Who am I? Who was I really? Before.” I sputter. Am I really his daughter or is everything he’s ever told me a lie? I wait while he considers his answer, praying he says anything but what I fear most.

  “Your name was Rosabel.” He draws near, but I match him in my retreat, step for step. “You were a princess. My princess.”

  A leaden weight presses on my chest. It’s an ache I fear will never subside. My worst fear realized. I’m the king’s daughter. Oliver’s daughter, returned in a different, monstrous body. My true father would despise me as I am now.

  Delia. I gave my own sister over to Bryre’s enemies. My legs wobble and I reach out to the wall for support. I am as horrible as Ren believes.

  “Why did you lie to me?” Fury cracks my voice.

  Father looks affronted. “I did not lie. They promised you to me. But they lied.” His face softens. “I only claimed what I rightfully earned. They made a binding deal. You were supposed to be mine.”

  He sneers. “They said they would give anything for help defending Bryre, but when I came to claim Princess Rosabel, they balked.” He folds his arms across his chest as his eyes narrow. “They offered me money, jewels, a title—everything but the one thing I wanted. They threw me out of the palace like I was garbage they could just dispose of. Well, they were quite mistaken.” He throws his hands in the air dismissively. “Besides, Queen Aria should have known better. I was her suitor once when she was just a princess. I wooed her, offered her everything—even tried to give her that choker you wear. But she refused me and chose Oliver. You should have been my daughter. It would have been so much simpler if she had chosen me instead.”

  Rage twists my heart at these revelations and makes my head throb, but something more troubles me. “If the king and queen refused you, then how did I die? What happened?”

  “Years later, I returned in a final attempt to reason with the king and queen. The wards did not affect me then because of the bargain. My intention was not to hurt, but to collect what was owed me. The guards tried to throw me out again, but this time I had had ten years to prepare. I incinerated them. Aria tried to block my path to the princess. I killed her, but Rosabel got in the way. Offering to go with me willingly, of all things, if I would leave her family alone. I killed her, too. I took her body and disappeared.”

  My back is flat against the wall of the cottage. I stare at Father, unable to comprehend what he’s done. What I’ve done.

  “But if you got the princess, why did you take all those other girls? What did they do to you?”

  Father smiles horribly. “Why, Kymera, where do you think I got the parts to bring you back?”

  My heart stutters in my chest. “What?” I whisper.

  “Each time I tried to bring you back and failed, the magic burned off another piece of you. There is always a price for magic. I tried so many times that I had to replace everything but your head. It was simple work to pick them off the road on the way to the markets in the east and north, at least until the fool king instituted a curfew and quarantined the girls. After you were reborn, charging you with taking more girls from Bryre made my revenge even sweeter.”

  Nausea creeps up from my toes, weakening my knees. All this time I was certain I’d find the wizard and punish him for what he did to my family, and I’ve been living with him all along.

  I’m the truly monstrous one. I did his dirty work without question. I’m a living quilt of every girl he killed.

  Bile tickles my throat, but I shove it down. I can’t stay in this house another instant. I can’t stand to be near Father. I should want to kill him. But I can’t yet reconcile the man I loved with the monster inside him. It doesn’t make sense. I press my palms to my eyes to hold in the tears.

  I’ve done so many awful things. But there’s one place where I draw the line.

  I will not shed another tear for Father.

  Barnabas, rather. I must stop thinking of him as my father. He’s an impostor.

  So am I. Playing around in someone else’s body. The girl the king recognized in my eyes is long dead. Irretrievable.

  Or is she? Is there a spell that can undo what was done? Return my memories to me in full instead of shattered pieces? Barnabas said he could do nothing, but he had every reason to lie.

  I pull my hands away from my eyes and as I do, Barnabas reaches for me. He holds out his hand for me to take and smiles as he used to do. Something inside me tears in two.

  His hand doesn’t slow its pace. I recoil. He takes a step toward me.

  “Now, Kymera. Do not be afraid. Father will make everything all right.” He reaches for my cheek. I cringe, and slap his hand away.

  “You lied. You never even sent that girl off with Darrell, did you? You kept her here. Then you put her on the road for them to find. Why?”

  “My dear, it was only to teach you a lesson. You can never trust humans. You weren’t taking my word for it; you needed proof. I provided it.”

  He reaches for me again and a memory thrusts itself forward. Father holding Darrell’s arm firmly. Darrell growing calm. And having no recollection of meeting me the next time we met when I was safely ensconced in my cloak.

  I stumble backward.

  Barnabas didn’t just calm Darrell. He erased his memory.

  Something unpleasant glints in his eyes. He’s going to do the same to me.

  My throat closes with panic. Has he done this before? How many times have I discovered his treachery only to have my memories wiped away? Is that why he put his hand on my shoulder after I told him about Ren? Is this why I had such trouble remembering the girl in the cold box? Why I have so few memories of my former life?

  “Don’t touch me,” I squeak as I slink back along the walls.

  He hesitates. “My daughter, I only wish to comfort you.”

  I inch closer to the fire. Pippa skitters off to a f
ar corner. “No, you want to take away my memories.” He’d take everything. My time in the city, the things Ren told me. Even with the pain they’ve brought, I cherish these memories. They’re the only real things I have.

  Batu. My rock dragon. Thank heavens I could never tell Father about him!

  He matches me step for step as though we’re dancing in a slow, strange pattern. “But wouldn’t that make you feel better? I can take away your pain.”

  I shudder. “I’ll keep my pain and my thoughts to myself,” I growl. My animal instinct rears its head. I’m cornered. I need to get out of this house.

  Without warning, Barnabas lunges. Instinct takes over. I wrench away, whirling around to strike him in the chest with my tail.

  He staggers from the blow, but doesn’t fall asleep as the others always do. He sways and reaches for me again, tearing off my cloak in the process.

  I run.

  DAY FIFTY-EIGHT

  LAST NIGHT, I STAYED IN THE WOODS. THE CITY FOLK CREPT THROUGH the forest with burning torches, hunting for me, just as Ren said they would. I hid in the trees, flattened against the trunks with branches wrapped around me. Most of the men retreated once darkness fell, but a few determined hunters never rested. And so neither did I.

  Despite how much I would’ve welcomed Batu’s comforting presence, I stayed away from the river. Summoning my dragon into the open when the woods were crawling with people ready for an excuse to kill and burn seemed a very bad idea indeed.

  Now in the morning light, as the city folk return full force, buzzing with hatred, I know I have to go back to the cottage I shared with my false father. I need my cloak and a change of clothes. Then I’ll run far away and never return.

  I barely touch my feet to the forest path, when brush breaks behind me. I fly behind the nearest tree, holding my breath and making my body as compact as possible. The whole forest reeks of humans. That and the lack of sleep are making it difficult for me to distinguish where they are.

  The heat of their torches reaches into the trees as the men tromp by my hiding spot.

  “Hold on!” one man shouts. I suck in the breath I was letting out, heart throbbing.

  “What is it, John?” another voice says.

  “Look here, the branches are all broken in this direction—the monster may have gone this way. Deeper forest lies in that direction.”

  The footsteps resume, but to my relief they move away from the tree I hide behind.

  I must get out of Bryre. I rest my head in my hands and tears slip through my fingers.

  The only real chance I have at life is away from everything and everyone I know. I wipe my eyes and listen for people. The cottage I shared with Barnabas is not far, but I’ll need to hurry. And hope Barnabas is not at home.

  A few minutes later, I reach the hedge and slip through, coming out near my rose garden.

  I stumble with shock. My rose bushes are torn up. Destroyed. Petals and thorns and leaves litter the yard as though some wild force shredded them to pieces. Goat-chickens peck and paw through the wreckage.

  I drift closer. It’s not just thorns and leaves—there are bones. Huge wings, claws of all sizes, and hooves poke out of the soil amid other limbs and bones and parts for which I have no name. They take shapes before my eyes. Something like the hybrids in the castle topiary, or in the laboratory under the tower. These are plied together, but not quite as sturdily. Not quite as naturally.

  Magic. Barnabas’s magic.

  And then one important, gruesome fact lurches to the forefront of my brain: not one of the skeletons has a head.

  Horror drops me to my knees. I hardly gave that skeleton Pippa dug up weeks ago a second thought. Barnabas explained it away so thoroughly.

  But now I understand. It was just another lie.

  These are my old bodies. His first attempts at making me into a monster. These are pieces of me that Barnabas couldn’t quite get to fit. But he always kept my head, moving it from one discarded body to another, and replacing the parts of it that the magic burned off. But by the time he succeeded all that was left were my brain and eyes.

  I loved this garden and now it is gone. The rest of the yard and house remain untouched; Barnabas must have destroyed it to get to me. To show me just how little human remains of me.

  A larger flash of red catches my eye in the far corner, hidden behind another shrub. One last rose. I snatch it greedily, then sneak into my room through the window. I can’t smell Barnabas anywhere. I wonder if he took my warning about the city dwellers to heart and ran away after he ruined my roses.

  It takes me no time at all to pack a few things. Pippa whines and sticks her nose into my room. She allows me to scratch her ears. I might actually miss her.

  A door slams at the front of the house.

  I stiffen and secure my satchel around my body, then fly out the window. I have a few things I must do before I leave forever.

  I sneak out of the hedge and wind my way through the thick woods, desperate to reach Ren. I don’t believe he’ll ever forgive me, but I can’t leave without saying good-bye. My last red rose is tucked into the belt around my waist. Barnabas may have destroyed everything I loved—even if I can’t remember most of it—but I destroyed the friendship Ren and I might have had. I went so far as to steal my own sister in a fit of senseless jealousy. Thanks to Batu, I’m beginning to understand what the word sister means, but I fear I have a way to go. A strange sensation wells up inside me each time I think it. But even now that monstrous jealous feeling grumbles in my chest. Yes, I’m still jealous of her. I envy her ability to love and be loved freely, even though she’s no longer free. And I envy Ren’s devotion to her. No one will ever be that devoted to me.

  Except Delia is probably dead now. They’re all probably dead. That’s what happened to those who were taken before Barnabas brought me back to life. What use could they possibly be alive?

  The conversation I overheard at the inn many nights ago springs to mind. Something about rumors of trading live goods. Surely, the man was talking about Darrell.

  Slaves. I can’t decide which is worse.

  Either way, it is entirely my fault.

  Only a few yards from the hedge, I round a tree and come face-to-face with a handful of men. All hold torches and knives and spears. Time slows for a brief moment as our eyes meet and tighten. I leap into the air and fly up, up, up. They can’t touch me if I’m high enough.

  Below me, shouts ring out as they try to follow my path.

  Then they stop. My keen ears can still hear the voices when they pick back up again. “It’s a hedge in the woods!” More voices join the fray. “And a house! Little monsters in the yard! It’s the beast’s! Burn it! Burn it!”

  A chill slithers over my body, scales to feathers.

  When I left a few minutes ago, Barnabas had just returned to the cottage. He must be inside it still. If they burn it, he’ll die, and if the whole mob is involved in burning down his cottage, the backlash of magic might just kill them all. They’re so crazed in their chase, they haven’t stopped to consider the danger they’re walking into.

  I’ve wronged Bryre enough. Letting their citizens die is unthinkable, no matter the repercussions for me.

  But it kills me that helping them means helping Barnabas.

  Fire already eats away at the hedge when I reach our yard and cottage. Men run amok, setting ablaze everything in sight, chasing and being chased by the goat-footed chickens. Smoke taints the air and clings to my nose and skin.

  Orange flames lick the sides of the cottage and roof. The heat is searing even from yards away. A downed tree trunk has been placed before the tower door. Screams and hisses and bangs ring inside it. Barnabas must’ve been in his laboratory when they found the hedge.

  With all the confusion, no one notices me yet. I circle the tower, frantically grasping for a plan. Barnabas will decimate the city folk when he gets out. I must reach him first.

  The roof creaks and moans. Sparks pop. Instinct wa
rns me to flee, to get as far from the fire as I can.

  I swallow it down and head for the front of the tower.

  Crack.

  The roof collapses and a yelp leaps from my mouth. Stone and wood fly every which way and I dodge them in the air.

  Barnabas can’t die at their hands. I must prevent it.

  I fly up and over the broken tower for a better look. A leg juts out beneath a wooden crossbeam. And I see a slant of bloody forehead.

  I use my wings to keep the smoke and flames at bay as I pull the beam off Barnabas’s body and drag him out.

  “The monster!” The shout echoes across the yard, shattering all hope of a stealthy escape.

  Every man runs toward me, knives, swords, and torches high.

  I heave Barnabas up, winding my tail around his neck just in case he wakes, then rise into the air. He is much heavier than the girls were, making flying difficult. I struggle to stay airborne as the men swing their weapons and fire at my feet. The bottom of my right foot is burned, but I continue on despite the pain. Finally, I catch a blessed gust of wind and it lifts me up and over the hedge. I wing my way over the forest—much of it burning now—toward a ravine that cuts an unexpected swath in the ground. I’ve skirted it often on my trips to the river. I set him down at the very bottom. I’ll leave Barnabas there. The walls of the ravine are steep, impossible to scale without a rope. He won’t have an easy time getting out. The city folk will be safe from him, at least for a little while.

  I can’t help studying him for a moment. He looks peaceful asleep like this, even with the burns and ash marring his skin. Inside, he’s nothing but evil.

  I was such a fool to believe Barnabas was my devoted father. No shred of goodness lives in that cold heart.

  Everything I know is based on what I learned from him. How to speak, think, act. No wonder the city folk will never accept me. I’m still discovering the depths of his lies.

  I finally understand. The monster in this story is me.