UNBREATHABLE (14 page)

There isn’t time to waste. I scan the area for Julian, but I see nothing. The rain falls in thick torrents from the sky, blurring everything in my path. Frustration creeps up my veins, taking hold of the reins in my mind. I run.

It’s as if my body knows where he is. For I find him, lying beneath a towering boulder, the Louen cloth wrapped around his shivering body and Wren’s still one. His shirt is soaked through. Blood streaks down the side of his face. But when he looks at me, teeth chaterring from the cold, everything is okay.

“Lissa,” he whispers. I drop to my knees beside him. Blood runs down his arm, his neck, his face. “He died.”

A drop of rain hits his outstretched fingers. He stares as the blood blossoms and runs down the riverbanks of his skin. I carefully tuck his hand beneath the sheet of Louen and cover his neck.

“Why?” I ask. I wonder if he can hear me over the howling wind and screeching rain.

But he hears me. He sees me like I am all that exists and hears me like I am all that is there to hear. “It hurt you. I promised you, remember? I promised I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you. And I thought-I thought I could save him.”

He looks down at Wren’s dark hair, stained with his own blood. I’m afraid to draw back the fabric and see what’s left of him. Julian looks back up at me, his eyes crazed.

“It’s not your fault,” I whisper, wiping the blood away from his cheek. His eyes flutter closed and he trembles. I pull the Louen over his face and wrap my arms around him, sharing my warmth. Something warms inside me, despite the rain and my pounding fear. And I feel content, whole, despite death lying beside us, lurking in our horizons.

I lie there, beside him, as his shivering slowly subsides and his breathing shallows. And I hope the rain won’t penetrate the cloth saving us from our deaths.

I don't know when I fall asleep. But when I wake, the sun is barely peeking over the morning sky, the ground is dry and not a single cloud dots the sky.

As if yesterday never happened.

Julian watches me, lips slightly parted. I look around, at the barren land, and the blood-stained Louen covering what I know is Wren.

“What?” I ask, suddenly self-conscious.

“Nothing,” he breathes.

“No, there is something.” I insist.

He looks away and licks his lips. I tighten my fingers around one another.

“You look different when you're asleep,” he says softly. His eyes are darker when they meet mine. His face is streaked with blood.

“Is that,” I pause, “a bad thing?”

He laughs. “No, not a bad thing.”

“It’s beautiful.” His expression suddenly turns serious and his eyes a level more intense as they search my face. “
You 
are beautiful.”

Me. Lissa. I am beautiful.

And it’s as if something in me is breaking from the irrational happiness exploding inside me. The smile that cracks across my face gives life to another on his face.

“Especially when you smile,” he says. His eyes speak more emotion than his words ever will. He looks at me as if nothing else is around for him to see. As if I matter, when I do not.

But I
do
matter. I know that now.

“Are you afraid?” He asks, his smile fading into reality.

“I don't know,” I say truthfully. I glance at the sheet. “I didn’t make much of a difference, did I?”

Wren’s children are orphans now.

“You did. I would have shivered to death if it wasn’t for you.” He reaches for me and brushes his fingers across my cheek. His touch is searing, comforting, burning, soothing. So many things at once.

“I won't let them hurt you,” he whispers. I stare into his eyes, at the pinpricks of despair dotting the vastness. He slowly leans closer and my skin burns, burns, burns.

And four wheels grind to a stop behind me.

Julian jerks away, his face falling into an expression of pain. I admire his easy acting. My own face still burns when the Queen descends the steps of the carriage alone. I look up at her and catch Dena peeking through the flaps.

The Queen’s face is sharp with anger, but I only understand the extent of it when none of her soldiers follow.

“I will pretend none of this happened.” Her voice is venomous. “Do you understand, half-breed?”

Julian clenches his jaw. I see his defiance waiting at the edge of his lips, but his eyes flicker to mine. “Yes, Your Majesty.”

“Good. Now get in.”

“He’s hurt,” I say, forcing her to cut her gaze to mine.

“He lives, thanks to you,” she snaps. I can’t tell if she is accusing me of saving him. “And that is enough.”

I open my mouth but Julian groans and I take that as a plea to stay quiet. I reach down and tighten the Louen around Wren’s body before helping Julian to his feet. Jutaire will forever be a darker shade of red because Queen Rhea wanted to display her power.

I meet her unfeeling eyes and walk back to the carriage. Her gaze burns into me the entire time. I don’t look at Dena or Chancellor Kole when I take my seat again. I ignore them because I don’t know how to answer their questions without endangering them.

One person has already died because of me.

I’m so deep in the thought of Wren’s mutilated body that I flinch when Julian collapses beside me. Ilen rushes forward and helps tend to his wounds, while my mother watches, pursing her lips and saying nothing.

And before long, we are there.

”Finally!” Queen Rhea exclaims. She’s nothing like the woman who hissed a threat at Slate and ordered Wren pushed from her carriage. She stands, and the soldiers shoot to their feet, lowering their gazes in respect. “We have much to do, Lissa. Preparations must be made immediately.”

She doesn’t speak of my leap into the rain. She sounds like I have a future with the Jute. I feel nothing as I stand. My heart is simply a heart, beating so I exist.

But I’m a tool, as Slate said, nothing more.

A hand presses into the small of my back. I look into Julian’s wary eyes. His face is dotted with bandages. “Don’t think.”

I swallow and nod. Ilen and another soldier unseal the Louen and hold back the flaps. Ilen’s bright brown eyes are wild and I wonder if he mourns Wren.

Queen Rhea holds her head high as she crosses the carriage. Her dress trails behind her, the fabric snagging on every imperfection of the carriage floor.

As soon as she steps off, Ilen’s eyes swivel to me. “Your highness.”

Was he really aiding me when I tried to leap? Or did I imagine it in my crazed plight? I walk to the back of the carriage, Julian following close behind. I’m struck with a sudden thought: isn’t this how a slave follows his master? That was exactly what the Queen called him—a slave. I stumble and Ilen’s hand wraps around my arm.

“Careful there,” he says. I meet his eyes in a gesture of gratitude and he smiles.

Maybe not all Jute are the same. Maybe they are more human than we know.

I have to shield my eyes against the midday sun when I step out. And what I see takes my breath away.

This is how man lived on Earth. This is how kingdoms sprawled across ancient lands when horses were the only means for transportation. They lived in permanence, settled and happy, because their ends never loomed in every horizon.

The land is red, the same as all of Jutaire. But that is where the resemblance ends, and where the name White Plains comes from.

Everything is white. The steeping gates surrounding us are iridescent white, like the crown atop the Queen’s head. The towers, three in all, rise high into the sky, piercing through the dry red clouds. Accents of swirling gold adorn the gleaming white walls of the palace. Right above the door is the same ten-pointed star from the Chamber and the Tower. Now I know.

It’s the mark of the Queen.

Directly beneath us is a plaza, where the Jute probably gather to hear the Queen’s announcements. From there on, houses and shops roll away like undulating white waves.

The kingdom is circular, clearly planned before it was built. But everything is so…
alive
. The market is bustling, the houses look animated. The Jute flit about like dots so far away. They move with purpose, not blind need.

The beauty of it all is striking. Yet bitterness wells up like I've eaten something sour.

“Whoa,” Dena says, resentment in her voice. Her hand clenches by her side, her skin-tight fingerless black gloves taut around her knuckles.

They have all this beauty and splendor. A reason to live, a 
way 
to live. And yet. They want to throw it all away and abandon us. They want to fly to Earth, which rightfully belongs to the humans. I squeeze my eyes shut.

When I open them, everything is sinister. Crumbling, fading, falling to ruins, like Rome on Earth long, long ago.

“Magnificent, isn’t it?” Queen Rhea's voice is by my ear. I flinch in surprise.

“It is, yes.” I say. My voice is as flat as hers, and it seems to satisfy her.

“Oh darling.” I flinch again at the sudden change from lack of emotion to gushing, as if she has missed me all her life. “You must be tired. Come, come.”

Her thin, elegant lips curve into a smile that doesn't reach her eyes. None of her emotions stems from her heart. I stare blankly and follow.

Because there is nothing else I can do.

The guards on either side of the double doors wear matching white coats that seem to make them camouflage into the walls. I don’t notice them until they bow low, faces devoid of emotion. They remain that way for a full eye-roll conducted by Dena before they stand.

I stare at the dark void as the doors groan open. Once I enter, I may never leave. I could die here, amidst all this grand beauty.

The Queen strolls through, disappearing into the dark foyer. But I’m frozen by that realization.

Finally, I press my lips together and move forward, every step laden in lead. Every step takes me deeper and deeper into the lair of my mother, from which I may never return. I pull the dark fabric mask down from my face and drop my hood.

Cool air brushes against my skin. I can feel it desperately trying to soothe my fears while the walls laugh. I imagine my future is as bleak as this dim room, though I dared to hope otherwise while I trained in the Tower. Julian stands to my right, Dena to my left, both of them a foot behind me.

The room explodes with light.

It’s more than a mere foyer, it’s a grand hall. Queen Rhea sits on her throne, far beyond. But my throat tightens when I notice we aren’t alone.

All of Jutaire seems to surround me.

I feel panic as the eyes scour my skin. They rake over my red-dusted Louen clothes, my bloodstained hands, my disheveled hair. I know what they must think: the Princess of the Jute isn’t what they expected.

But to Julian I am beautiful, and to Slate I am a warrior, and to me that’s all that matters.

“Welcome daughter, to your new home.” Queen Rhea coos from her golden throne. Her voice echoes on the alabaster walls where golden accents swirl and interlock. Her hair spills neatly down her shoulders and her clothes are crisp and clean. She shows no sign of travel or weariness. She is the picture of perfection, however dark her heart may be.

When the blood-red smile curves across her face, I hear her sweet voice before she ordered Wren to be shoved from the carriage. I see Julian leap.

“Come, come, don't be shy,” she sings, breaking through my thoughts.

I force one foot in front of the other and pass countless faces. These people must have been waiting to catch their first glimpse of the Jute heir.

Some of their faces are drawn and gaunt, others plump and pink, as if they’ve shunned the sun and warmed a couch all their life. They drink from alabaster white goblets, lips bright from whatever they sip. While a few of them dare to dress differently, almost all of them are clothed in a variety of gold and white, colors I will forever associate with my mother and her kingdom of Jute.

I stop where I think I should and look up at her, instantly feeling lowly. Her throne sits atop a white platform, the ten-pointed star in its center, a set of stairs rising from either end to meet her in the center. She peers down at me, pleased with my discomfort.

“We’re right on time to meet a very, very important person. He was visiting the Chancellors in the Tower when you and I met,” she says to me proudly. I almost laugh at her choice of words. “My first in command.”

A man steps from the shadows. My heart stops when he looks at me with those blue eyes that don’t belong to him and I want to turn around and run far, far away.

“Meet Rowan, Lissa,” she says, leaning forward in her throne. Her eyes are bright with glee, and I wonder if she loves him like she would love a child. Like she should love me. “He is also the half-breed’s—”

Half-breed, half- breed, half- breed. I can't take it anymore. The words tumble out before I can hold them back. “We've met.”

The Queen freezes, her skin paling visibly. I flinch when something clatters to the floor in the stark silence and the temperature drops.

Drops.

Drops.

Confusion spreads in my mind. But I know enough to understand I said the wrong thing.