UNBREATHABLE (9 page)

And he smiles. His lips curve up and I feel as if this is the first time I've seen a smile. My heart ricochets inside my ribcage and threatens to burst free.

And I realize, in all the seventeen years of my life, I have never felt this way. Ever.

“This is for you,” he says softly, reminding me to breathe. He holds up two daggers. The black hilts are carved in gold and white lines, swirling unto one another. Like the colors of Earth. And in the midst of the looping swirls, I see five letters. My name.

“It's beautiful,” I say breathlessly. My fingers brush against his when I take them from him. My breath hitches. He notices, and when his eyes find mine, the corners of his lips are still turned up in a smile.

I smile back. His eyes trace the curve of my lips. “You should smile more often, it looks good on you.”

I want to laugh and at the same time, fade into the wall behind me. But I find courage somewhere inside me. “You should too.”

He laughs and I almost forget to breathe. I want to grab ahold of his laughter and tuck it into my pocket to keep forever. “I'll keep that in mind.”

“Am I interrupting anything?” I scramble to my feet as Slate steps in. His gray eyes are alight with the smile on his face.

“No,” I say too quickly. Julian watches me, offering nothing. It only makes every breath harder.

“Mm-hmm,” Slate teases. My neck is on fire and I don’t know what to say.

“Alright, alright,” he laughs, raising his hands. But the knowing smile is still on his face. He looks between Julian and me. And when neither of us offers a word, he leans back. “Lissa, can you come with me?”

“Of course,” I say, tucking the daggers into the sheaths that are almost permanent around my waist. I glance back at Julian before following Slate out the door. We walk in silence for a few moments before I break it. “Where are we going?”

“To eat,” he says simply.

“We usually eat in the training room,” I say slowly. For the past month, it’s been Julian, him, and me. He tilts his head.

“I know,” he says with a smile as we climb up a flight of stairs. “But today, you’re eating where the others eat.”

He leads me to a wide room with an elongated round white table in its center, large enough to seat at least fourteen or so people. The iridescent ten-pointed star in a glossier white spans from one end to the other. But what takes my breath away is the wall behind it. The wall in front of me.

It’s completely glass.

Slate chuckles softly when I cross the room, unable to hold my jaw up as everything,
everything
, spills open before me. From here, at the top of the Tower, even the hill where I felt so free looks minuscule. The rows and rows of houses look as small as me, and the Chamber looks like a cube I can fit in my hand. I can see the people in the market, like sticks darting to and fro. Everyone avoids the gallows, though children run up and down the platform’s rickety steps.

Everything between, around, and beyond our small settlement is red.

“It’s quite a sight, isn’t it?” Slate asks. I nod quickly.

I turn to him. “Is this where we’re going to have lunch?”

“Along with the Chancellors, yes,” he says.

My eyes widen. “But-I-why?”

He fixes me with his gray stare, his expression serious. “The Chancellors have no power, Lissa. Everything they do, every life they take, it’s all because of the Jute, and more importantly, Queen Rhea. They don’t deserve your fear or hatred. They’re only trying to keep as many of us alive as they can.”

“They know Earth exists. They’ve known even before Gage saw it,” I say flatly. My eyes stray to the hill, where I stared into the sky on countless nights.

“They have no choice but to hide the truth. The Jute are capable, Lissa. The humans who came to Jutaire came prepared with countless amenities and supplies. They came here with the purpose of living here, not dying out. The Jute took it all. Fighting back is pointless.” He sighs and steps back toward the table, sinking into one of the chairs just as the door opens.

Chancellor Kole walks in, followed by three other men—the other Chancellors. I’ve only seen Chancellor Kole because he meets the people, even if only to kill us.

“You look different,” he says flatly. I haven’t seen him in a month. I pretend I don’t hear him and creep closer to Slate.

One of the others, a pale-haired man with ice-blue eyes offers me a kind smile and crosses the room to shake my hand. “Evan. It’s nice to meet you, Lissa.” Chancellor Evan. So this is Julian’s uncle.

The youngest of the group is a dark-skinned, scrawny man, who looks to be in his twenties. He’s the newest of the Chancellors. Abel, I think. I remember Chancellor Kole announcing it at a hanging a few months before Gage died.

It’s funny how easily I can think of Gage’s hanging now. But wasn’t it his fault? He knew of Earth through the Jute, but he still wanted to see it himself. And in the end, his greed cost him his life.

“She
is
different,” Slate speaks up. “Stronger, more beautiful, but still my daughter.”

I flush when the four of them stare at me. And of course, Dena chooses that exact moment to saunter in.

“What’s everyone staring at?” She asks loudly. She has a bowl of food in her hand and doesn’t even glance at me before dropping into one of the chairs with a snort. “I bet Julian is finally getting some time to himself.”

“It’s only fair for us to meet the girl we’re protecting, yes?” Abel says, ignoring her. His voice is scratchy and sharp. He winks and I’m grateful for his interruption.

“I agree,” the brown-haired one says, reaching for my hand. His face is carefully neutral and I wish it wasn’t. But I catch the slight disgust in the way he eyes the bare skin on my face where a mask should be. He doesn’t know I haven’t worn a mask since I started living here. “Chancellor Willem.”

“It’s nice to meet all of you,” I say slowly, taking a small step back. Soldiers trickle in, laughing as they set the table. I feel vaguely smug that the Chancellors have to eat the same bland porridge I do, along with the rest of our dying race.

“We’re not protecting her for nothing,” Chancellor Kole says. I look away from his stare. “She’ll return the favor. Eventually.”

I sit beside Slate and reach for one of the bowls. I eat as quickly as I can, despite the one thing evident in the Chancellors’ stares. Expectancy.

That’s when I realize Slate is wrong. We do stand a chance against the Jute.

We just need to take it.

A hand. On my shoulder.

My eyes fly open. My bed creaks as I dig my nails into soft flesh and twist the arm of—

“It's me,” Julian rasps.

I let go and shoot up, the sheets a swirl around my legs. “I'm so sorry.”

“Shh, it's fine.” He rubs his arm, and in the soft moonlight, I see his eyes dart to my closed door. His stance is wrong, too nervous.

“What is it?”

“Shh,” he says again, eyes wide. He rushes over to the door and presses his ear against it.

“They're here,” he says in a worried whisper. My eyes widen. “The Jute. They're due tomorrow to pick up a body, but someone spotted them. They never come at night. Something’s up.”

I slide off the bed, but Julian shakes his head. “You have to stay here. I wanted you awake, just in case.”

And he’s gone.

The moment he leaves, I pull out my daggers and sheaths. I'm about to change out of my nightgown when the door opens.

Slate slips inside. Soft moonlight shines off his mask. Worry gnaws at my mind.

“Where's Julian? Is he okay?” I ask.

“He can take care of himself. We have to go. Now.” He throws a package my way. I catch it. “I didn't see a point in giving you another set of daggers, so I got you something that will make you look like the warrior that you are.”

I shake the dark material from the package onto the bed.

A black body suit slips out, it’s stretchy and form fitting. There's a tunic too, it glints when I hold it up. Thin shiny scales, each one about the size of a small tooth line it, shimmering in the flickering light.

When Slate turns away, I slip into the body suit and hold my breath as I pull on the tunic, watching as the hem drops right at mid-length of my thighs. I slip into my boots, which reach up to my knees.

There’s a hood and an extra ring of fabric around my neck, lined in even smaller scales, making it more flexible. It stretches when I pull it up.

It's a mask. It covers my mouth and my nose, ending beneath my eyes. To protect me from dust. I pull on the supple gloves and spread my arms, marveling at my armor.

“But I'm not a warrior,” I whisper.

“You are mine,” he says softly. He looks me up and down and hands me a belt. It’s slotted with small knives, each one an inch apart. I strap it around my waist, but it's too big, made for a man like him, so it hangs lopsided around me.

I take a deep breath and look up at him when I’m done. He smiles warily. “Are you ready?”

“Never been more,” I say. And I mean it. Because for once, I am. The familiar quaking of fear isn’t there anymore.

The halls are lit only by the soft glow of the waning solar bulbs. We run, our footsteps light on the smooth floor. Him and me, father and daughter. Something shifts in my chest when I think of us that way.

Father and daughter.

He touches my wrist when we pause at the corner. I’m envious of his calmness. His every glance is calculated, measured. This is what a soldier is—a trained protector.

Gage taught me differently, that soldiers are dangerous, ruthless, heartless creatures with shells of bodies and zero souls. And yes, they can be that. But not to the ones they protect and love.

“Don't get distracted,” Slate says. But he stops too. His eyes are soft in the dim light. Why couldn't I have had gray eyes like his? “What is it?”

“You love me,” I say, as if the notion is impossible. My chest tightens.

He exhales and cradles my cheek with the palm of his hand, calloused and warm. “Of course I do. I've been loving you for seventeen years as my dead child. Why stop when you're alive?”

Footsteps sound down the end of the hall. He drops his hand to the shock gun at his waist and edges silently toward the sound. I hold my breath and follow.

The light brightens. There’s a flash of white hair. A blur of dark. A thud.

And I bite back a gasp when a body falls to the ground.

“'Bout time, Slate,” Dena drawls, wiping a wicked blade across the dead Jute. A machete. Dena carries an actual
machete
. It makes my dagger look like child’s play. She assesses my outfit with a watchful eye and smirks.

He clears his throat and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Babysitting's over. You're needed elsewhere. I'll make sure your burden of love - or is that bundle of love? - doesn't get hurt.”

“I don't need your protection,” I say.

“If she gets hurt—” Slate starts. Dena rolls her eyes, cutting him off.

“Yeah, yeah. Here's the thing: she won't,” she says. Her back stiffens and in that instant, she’s a completely different person. She scans the area around us before fixing her dark gaze impatiently on Slate again. “Bye?”

He turns to leave and turns back, remembering something. Me. He tucks the hair that came loose from my messy braid behind my ear.

“Be careful,” he breathes. “I can't lose you again.” I part my lips. But before I can say a word, he pulls me close and presses his masked face to my forehead. And when I think of Father, I no longer see those wise brown eyes, so much like mine, I see gray, pale gray so unusual only one person can have them.

My arms are clenched as I lift them, and slowly, slowly wrap them around him. When one fist touches the other, I am complete. Inside, a gaping black hole is filled. Tears burn at the edge of my vision.

“I love you, Lissa.” He pulls back. Gage never said those words to me.

I need Slate. I need to see his smile, hear his voice. I need him to be there for me the way Gage never was. My reply is there, on the edge of my lips.

“I love you too,” I whisper, hesitant and soft. But it’s too late, he’s already gone.

Dena snorts after a moment. “So much for being able to protect yourself. Stop dreaming.”

I turn with a sigh and walk past her, clenching my teeth when the sound of her laugh grates on my nerves.

And because of that, neither of us is prepared when four figures jump from either side of the intersecting hall.

“Now we're talking.” In a flash, Dena's machete is in her hand, her back to me. I pull my daggers into either hand, an odd calm settling over me.

Dena and Gage were right—the Jute
are
all unnervingly beautiful. Enough to distract you. These men have silky scraps of cloth tied around their mouths and noses. Louen, I realize, to lessen the absorption of oxygen. Slate said Jute aren't harmed with one breath as humans are, but oxygen is dangerous nonetheless. Don’t they realize the air in the Tower isn’t oxygen? Maybe it’s a precaution, maybe there’s a way for the Chancellors to allow oxygen to work in here.

The Jute to my right lunges. He’s fast, but I’m faster. I dart to the side as another Jute swipes a kick to my legs and I barely leap out of the way. I throw a kick at the burlier one, and when he bends over with a gasp, I whack the back of his head with the hilt of my dagger. He falls with a groan, temporarily unconscious.