UNBREATHABLE (19 page)

Her eyes brighten. “The ceremony is this evening! You must be excited, Lissa. You'll be the Princess!”

Her enthusiasm stretches a smile across my face. But I don't say a word.

How can I, when all I feel is dread spreading through me, threatening to paralyze my mind, numb my limbs, and tear a scream from my lungs?

“You’re not excited,” Mia says. She turns to her bags, pulling out colorful ribbons and powders, pastes and liquids. Makeup. Yet another something I’ve only read about.

It’s silly, really. Women, and sometimes men, dabbing artificialities on their faces, hiding away their true beauty. Sometimes flawlessness is defined from within. Not from the pallor of your skin.

Certainly not when your skin isn't real.

“Why are you dressed like that?” she asks, her clatter ceasing for a moment. “Like you're going for a funeral?”

She tilts her head. Her own dress is a soft green. “Are you?”

Funeral. She doesn’t know that until recently, I had no idea what happens to our dead once they hang. Only I had a funeral—and I was alive.

“I felt daring.” I force a grin.

She grins back. “Welcome to the life, Lissa.”

Everything is a blur. More maids flutter in and out of the room. Some of them are broken, limping, their smiles toothy with gaping holes where pearly white teeth should be. None of them are as beautiful as Mia. All of them bow and smile and profess their love for me, their soon-to-be Princess. Clearly, my mother makes them happy, despite the impossibility of the idea.

Mia sets five dresses across the bed, each a different color. I sit in a chair where a small girl weaves through my hair, pinning and twisting the strands with sure fingers almost as fast as my heartbeat. I lean forward to catch a glimpse of the dresses despite her sharp protests, though I’m certain I won’t have a say in which one I wear.

The red one reminds me of Jutaire, a never-ending sea of blood. The blue one reminds me of Julian and hopeless despair. The green one reminds me of the land on Earth, lush and endless, something I fear I will never see. The white one reminds me of a world of light, beauty, and happiness, a world our one will never be.

The cream one with a warm brown sash reminds me of myself, lost between the shades of life, just as the color is a mixture of so many, lost in the shades and hues of the spectrum. Belonging somewhere, but nowhere.

I am lost in a world I have no place in. A world that has suddenly claimed me as heir, to a kingdom where I don’t belong.

If I had a choice, that would be my dress.

The girl's fingers fall from my hair. Her thin lips curve into a smile and she brushes dark strands from her dark forehead. “All done, Princess.”

I murmur a thank you and stand, about to turn to the mirror.

“No!” Mia shouts. I whirl around to face her, instinctively reaching for my nonexistent daggers. She laughs when she sees my expression and I can't stop the irritation from surging through my veins. “Not yet! Don't look in the glass ‘til we're done.”

I raise an eyebrow and give her a look, for which she chuckles a laugh. I run my fingers over the dresses. “Which one will I wear?”

“I don't know,” Mia breathes. “But they’re all gorgeous.”

“Yes,” I say, tilting my head. “Do I get to choose?”

In answer, the door opens. The maids freeze. Their friendly babbles cease. Queen Rhea steps into the room and the air instantly turns frigid.

“Hello, daughter.”

“Hello,” I say, realizing this is the first time I've actually greeted her. I wonder if I should bow, but I settle on dropping my eyes to the ground.

I do this for Dena’s sake. For Julian's sake. And for my real father's sake. Because I have no respect for her, mother or not.

“These are the dresses, girl?” She turns to Mia. Her milky skin pales under the Queen's stare.

“Yes, your Majesty.”

“They will do.” Her tone is condescending.

“Which one do you like, darling?” She asks me.

When she looks at me, I see Chancellor Kole, dead. Dena, dying. What is it like to know you won't see the sunrise tomorrow? What is it like to know you’ll die alone?

One of the maids sniffles in the silence of the Queen’s words. I blink. Dena’s dark eyes fade into the Queen’s pale moonlight ones, waiting for my answer.

“I like them all,” I say, flinching at the breathlessness in my voice. She won’t let me wear what I like. She will always defy me as I will always want to defy her. She gives me a tight smile and I wonder if her eyes will ever reflect her lips.

“As do I, daughter, as do I.” She trails her fingers across the dresses. Left to right. Right to left. The walls around us pulse with my heartbeat. The silence is heavy, heavy, smothering.

Her fingers touch the red one. “Bloody.”

Her fingers tighten around the blue one. “Bright.”

Her nails wrinkle the green one. “Lush.”

Her eyes sweep past the white one. “Pure.”

She stops at the cream one. “Perfect.”

My breath swooshes out, confusing me. Why does it matter what dress I wear? But sweat trickles down my back and I realize it does matter. I am more vain than I thought.

Mia runs for the dress and picks it up. “Yes, your Majesty.”

Queen Rhea turns and leaves. She doesn’t even spare me a glance.

Why should she? I’ll be dead in a few days.

For a few moments, the silence is kept. Everyone stares everywhere. The younger maids wring their hands as if the Queen sentenced them all to death. I was wrong about my mother keeping them happy. They fear her. And it’s a wonder they don’t fear me the same.

“All right, back to work,” Mia sighs and the world spins again. Their voices pick up as one and my ears sing with the cacophony of their cadences. I lock eyes with Mia and hope she sees the silent gratitude in my eyes.

“You will look stunning, Lissa,” she says excitedly, leaning close and squeezing my hand. I allow myself to smile, to let in her enthusiasm. To indulge. Because at least once before my death I want that.

And while the maids flutter around me in a flurry of color, my smile widens. And inside my heart, a weight softens.

“Wear this,” Mia says when a maid sets a tray of jewelry on the bed between us.

I sift through the shimmering jewels and shiny chains as she reaches into the pocket of her simple dress and pulls out a handful of gold. At the end of the linked gold chain hangs an emerald square, the edges lined in swirling gold. Emerald and gold from deep within Earth.

“Where did you find that?” I ask, fingering the gem.

Her smile is full of remorse. “It was my mother's. It was all she had left before she lost her life.”

I look up. I know nothing of her or her mother. “She had you.”

She shakes her head and the green of her eyes turns liquid. She bites her lip. It’s the first time I’ve seen her enthusiasm snuffed. “No. She lost me before the jewel.”

“What happened, Mia?” I ask softly.

“I can't say,” she says so softly. She raises the necklace and with it, her voice. “Wear it.”

I gently push away her outstretched hands. “No. What if I lose it?”

She smiles as if she knows something I do not. “You won't. I need you to keep it safe. I need you to wear it.”

I am silenced by the fierceness in her eyes that won't allow me to contradict her as she slips the chain around my neck. I see a ten-pointed star, this one in gold, before the gem kisses the hollow of my bare neck with cold lips. When she clasps the chain, it falls lower. She pulls it from beneath my dress and drops it in front of me. Another maid pushes Mia away and brushes something on my cheeks.

I close my eyes for the briefest of heartbeats and I feel the weight of the jewel in my heart more than my neck.

“Done.”

Mia’s exclamation sets my heart pounding. And when I part the curtains, I see that night has darkened the sky. We’re right on time. It’s confusing how my heart decides to accelerate. The maids titter around, all gasps and
ooh
’s and
ahh
’s. A blush explodes across my face, competing with the rose powder they brushed onto my pale skin.

“You look stunning. I told you so,” she says with a smile. Two girls, twins I decide, judging by their matching olive skin and stunning hazel eyes, run to the bathroom. They come back, hefting a long mirror between them, wide grins stretching their faces. Mia turns to me with a grin of her own. “Now for the glass.”

The set it on the bed and step back.

I see the girl in the mirror, her dress illuminating every inch of her exposed skin. I see her shimmering neck. Her chocolate brown eyes sparkle beneath dark lashes. I see her hair, two braids disappearing to the back of her head, pinned in a bun behind her skull. I see her lips, pink, soft, lush. I see someone beautiful. Breathtaking.

I see someone I never thought I could be.

I see myself.

But at the same time, I see my mother.

The maids leave in a flurry of excited whispers. When the door closes behind them, Mia turns to me.

“You think this is all a lie, don’t you?” She tilts her head and fixes me with that bird-like stare.

“You know more than you let on, don’t you?” I tease. But I’m already nurturing the possibility that I have someone who could understand.

She breathes a laugh. I look in her eyes and for a moment, there are no Jute, there are no humans. There is no difference. We are all the same.

It’s our hearts and souls that change us, define us, ruin us. Nothing else.

“I know of your blood, of the girl in the lab. I know many things, Lissa.” She sounds tired.

The door opens before I can speak, and Rowan steps in, his open black coat reaching down to his knees, the shirt beneath it a silky midnight blue. A grin stretches across the side of his face. I meet his depthless blue eyes and wonder where his brother is.

“It's time, Princess,” he says, flourishing a bow. His eyes flick to Mia and the disgust is clear on his face. But why? She is beautiful, both inside and out. I glance at her, wanting desperately to offer something. But she doesn't need anything. Her chin is raised and her eyes are strong. She doesn't care, her stance says.

“I was asked to escort you to the throne room,” he says.

“Bye. And thank you, for everything,” I say to Mia. She smiles and bows.

“Good-bye, Princess.”

Rowan loops his arm through mine. Tingles spread through his touch and I want to pull away and press closer to him at the same time. Before we leave the room, I meet Mia’s eyes one last time and I’m struck with a sudden sorrow pulling deep inside my heart. What if I never see her again?

The door closes, shutting away the thought.

“You look stunning,” Rowan’s voice is low in my ear. This time, I lean away from his face that is inches from mine and hope my smile is sweet. “I won't let you out of my sight. Queen's orders.”

We walk down a flight of stairs and I realize why my hall was so empty. Everyone is on the lower floor.

“So many people,” I whisper. He nods.

We push through the crowd, heading to the throne, where my mother sits wearing a dress of shimmering white.

Pure
, she had said, when she fingered the white dress made for me.

She 
is stunning, not I. And I shiver at the reminder that we are more alike than I first thought.

As Rowan half-drags me through the crowd, eyes sweep past me. A hushed quiet passes through the crowd. Some think I'm another party invitee. Others blink when they realize who I am, but I pass them before they have a chance to grab my arm and voice their thoughts.

“Princess Lissa,” the Queen calls from her throne, and the crowd falls silent. I look up at her as Rowan pulls me to the side, where steps rise up to her platform.

“Go on. Don’t worry,” he urges me, his face serious. In that moment, he isn't mad or evil—he’s just a boy, like Julian. He smiles for the first time, a real smile. Maybe it’s because the Queen can see him. Maybe it’s because the crowd has silenced and every eye has turned to me. But I feel reassured by him. When I finally remember to breathe, I break away from his gaze and climb the steps.

Maybe he isn’t as evil as Julian says he is. Maybe he only does what he is forced to do, like Chancellor Kole was.

Every eye is on me as I take the steps. Sweat trickles down my back. My heart pounds as if I am running for my life.

When I reach the top, the Queen hisses and her face pales. “Where did you get that?”

“What?” I ask. Her eyes are on the chain around my neck. Hundreds of eyes are on me.

“You know full well what I ask of. Tell me.” Why is she so adamant and afraid? I study her stricken expression, my tongue suddenly dry.

“It was with the jewelry you sent for me. I adore it,” I lie smoothly. I rub my fingers on the stone and smile at her.

She stares at me a moment longer, and finally pulls on a fake, razor-sharp smile.

“It is stunning, darling. Now come”—she raises her voice—“let us crown our heir.”

The crowd roars in agreement, some hooting and howling, others murmuring to those standing beside them. The Queen watches them while I stand beside her, ready to shrink into the golden platform. My mind replays the desperation in her voice, the fear edging into her face.