UNBREATHABLE (27 page)

I drop the stone beneath my tunic and feel it’s weight against my heart.

It’s a part of me now.

I step out of the maid's chamber without a sound. The wood floor is old and withered, creaking with my misplaced steps. A musty smell tickles my nostrils as I creep through the dark corridor.

Ilen said the hall leads to the throne room, which should be empty at this time. On the other end of the throne room, through another twisting hall, is supposed to be a single staircase leading down to the dungeons, where Julian should be.

But as I feel along the space of the corridor, something happens. I stop moving toward the stairwell.

My legs are taking me elsewhere.

I turn the corner, moving surprisingly fast despite not being able to see more than what is inches from me. I know where I'm going, though I don’t know why.

I hear voices as I walk down the familiar, carpet-lined hall. I hold my breath and press myself against the wall as a Jute walks past, a gold and white goblet in his hand. This part of the palace isn't empty. I turn down an empty hall and stop at the door as it swings open. 

A short, dark-haired maid tiptoes out, a satchel clasped in one hand, a candle in the other. She starts when she sees me watching.

“Can I help you, miss?” She asks, running her gaze nervously down my clothes.

“Is the Queen awake?” I ask. The maid nods quickly, and pauses. She raises the candle to see my face and I throw up my hand to shield the light, but it’s too late. 

“Princess?” She breathes, her voice far too loud. I dart a quick look around.

“Is the Queen awake?” I repeat, my voice hard. 

“She mustn’t be disturbed. She is ill, Your Highness.” The maid bows. 

“Tell no one—”

But only the walls hear me. And all they do is stare blankly, absorbing everything, revealing nothing.

I pull open the door and slip inside. I don't have much time—from what I've learned, maids can spread word faster than they can do anything else. 

The room is the same as when I last saw it, unadorned except for the dark chaise on one end. I cross the foyer leading to the Queen's rooms and hold my breath. I don’t knock before entering.

My eyes fly to the flickering oxygen candle on the bedside table. Beside it, the length of a body glows in the shadows of a large, canopied bed.

I hurry forward, tripping over a thick rug I didn't see and stop. Hold my breath.

She’s not ill. She’s near-death. The Queen’s pale skin is near translucent. Her red, ankle-length nightgown is drenched in sweat. It looks like blood.

“They say a mother's will is stronger than any.”

I inhale sharply and raise my eyes to her face. Her moonlight eyes glow an eerie white gold as she stares at me.

“The last word you said to me was 'mother.'“ Her voice is soft. I lean closer. “I never saw you again.”

She watches me. I know she wants me to fill this void, but words fail to form. I can't even part my lips. She fills the silence herself. “Julian was right, Rowan is mad.”

She called him by his name.

“Rowan poisoned you,” I say. Rowan said he would avenge the woman who raised him as her own son.

She laughs softly, her eyes straying to the flickering light. It’s a real laugh, the first I have heard. I snatch the sound and tuck it away, deep within my heart. The sound of my mother laughing. Because the woman in front of me is my mother. Not the Queen.

Her eyes fall on mine. “Why are you here, daughter?”

“I came—” I stop, my throat suddenly tight. “I came to warn you. Rowan plans to burn down the palace.”

Silence follows my words. She’s staring, not at me, but
into
me. I swallow and drop my eyes away.

“I'm a murderer,” she whispers.

“Why Lissa? Why would you warn me?” I search her face. But her question is pure curiosity.

“I don't know,” I say finally. “Come with me.” I don't know why I say this. I don't know why I suddenly want my mother to live. Why I care.

“This is where I'll die,” she whispers. She reaches for me and I step closer. Her fingers brush my face, stroke my hair. Her touch is cold. “I only wanted to see you one last time. As my daughter.”

Tears sting my eyes and my throat tightens. But why? After all she has done, why is it so different now?

“I’m sorry, Lissa,” she breathes. I fold her hands across her stomach. I think of all the innocent murders she ordered—Chancellor Kole, Wren, her own sister and so many people I will never know.

She smiles. Her lips curve up, trembling as they go. Tears trickle down her eyes, run over the bridge of her elegant nose and dampen her pillow. She tightens her hand around mine.

“I really am. It wasn’t all a game. You weren’t meant to be a tool. I did love Slate once, and he, me. Tell him that. I loved you too. Forgive me, Lissa.”

“I…” but I can’t say the words. How can I?

“Forgive me,” she whispers again.

Her hand falls from mine.

Dead. My mother is dead.

I will never be able to forgive her. She will never know that peace.

I’ve wanted a mother for years, yearned for one. But what is worse? Watching your mother die or not having one at all?

The Jute lying before me now, her heart unbeating, wasn’t Queen Rhea. She was sorry. She was my mother.

I bite back the sudden tears wrenching in my chest. The door to the room flies open and I fling myself against the wall, grateful for my dark clothes.

I shudder and wipe my eyes as nobles filter into the room, their voices loud as they follow the short maid. And before they can see me, the lost princess, I slip out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind me.

And I know why my feet carried me to my mother instead of Julian. Because what she said was true.

A mother's will is stronger than any.

Was that really her last wish? To see me? To ask for my forgiveness?

It doesn’t matter now. My mother is dead.

The palace is bustling with nobles running back and forth, their faces flushed from exertion.

I run past them, keeping my head low as I dart through the halls. Does Rowan know I’m missing? Is Eli okay? Does Dena have enough blood to distribute? Where’s Mia?

My mother is dead.

There’s an ache in my chest and I don’t understand how I can mourn her when she was so heartless. She was so many people—a queen, a murderer, a Jute, but she was my mother, even if only for a few moments before her last breath.

And when the time came, would she have really taken my blood?

“Princess!” Someone calls when I reach the dungeon stairwell. I hurry down the dark hole.

I don't blink and my eyes sting as punishment. A stench slams into my nostrils, full of decay and waste. I hear a moan followed by a soft cry. My skin crawls.

“Who is it?” A thick voice echoes on the cold, stone walls.

I catch my breath and press myself against the wall as I creep down the staircase. Flames burst to life feet away from me, illuminating a guard, his eyes heavy with drink.

I reach toward my ankle and close my fingers around a dipped dart. He doesn't notice. He’s still slouched in his chair but he runs a hand across his face. His black eyes peer out at me from beneath his dust-brown hair.

“Who're you?” He spits. He jerks his head toward the metal bars to his right. “Get out before I throw you in one of them.”

“The Queen is dead,” I say, watching him closely for a reaction. But his mind is too thick for thinking. “You're needed in her chambers.”

He bellows a laugh and I flinch at the sudden noise. “In her chambers, eh? I can imagine. Fo' what?” He struggles to stand and his foot slips, a snarl escaping his thick lips. Anger bursts in his dull eyes when he shoots to his feet and pats around his waist, searching for his weapon.

I throw the dart. It makes its mark, embedding itself into his thick neck. He slumps back in his chair with a wheeze and his eyes droop shut. Asleep.

When his breathing slows, I’m painfully aware of the many eyes burning into me and the labored breathing of every inmate watching me. But somehow, somehow, I know Julian isn’t one of them—I would know if his eyes were on me.

I peer into the darkness of the cells. The torchlight sets an eerie blue glow across the rusted metal bars. But I can’t see anything aside from the dark gaping pits beyond them.

“Free us,” a voice whispers. I swallow before realizing the voice comes from the cell I’ve been watching. I take one step closer, trying not to think of who—or
what
—might lie inside. With every pounding pulse, I feel the daggers against my bare skin, reassuring me with their cool whispers.

“If I free you, how do I know I’ll be safe?” I ask slowly, my voice measured. I catch a flash of brown movement and step back as a boy scuttles forward with wide eyes and matted brown hair.

My throat tightens. He can’t be more than ten.

“I did nothing, miss.” His voice is barely audible through his thin lips. He presses his small, dirty fingers against the bars and something inside me breaks.

“What’s your name?” I ask softly.

He wears nothing but a long shirt with frayed edges. It's too dirty to know what color it once was.

“Bo,” he whispers, his breath clouds in the cold.

“Ye’ll need them keys,” a gruff voice says off to my right. I flinch and meet the green eyes of a large man, his auburn beard a knotted mess beneath his chin. He studies me closely. “I know who ye are.”

I inhale sharply and hurry to the dozing guard, my footsteps echoing in the musty darkness. I search his pockets, around his neck, and pry open his fisted hands, but come up empty.

“Above,” the man says. I look up. The keys are nailed to the post behind the guard. I yank them down and stop at the boy’s cell. He watches me warily, as if the thought of freedom is too good to be true. I slip one of the two largest keys into the slot and turn. It clicks.

I swing open the bars and Bo stands, his back still arched, and I wonder if he will be forever marred that way. He stares at the ground in front of him and I see his body quake, but he doesn’t move.

“You’re free,” I say softly. His eyes snap up to mine.

“Where will I go?” He asks. I open my mouth. I don’t know.

I glance at the bearded man, who watches in silence. “Will you take him?”

His eyes flicker in amusement. “I s’pose. If I ever leave here, yeah. I can ‘take him.’”

I open his cell too, knowing I could be letting loose a killer, a dangerous man who could do a number of things to me, worse than death. A man who knows who I am just by looking at me.

“You came here for someone else, didn’t you?” He asks. He takes the keys from me and hands me the other large one identical to the one I used to open his cell. “I’ll free them others.”

“Thank you.”

 He snorts and turns to the other cells. “I’ve done too much wrong to be thanked.”

I leave Bo staring at the ground outside his cell. There’s something about the bearded man that makes me trust him, as daunting as he looks. Bo will be safe. I hope.

All thoughts of Bo’s safety disappear as I walk past cell after cell. Panic zips up my veins. The dungeons are long, and by the time I’ve reached the end, Bo is even smaller when I glance back. But Julian isn’t here.

The triumphant shouts of the escaping men fill the air. I wonder if I’m making a mistake, letting loose so many men who committed deadly crimes. But what about Bo? He couldn’t have done any wrong.

My breath shudders and I rub my arms from the sudden cold. As light begins to filter through the small barred windows, I see it.

The familiar dark hair. The coat he wore that night, draped across his shivering body. A strangled cry escapes my lips.

Julian. 

My fingers tremble as I try to slip the key in the slot. After several attempts, the lock clicks and falls away.

And a sharp, stinging scent hits me.

Burning. The palace is on fire.

The stone walls will keep us safe from the flames, but it won't be long before the smoke travels down and the palace collapses. There is no such thing as safe on Jutaire. 

I don't have enough time. The cell door groans open.