UNBREATHABLE (8 page)

He leans forward, so our eyes are level. “Hence Gage's plea to be killed rather than hung. His final—and
only
, if I should say—act of defiance.”

“And now the Jute are furious. Gage knew of the consequences for such an act. Not for his dead body, but for the entire human race. And the bastard didn't care.”

Chancellor Kole takes in the surprise on my face. “Not so perfect now, was he?”

No. Not even close.

“Criminals are the easiest to hang, we can justify their deaths. We could easily get away with a dead body every other week. But because of Gage’s stupidity, the Jute are demanding more.”

“Why listen?” I ask quietly.

He shrugs. “It's their planet. We follow their orders and they let us live. A body a week, sometimes more, lock up the metal and the glass, and the majority of us gets to live.”

The Jute are more tangled in our lives than I thought.

“I didn't want this job, you know.” I meet his flickering dark eyes. “They took my wife. Threatened to take Dena. So I became the bad guy. The people I hang is a way of letting us all live.”

“I'm sorry,” I say. I try to sound like I mean it, but I can't.

“I don't need your sympathy.” His voice raises the hair on the back of my neck. “All I want is for Dena to live. And if I can ensure her safety by handing you over to the Jute, I will. So be careful.”

The door opens and Julian slips inside.

“I was leaving,” Chancellor Kole says brightly, though his eyes still burn on my skin. He smirks.

“Are you alright?” Julian asks once he leaves. I force air through my nose. Inhale. Exhale. “You look pale.”

“I'm fine,” I whisper.

He gives me a look that says he doesn't believe me but thankfully lets it slide. He slips knives from his boots and sets them on the table lining the wall and I wonder if he was with Dena. If he changed his mind about love.

“We're going to do some basic stretches and loosen up first. Are you ready?”

I nod, though I can’t meet his eyes.

“Then let's do this.”

I’m drenched in sweat and embarrassment. Julian doesn't seem to notice when he guides my arm back behind my neck.

My hand trembles beneath his touch. My heart races so fast, I’m afraid it will explode from overheating like the motors I’ve read about. Julian notices. My breath catches at the intensity in his gaze.

“Clear your head, Lissa,” he says softly.

I swallow. His hand closes around mine again and my whole body pulses with my heart.

“Pull your hand back, like this.” He pulls my hand back toward my shoulder.

“Focus on the target and nothing else. Then throw.” His voice is lulling. I can't focus on anything but my thrumming heart, my hand pulsing beneath his, and my body, slick with sweat. How can I focus when he is so close?

But when my breathing synchronizes with his, my pulse slows. My mind clears. Julian releases my arm.

And the faded red and white target is all I see. I think of all the physics Gage taught me. The rules of trajectory paths. I close my eyes for a brief heartbeat, expecting to hear his voice and see his face, but all I see is the target.

I open my eyes and throw. My arm swings forward and my fingers release the knife. I hold my breath.

And watch as it sticks into the cushioned wall between two targets.

Just as the door opens. And Dena laughs.

I think I might die from humiliation.

“You did good for your first try,” Julian says, but his voice is tight. I could have done better. Especially because she was here to see it.

Dena pulls the dagger from the wall and twirls it her hand.

“I bet you need a break, Jules.” Her voice is suggestive.

Julian's eyes dart to me. “No, I don't. Just leave, Dena.”

She scoffs. “Can't you see how pathetic she is? Why bother? Let the Jute do whatever they want with her. At least they’re good-looking. Better than good, I should say.”

Julian clenches his jaw. His voice drops. “Dena. Leave.”

Dena looks at me for the first time. She opens her mouth.

And I can’t take it anymore. Because anger is stronger than fear. Because I finally snap. “Did anyone ever tell you to take a hike? On Earth, that meant shut up and leave, no one wants your condescension.”

I clamp my mouth shut, heat exploding across my face. Julian snorts and barely covers it with a cough. Dena turns bright red and glares at him.

“You don't want to die anymore, do you, Julian?” She takes in his stricken face before she storms out, slamming the door behind her.

My hands shake when I retrieve the dagger from the floor.

“I'm sorry,” I can barely say.

He scoffs. “Sorry? That was- I didn't think you had it in you. And besides, Dena deserved it.”

A blush burns my face and I struggle to change the subject. “Can I keep this with me?”

He doesn't answer right away. Finally, he blinks. “Oh yeah, sure. Tomorrow then?”

“Tomorrow,” I say.

He hurries out, leaving me surrounded by a multitude of weapons I can't even use. I stare at the knife in my hand.

Jute learn as fast as they heal
, Julian said.

Pathetic
, Dena said.

I'm not. I step back and angle my arm. I'll show her I'm not. I throw the knife. It lands an embarrassing length away from target, worse than before. I pull it free and release a shuddering breath. Anger still pulses through my veins. It is new to me, this anger.

I let it stay, fuel me. And I throw the knife again.

And again and again.

My room is across from Julian's.

“If you need anything,” he adds quickly.

“And Lissa?” He says, opening the door to my room again. “You’re safe here. I won’t let anyone hurt you.”

“You can’t always be here,” I say.

His eyes hold mine, dark and penetrating. “I will. Always.”

“Who’s Rowan?” I ask, before I can stop myself.

“He works for the Queen,” he says slowly, and that’s all.

“So the Queen wants me.” I tilt my head. “But no one knows why.”

He nods. “Not even the Queen knows why.”

And with that, he closes the door behind him.

The bed is large, satiny blue, inviting me with plush pillows. A folded nightgown is set on one corner and a small bowl of colorless porridge sits on the bedside stand. A few steps to my left is a door leading to a small bath.

I eat, wash and climb into bed with a sigh, relieving my aching limbs.

The full moon casts a ghostly white glow in the room, making me feel like I’m elsewhere. I turn so I can see the moon in the distance, an oddly shaped round. It’s nothing like Earth’s dimmer moon, a perfect round riddled with craters.

One hundred and fifty years ago, humans came to Jutaire when Earth became too dangerous for life. They came on a ship, Gage had said, the ruins of which still exist close to Jute territory. Days after they landed, rain spilt from the sky.

They welcomed it as they did on Earth and it killed them. I’ve listened to the story from Gage’s lips nearly every rainfall. And each time I stared out the window as the rain splattered on the glass, and wondered—why didn't the Jute warn us?

Half the human race bled beneath the crying skies. Of the half remaining, Gage had said, yet another half disappeared without a trace. I looked at his face, as the full moon glowed across his sharp features and pale hair.

“Where did they go?” I was younger then, much younger.

“The Lost Colony? It’s too long of a story for me, Lissa,” he said. He leaned against his rickety desk and scribbled something on a fraying sheet of paper. He gestured toward the dingy shelves lining the wall. “It’s all in the books.”

But it wasn’t. I scoured every single book in search of the Lost Colony. There’s nothing that tells of the humans who disappeared. But they can’t have died. No, something else happened to them. I just know it.

And only now, days after he has died, do I remember: He lied.

He knew of the Lost Colony. And he died with his secret.

It takes one month.

I’ve perfected the use of a dagger, a bow, and a double-bladed staff and learned how to fight with my bare hands. Of them all, I prefer a dagger the most, and enjoy a bow the least. The way the curve of the dagger handle fits into my palm and moves as I do gives me a feeling of control, unlike a bow.

I’ve grown accustomed to expecting the feeling I get when Julian looks at me, stands near me, and breathes near me. But I will never grow accustomed to the feeling itself. It always feels new, fresh. I can’t get enough of it.

We part ways wordlessly at the hall. He was quiet today, his eyes dark and brooding.

I wash up and sink into bed, feeling the impact of my exhaustion only when the comfort of my covers envelops me. As always, I tuck two daggers beneath my pillow.

They make me feel safe, and now that I know how to use them, they will keep me safe too.

I stare at the ceiling, and remember my first night here, beneath another full moon. And in the blank, ethereal white glow, I see my thoughts.

The Jute, who want me. 

My mother, who my father claims is dead.

Slate, who wants to be with the daughter he lost.

Chancellor Kole, who will do anything to protect his daughter.

Dena, who will do anything to get rid of me, and get Julian back.

And Julian, who gets more and more distant with each passing day. Something bothers him. I wish he would share his burden. I wish I knew what he wanted.

And me.
What do I want?
I ask my beating heart.

It whispers. Because it is afraid to want what it wants. Because so many have died for it and many more will. I sigh and turn to my side. We can't all get what we want.

Yet when I close my eyes, I don’t see darkness. I see blue and green and white.

Earth.

I wake to the sound of my name in the middle of the night. I slide my hand beneath my pillow and close my fingers around the hilt of a dagger as a figure moves into the moonlight.

“It's me.” Relief rushes through me when I hear the soft sound of Julian’s voice. His messy hair glows in the moonlight.

“What is it? What's wrong?” I whisper. My voice is thick with sleep.

He stares at me in silence. “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Oh.” I sit up. His eyes slip to my bare shoulders and linger before they jump back to my face. Everywhere he looks, my skin tingles, as if his gaze is a tangible thing. I hear him shift in the dark and warmth rushes to my face.

“How would you know,” he breathes, “if you loved someone?”

I blink. I remember telling him his love for Dena was not love. 

“I guess, you would know, in your heart. You wouldn't be able to close your eyes without seeing her face, hearing her voice and imagining her smile. And you wouldn't be able to leave her, no matter how much you tried. When you see her smile and laugh and hear her voice, whispering words just for you, it'll feel like the world is at your feet. Like nothing could ever go wrong.”

I snort softly. “I don't know really. It's all in my mind.”

He runs his fingers through his hair. “How would you tell them? Her.”

“That you love her?” I ask. “I-I guess you wouldn't need to. If she loved you back, you would both feel it, know it, and that itself will bring you together.”

But there was one word I had found in my water-damaged copy of the English dictionary that could describe love.

“Love is magic,” I say.

My eyes burn and I rub at the ache in my chest. I speak as if I know, but I do not. This is only what I think. What I want.

For a moment, I think he has fallen asleep, bored by my words. But after a moment, I he whispers.

“Thank you, Lissa.”

I hear his soft footfalls. I see the door open. And before sleep finds me again, I think I hear his voice, a lullaby in the dark.

“Sweet dreams.”

And I think, maybe, just maybe, I dreamt it all.

The door to the training room is ajar the next day. My legs ache with every step. But any day now, the Jute might come, and I need to be ready.

It’s odd, how my life has changed in the span of little more than a month. I have gone from an orphan living in a sea of dying humans to a daughter, a prized possession needed so the Jute can get to Earth.

I slip silently into the room. Sunlight shines through the wide windows, casting the weapons in shades of brilliant gold. Beautiful and deadly.

I almost don't see Julian sitting in the corner, leaning over something. He doesn’t see me come in, and it’s hard not to stare without his attention on me.

His face is calm though his long fingers move. There’s a ridge on the bridge of his nose that I didn’t notice before. A crescent-shaped scar, the length of my thumbnail curves along the side of his left eye. I force my eyes down to his lips, full and a bruised dark pink, as if he spends too much time chewing them in nervousness.

He isn’t as perfect as I first thought.

He looks up through the hair dusting his forehead and I want to brush them away with the tips of my fingers. Amusement touches his irises as if he can read my mind.