Word and Breath (Wordless Chronicles)

by Susannah Noel

  Word and Breath

  Susannah Noel

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  Copyright © 2012 by Susannah Noel. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.

  Contents

  One

  Two

  Three

  Four

  Five

  Six

  Seven

  Eight

  Nine

  Ten

  Eleven

  Twelve

  Thirteen

  Fourteen

  Fifteen

  Sixteen

  Seventeen

  Eighteen

  One

  Riana Cole spent her life following the rules, but she got in trouble that day.

  Most of her family had been killed because they’d been too rebellious. They’d challenged the Union government and paid the price. She was determined not to let the same thing happen to her or her sister.

  She’d started as a Reader at age fourteen. Since then, she’d done her work quietly and well. She’d never had a bad evaluation, and she’d never gotten in trouble.

  Until today.

  She hadn’t done anything wrong. Smyde, her supervisor, claimed she’d passed over a suspicious reference to the Underground, but she still believed the diary entry in her inbox was perfectly normal and not any sort of dangerous hidden code.

  But Smyde had yelled at her in front of the entire Office of Readers. He would have kept yelling at her if Jenson, one of her fellow Readers, hadn’t intervened.

  As a result, Riana felt restless and on edge as she strode down the city sidewalks of Newtown on her way home from work. The city was hot, sticky, and crowded, and she had little in common with anyone else around her.

  For one thing, she could read. And almost no one else could.

  The world had changed after the Cataclysm five centuries ago. Nearly everything of value had been lost. Using the collective memory of the survivors, society had slowly remade itself on the continent with remnants of destroyed civilization, technology, and culture. Eventually, there were cities again, cars again, medicine again, but even the most developed of regions lived on a shaky edge—knowing it all could be destroyed in a day again.

  Into this precarious balance had come the Union, the only force strong enough to provide the stability people craved. Eventually, the political machine had subsumed the entire continent, and nothing had stopped it since.

  Society had barely changed at all in a century and a half. These city streets still looked the same as they had a hundred years ago. Once reading was discouraged, the redeveloping world came to a crashing halt, with little new progress in technology or culture. The Union liked it that way.

  Riana turned the corner and walked down the block toward her building. She and her sister shared a loft space above a commercial bakery. It wasn’t the best neighborhood in the world, but they’d never had any serious problems there.

  She was peering up toward her loft to see if her sister had the lights on yet when a sudden impact pushed her forward onto her knees. Her leather bag was jerked off her shoulder.

  She tried to scream, to call out, but shock and fear closed up her throat. Her knees burned from the abrasion against the pavement—the fabric of her slacks had torn open with the fall—and her hands stung with scrapes too.

  After a few seconds, she could focus on the fleeing figure pushing his way through the startled people on the sidewalk. Then finally she was able to get her voice to work. “Hey! Stop!”

  It was futile—she knew it even as she called out. This was Newtown. Strangers weren’t going to risk their necks to save her handbag from a mugger.

  Her heart pounded in her throat and head as she heaved herself to her feet. She was just starting to process the rest of her evening—calling the police, following up on her currency and identification cards—when she saw the fleeing mugger jerk to an abrupt stop.

  Then she saw why.

  Another man had grabbed the mugger by the back of his shirt and was holding him trapped. When the mugger steadied his balance and struck out in response, the other man blocked the blow and grabbed Riana’s bag.

  The mugger hesitated only a second. Then he released the bag, yanked his shirt out of the other man’s grip, and started barreling down the sidewalk again.

  The stranger didn’t follow. He just stood on the busy sidewalk with Riana’s bag in his hand, staring after the fleeing mugger.

  It all happened so fast Riana could hardly keep up. In fact, she didn’t put all the pieces together until she started limping toward the strange man.

  He turned around as she approached, and she stifled a gasp at her first clear glimpse of him.

  She’d thought he’d had silver hair from the distance—older and distinguished in his tailored dark clothes—but she realized his hair was actually a blond so fair it looked almost white. It was longish, maybe to be trendy or maybe because it was past time for a haircut. His features were gorgeous and masculine with the square chin and broad forehead. His appearance was somehow ageless. He might be anywhere between twenty and forty.

  He was the best looking man she’d seen in a really long time.

  “Thanks,” she croaked as she reached out for her bag. Her throat was still rough from her shock and fall.

  “You’re welcome.” The man’s eyes were almost black—a startling contrast to the fair of his hair. “I hope you didn’t want me to chase him down.”

  The slight irony in his voice made her smile. “No way. I’d have to suffer through the hassles of getting the police involved. I’m just glad to have my bag back.” Automatically, she rifled through the main pocket and assured herself that her phone, wallet, and notebook were still there.

  “That’s what I thought.” The knowing warmth in his voice made her glance up in surprise. He watched her as if she were the only other person in existence, and the unfamiliar attention made her feel kind of silly and special. “I generally try to avoid Union officials whenever possible.”

  “Good strategy.”

  They held gazes for a moment, and Riana experienced a thrill of excitement run down her spine—one so foreign to her she almost didn’t recognize it.

  Then realizing this man was a stranger and she would likely never see him again, she pulled herself together. “Well, thanks again.”

  When she started walking, he fell in stride with her without asking. “Are you all right? You look a little worse for wear.”

  “Just some scrapes.” Riana studied her bleeding hands and torn pants. “Nothing serious.”

  “I’ll walk you home—just to be sure.”

  She wasn’t sure if it was a question or a demand, and she wasn’t sure if she liked his presumption or was annoyed by it. “I’m just a few buildings down. Thanks for the offer, though.”

  He didn’t take her comment as a dismissal, although it was intended as one. He kept watching her—not intrusively but with obvious interest.

  When he didn’t go away, she said, mostly to make conversation, “I can’t believe you went out of your way to help me. I didn’t think men made gallant efforts at rescue anymore.” She couldn’t help the slight bitterness in her voice, and she was uncomfortably aware that he had recognized it.

  Riana was only twenty-two, but she hadn’t had a social life in years. The friends she’d had when she was younger had all dispersed, and the only real friend she’d had in the office—Connor—had dro
pped off the planet three years ago. Her life now was her job as a Reader and taking care of her sister. It was just safer and easier that way.

  “To tell you the truth,” the man drawled, with a twitch of amusement on his finely drawn lips. “I had no intentions of playing the hero. It was a random impulse. I just reached out and grabbed the guy. Pretty dumb, really.”

  For some reason, his dry tone and his blunt honesty reassured Riana. And attracted her far more than any feigned humility or masculine swaggering would have. “Well, I appreciate the thoughtless impulse.”

  Several strands of hair had slipped out of the two long brown braids she always wore. She pushed them behind her ear impatiently and, for the first time in ages, wondered how she looked.

  Probably terrible—with messy hair, torn clothes, and flushed cheeks. Even her pretty shoes, the only piece of clothing she ever spent money on, were scuffed up.

  Not that it mattered. This man was attractive, yes. He was articulate and intelligent, with a dry humor that appealed to her. She didn’t know anything about him, though.

  And it wouldn’t matter anyway.

  She’d resigned herself to not having a man years ago.

  They’d reached the bakery on the first floor of Riana’s building, so she stopped, experiencing a pang of disappointment as she said, “This is me. So thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome again.” The man stood in front of her and didn’t make any move to walk away. “Do you ever get tired of the smell of bread and cookies?”

  Surprised by the random question, Riana let out a soft huff of amusement. “It took a while to get used to it, but I barely notice anymore. It’s only a problem when I feel sick to my stomach.”

  “Are you ever tempted to indulge too much?”

  Riana reddened slightly and slanted her eyes away, suddenly self-conscious even though the question had been innocuous.

  His tone hadn’t felt innocuous.

  “Not really. I was at first, but not anymore.”

  “I live near the police station,” the man said conversationally, nodding to his left. “Less than a mile that way. Unfortunately, I still haven’t gotten used to the sounds of arrests at all hours of the day.”

  The bitterness in his voice—as he expressed a dissatisfaction with the Union that Riana wholeheartedly agreed with—was as attractive to her as his deep eyes and wry wit.

  “I’d move, if I were you.”

  “I’m considering it.” The corner of his mouth tilted up. “Do you recommend this block?”

  It took Riana a few seconds to realize he was flirting with her. Not blatantly or offensively but with a pleasant, flattering warmth.

  It had been so long since anyone had really flirted with Riana that she almost didn’t recognize it.

  Feeling suddenly shy, she couldn’t think of a thing to say in response. Certainly nothing that would sustain the flirtatious tone, even though she kind of wanted to.

  “It’s not bad,” she murmured, dropping her eyes. “Anyway, I better go up. Thanks again.”

  “You’re welcome again.” His smile made her realize that it was the fourth or fifth time she’d thanked him. “I’m Mikel, by the way.”

  He held out his hand, which she noticed was strong with long, graceful fingers.

  After just a moment’s pause, she shook his hand, surprised by the heat of his touch. “Riana.”

  For no reason that made any sense, she was flushed and breathless when he dropped her hand. Jittery in an entirely new way.

  As she turned to the door into her building, Mikel added, “Maybe I’ll see you around, Riana.”

  Ridiculously, her cheeks grew even hotter at the way he’d said her name. “Maybe.”

  Then she hurried up the stairs, giving herself a firm lecture about common sense and maturity.

  She was acting like a silly girl. She shouldn’t be so foolish.

  “Jannie?” she called out as she entered the loft. She leaned against the front door for a moment, experiencing a familiar sense of closing out the stress and discomfort of the world with the shutting of the door. “I’m home.”

  “I’m in the kitchen,” her sister replied.

  Riana followed the sound of her voice.

  Jannie was six years younger than Riana, and she’d been in a wheelchair for the last two years. Her health prevented her from getting a job, so she spent most of her time in their loft.

  “I’m making pasta primavera,” Jannie announced when Riana came into the small kitchen. “Can you get the colander from the top shelf so I can drain the pasta?”

  Riana reached up into the high cabinet to get the colander. “Sounds good. How are you feeling?”

  On good days, Jannie was quite functional—happy-spirited and capable, sometime to the point of not always needing her wheelchair. On bad days, however, she had to stay in bed. “Good today. Did you fall down? Who were you talking to down there?”

  “Some guy.” Riana cringed as she realized Jannie had witnessed her conversation with Mikel. “A mugger took my purse and he got it back from me.”

  “A white knight.” Jannie’s smile was mischievous and knowing.

  “He was all in black.”

  Jannie ignored the curtness of her response. “He was very good-looking. And it looked like you two were having a very nice conversation.”

  “Not really. He was just being nice.”

  “Did he ask you out?” Jannie had poured the pasta into the colander and was shaking it around to drain it, but her blue eyes studied Riana’s face carefully.

  “Of course not.”

  “Would you have gone out with him if he asked?”

  “Probably not. I’m not all the eager to take up with strange men I meet on the street.” To distract herself and hide her face, Riana opened the refrigerator and pulled out a bottle of water.

  Jannie didn’t respond, and she was silent so long that Riana turned again to look at her.

  “You don’t stay at home all the time because of me, do you?” Jannie’s face was sober now.

  “I don’t stay at home all the time.”

  “Yes, you do. Except to work and do errands. It’s not because of me, is it?”

  “Of course not.” Riana felt horribly uncomfortable—a different kind of self-consciousness than she’d felt before with Mikel. “You know me. Anti-social to the core.”

  Her flippant answer didn’t distract Jannie. “I wonder sometimes. Because, you know, if you want to find a man or get married, I’d feel terrible if I was standing in your way.”

  Feeling a surge of affection at Jannie’s anxious face, Riana reached down and gave her sister a half-hug. “You’re not standing in the way of anything. If I wanted to find a man or get married, you wouldn’t keep me from it. But where I go, you go. That’s always going to be the deal.”

  She felt Jannie relax.

  Straightening up, she took a swig of water and quipped, “Of course, if I wanted to get married or even have a date, I’d be sadly out of luck, given my choice of eligible men.”

  An image of Mikel—tall, lean, strong, and handsome in his sleek black clothes—flashed in her mind.

  But she ignored it.

  She wasn’t an idiot, after all.

  Even if she decided to try something like a date, a man like Mikel wasn’t likely to try it with her.

  ***

  Mikel stood across the street from the bakery and looked up at the lit windows of the loft above it. He could see shadows moving behind one of the windows, although the silhouettes were too obscured to identify.

  Riana Cole wasn’t what he’d expected. He’d been told she was quiet, retiring, and isolated—and he’d expected someone shy and plain, perhaps with a low self-esteem. She had been clever and articulate, however. Private but not particularly shy. Despite her reticence, she’d held herself with a surprising kind of confidence and grace.

  She was also startlingly pretty, with those faintly girlish braids and huge gray eyes.

&nbs
p; The faint whiff of connection he’d gotten from her when their hands touched was fresh, deep, and spicy. Surprisingly intoxicating. And almost untouched.

  This was going to be more of a challenge than he’d thought.

  It took a lot of experience and control for a Soul-Breather to make calculated adjustments in the extent of connections. As Breathers matured, they learned how to open increasingly nuanced connections, pulling out varying amounts of a person’s spirit, ranging from superficial feelings to almost everything.