Father spoke. “Never listen to what they say. Some are good, of course, but most are not. Everything they do is for their benefit.”
“Which is why you don’t want to stay on Jutaire,” I said, silently urging him to continue. I tied off my braid and tossed it behind me.
“Yes,” he said. “And no. I don’t want to stay because of many things. But that is one reason. They aren’t letting us stay on Jutaire out of hospitality, Lissa. That isn’t how they are. We are here for something else.”
His eyes looked past me, into the distance where the Jute lived. Jutaire is empty save for our settlement and theirs, though I’ve never seen it. We haven’t seen a Jute in human territory in years. And while many took it as a good sign, Father did not.
His eyes were blank, glinting in the blue firelight. He was lost in his thoughts again, in the swirl of oblivion plaguing his mind.
Just as we are lost in a dark world.
I open my eyes to that darkness and part my lips. But if I scream, no one will come. There’s something about being the daughter of a dead criminal that makes people ignore me.
I don’t even know where I am.
I sit up and scramble back against something cool and hard. A wall. My shuffling shatters the silence and light blinds my vision.
Light like the sun, not the candlelight I’ve lived with for years. I glance up and immediately look away from its unnatural brightness. It has to be the solar energy I’ve read of in the books Father owned. The books I now own. Light must be another privilege given to the soldiers.
“You’re awake.”
The soldier’s voice is softer than I expect, almost gentle. He’s sitting cross-legged on the floor across from me, barely five feet away. I stare at him, unblinking because if I so much as breathe, fear will take over me.
I expect a grin. A glint in his eyes that says he has won. But his eyes are wary. His mouth is one flat line, like the ground beneath me. He studies me, as if he can read my mind by looking at me right.
He’s strangely handsome, with an edge to his features than can only come with age. His unnerving pale gray eyes barely reflect the starkness of his black uniform. I've never seen eyes so light.
“Lissa,” he says finally. My name sounds strangled as it falls from his lips.
I don’t understand. I don’t understand how he knows my name, how saying the name of the daughter of a man you murdered could be so hard.
“You killed him.” My voice is choked and breathless. Like his, I realize. He shakes his head.
“You don’t understand, Liss-”
“Don’t,” I say in a rush of surprising anger. I bite the words. “Don’t say my name.”
Something dangerously close to remorse flickers in his eyes and a muscle twitches in his jaw.
“What do you want with me?” I ask.
“He wasn’t your father,” he says hesitantly. Our eyes lock.
“Galileo, Gage, he wasn’t your father,” he says, more urgently this time.
“You’re in no position to tell me who my father is. You’re a murderer. A soldier,” I say. The words feel foul in my mouth.
“I might be a soldier, but he wasn’t your father.”
I scoff. “He was my father. Until you killed him.”
“No, Lissa,” he says, ignoring my glare. “He never had a child. You knew him. He was too engrossed in his work—in science—to want a child.”
That was the truth. And I remember Father’s words. You are not my daughter. The weakest edge of my steel-hard belief crumbles.
“And you know,” I say with a pause, “who my father is?”
A strangled sound escapes his lips. “Yes.”
He knows I don’t believe him. That no matter what he says I won’t believe him.
“I know you can breathe the toxic air,” he says instead. “And I know you’re not Jute.”
I stiffen. Of course he’d know I can breathe Jutaire’s air—he was in the Chamber when my mask was in my hand and not on my face. But how would he know if I’m Jute or not?
The soldier sighs. My pulse pounds.
“My name is Slate. Gage was my brother,” he says flatly.
Brother. Father had a brother. And a name other than Galileo that he never told me of.
Why didn’t he tell me? Why couldn’t he trust me with something so simple? What else did he keep from me?
The soldier, Slate, looks at me like he wants to say something else but decides against it with a defeated shake of his head.
“There’s something I want to show you.”
“You’re not going to explain?” I ask without moving.
“Would you believe me? No. So no, I’m not going to explain. Not yet.”
I consider sitting still, but if he can drug me and bring me here, wherever we are, then fighting him won’t make a difference. More than anything else, I can learn something from him. Something about Father, who might not even be my father.
I slowly unfold my legs and stand.
He releases a deep breath and opens the door. I follow him down a long hall. Compared to the room, it’s dim, but still lit with something other than a candle. I can tell we’re in a house, but when I try to imagine it on the outside, I can’t remember anything as long.
He stops at the end of the hall, in front of a sliding door.
“I can't give you back Gage,” he says. His eyes are sad. “But I will give you what I can.”
He speaks as if he knows me. In truth, he does. But he speaks like he has known me all my life as a friend, maybe more. But I've only known him for days as an enemy.
I stare at him, until the resolve to hate him crumbles inside me.
But there is nothing he can give me. There is nothing I expect to see on the other side that will fix anything in my ruined life. But when he opens the door, I realize there is something I’d like. The knowledge that someone didn’t die because of me.
The boy from the Chamber.
The small bed pushed against the dirty wall groans as the boy scrambles to his feet. His lean, pale arms are a stark contrast to the short sleeves of his black shirt.
There is nothing to show the pain he endured since last night, aside from a dirty bandage wrapped around his forearm, where I’m guessing glass must have cut through.
He’s breathing. He’s alive.
But I don't know how he’s here. I don't know why the soldier would protect him in a room with a bed where he can rest. The boy runs a nervous hand through his hair.
“Lissa?”
My lips part in surprise. Even he knows my name.
“I was there,” he hurries to explain. “On the day of your father's trial when Chancellor Kole called you out in front of everyone.”
I stifle the ridiculous urge to snort. On Jutaire, trial is a fancy word for dragging people to a noose and letting their bodies dangle for the world to see. Though what happened to Father was a trial, of sorts. For me.
“Lissa?” The boy says again, pulling me away from the blood dripping down Father's only white shirt.
“I didn't realize you were there,” I say.
It seemed to be Father, Chancellor Kole, and me. Everything else was in the background, fuzzy and blurry. But everyone was there, everyone knows me.
“And you are?” I trail off.
“Julian,” he replies softly.
And then: “What were you doing in the Chamber last night?”
I catch the slight undercurrent of accusation in his voice. It was my fault he was caught, though clearly he was saved. Slate steps inside before I can answer and Julian looks away.
“Did you find her?” Julian asks him. His easy tone and the way they look at each other tell me they know each other well.
“Who?” Slate raises his eyebrows.
“Your daughter,” he replies as if the answer is obvious.
Slate stiffens. ”No.”
Julian heaves an exasperated sigh. “You said you had a lead. You said you knew—”
<
br /> “Stop.” Slate’s voice echoes in the room. Julian freezes, and tension rises, heavy and thick.
“When I find her, you’ll know,” Slate says softly and the tension disappears into the crevices between every little crack in the walls around us.
Julian mutters something inaudible and rakes his long fingers through his hair again. Each strand is a fine line of the night sky. I memorize this way to read him, because I know he is nervous. He catches me looking.
I look away quickly. Father taught me to control my eyes and voice. But he never told me how to stop the color from blossoming on my face.
I throw a glance up. The boy still isn’t wearing a mask. Then again, I’m sure there’s oxygen inside the house, though Slate and I still wear our masks.
But Julian wasn’t wearing a mask last night. What if he’s Jute and I mistakenly thought he was like me? But if there’s oxygen here, inside the house, then he could be like me.
I’m confused more than anything else.
If I’m not Jute or human, then what am I? I shiver at the question. What am I? Three simple words, one easy question. And the person with the answer is dead.
“Are you alright?” Julian asks me.
“Yes,” I lie. Because I don’t think I will ever be okay. But my answer seems to satisfy him.
“What were you doing in the Chamber last night?” He is adamant.
“I”—pause and choose words carefully—“I went there to steal metal and glass.”
He clenches his jaw and narrows his eyes. Because there’s nothing else in the Chamber. He knows I went there to steal.
He wants to know why.
I take a deep breath, and when I speak, I'm not here, standing in this small, small room with two strangers. I'm elsewhere, with Father, looking through his scope.
I struggle on his name. Gage. But I can't say it. Nor can I say Father when Slate so strongly believes otherwise. So I settle for the name he chose for himself.
“Galileo… made a scope and saw the Earth.”
I nearly choke on the words I’ve never spoken aloud. But they have heard this story—everyone has. There was magic in those words before Chancellor Kole made them deadly and hated in everyone’s eyes. “And now he's dead. I need… to avenge him somehow, and the best way is to show everyone that Earth exists. That we have a reason to live. That we can do something other than wait for death. I saw it-”
“You saw it?” Two voices explode. Julian's eyes bulge out of his skull. The soldier stiffens beside me.
I want to reach out and pluck the words from their ears.
I saw the Earth, yes. I saw the colors so magnificent, so vivid, so real. It was hope so large and round, green and blue. Hope was tangible until Slate and the other soldiers came.
But only Father and I know what I saw.
“I-I,” I sputter. My heart is pounding. Pounding. Pounding.
“You can trust us.” My heart breaks at the simplicity of Julian’s words. His voice is still and penetrating. As if the world knows when he is about to speak and silences all else.
It hits me like a gust of dry Jutaire wind.
Father betrayed me. I could have handled the truth. He could have told me about his brother, he could have told me he wasn’t my father. Instead, he misused my trust and told me I’m not his daughter moments before his death. Did he denounce me? Or tell me one final truth?
“Lissa, you can trust us,” Slate says softly, and rests his hand on my shoulder. On impulse, I flinch. On impulse, he grimaces. Pain flickers across his face, disappearing before I can breathe.
But Julian noticed. I hear his sharp intake of air. My eyes widen when Slate looks at him with barely concealed fear.
“You knew, didn't you?” Julian's voice is painfully accusing. Anger flashes in his eyes. He isn't referring to Earth. “You've known for years.”
“No,” Slate says, eyes cast down. His voice is choked when he looks back up at Julian. “Not years. Days.”
“Tell her-”
But Slate isn't finished. In a heartbeat, he switches to the soldier who broke Father’s scope with a snarl. “Don’t you dare.”
Silence drops like the bombs that had supposedly destroyed Earth decades ago. The tension reaches up again, sinewy and long, ready to snap.
“I’m not ready yet,” Slate says, more to himself. And before Julian can respond, he leaves. I stare as he slides the door closed again.
If Julian notices my confusion, he doesn’t let on. In fact, he swiftly switches topic. “Did you really see the Earth?”
“Yes.” The word flies free from my lips. The outburst between Julian and Slate disappears from my mind. I’m light-headed, filled with a giddy happiness, at the thought of having another person to trust, despite the tendrils of warning fear.
“What’s it like?”
For a moment, I think he's asking about trust. But when I meet his eyes, I know. Only one thing in our dwindling world can lighten and brighten a person's eyes to full awe.
“Earth?” I ask anyway. He nods and excitement builds in my chest. I've never spoken to anyone about Earth. It’s a secret that could take me straight to the gallows. But right now, I don’t care. “It really is green and blue and white, but different. Alive, almost.”
His eyes light up and I want to grab his hand and push away the sun, entice the moon into the sky so I can show him Earth. But I don’t have a scope. I don't have the courage to reach for his hand.
“It’s a perfect round thing floating in a universe of darkness. When you've heard all your life that it doesn't exist, that it isn't real, seeing it for the first time shatters everything else. Everything you thought you knew is a lie.”
“Seeing it in the sky for barely a heartbeat is all you need. Nothing else matters, you know?”
My question echoes in awkward silence. I finger the hem of my shirt and when I meet his eyes, he's staring at me with an expression I can't place. His eyes are a mixture of dark and light and I can't bring myself to look away.
Heat creeps up my cheeks. With a jolt, I realize I'm sitting alone in a room, too close to a boy.
“What?” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head. His voice is even softer, close to my whisper. Despite his answer, I can see the words waiting to be said.
“It’s so many millions of miles away”—he pauses and searches my face—“and look what it’s done to you.”
He's right. I can feel it, like a beacon of light inside me, spreading all the way to the tips of my fingers. Even before I saw the Earth, I felt it.
Only Earth could do that to me. At least, that’s what I thought when I saw it that night. But when he looks at me, I think… I think I feel it too. When he speaks, he seems to understand. I’ve been isolated for seventeen years, knowing no one but Father, who knew me all my life, who never truly understood me. Julian has known me for less than a day and he knows. I'm a person in his eyes. Not a shadow who became a criminal’s daughter.
“Do you remember me?” He asks suddenly. “From the market?”
My breath catches when I meet his eyes.
So he does remember me from that bustling day in the market. It was months ago, when the wind was at its wildest, covering the market in gritty red sand and layering everything in dust.
Father always went to the market, not me. But that day, he needed a piece of pure Louen for an experiment. I ducked under the hooded tents and passed vendors and mothers and fathers and screaming children. Annoyance crept through my veins at the clutter and churning voices.
Behind the market stalls were the wide crophouses, their walls made entirely of Louen, clear and strong. From outside, it looked dark and dangerous. I slipped inside, where it was different. The smell hit me first - fresh and free, with recycled dirt from Earth.
The snickering hit me next.
“Did you find the Earth?” A voice asked. I peered through the foliage as another voice laughed.
I crept deep
er into the crophouse, towards the emptiness in the center. I heard a pair of shears being dragged across the ground and the exaggerated sounds of the blades screeching against one another.
Three boys stepped from the taller plants. One of them bore a scar across his cheek.
“That stupid father of yours figure anything out?” He asked me.
“Or is he too busy babysitting you?” The other asked.
The one in the center cut them both off, shaking a mop of light curls away from his eyes. “Tell Galileo to hurry up. My dad's going crazy. Any day now he'll be hanging from that noose and it’ll be all your fault.”
“Let’s pass him a message.” The scarred one sneered. He clipped the shears again and my heart seized.
The others laughed, slowly coming closer. I took one step back, pressing my lips against a whimper. And for the first time, I wished Father was normal, that he wasn’t trying to prove something that couldn’t possibly be true. Something brushed against my hand and I jumped.
It was a leaf.
I turned and ran. Their shouts echoed behind me and I ran faster. Some small part of me lamented the loss of the plants I knocked over in my scramble. A door opened somewhere. Someone grabbed me and I slammed against the ridges of a chest. I looked up, but against the blinding light of the sun behind him, his features were as shaded as his dark hair. He lowered his head and searched my eyes. I could see him clearly then, his long nose, the fullness of his lips, the breathtaking shade of his eyes. I had never been so close to anyone in my life. I had never felt as alive as I did in those moments.
The boys skidded to a halt behind me and the blue-eyed boy looked up.
“Leave. Or I’ll make sure you're all next at the gallows.”
He stared, unmoving, until their footsteps receded and the door on the other end clicked shut.
“Are you alright?” He asked me. There was a hushed quality to his voice that reached inside of me and I couldn’t bear it. I couldn’t bear to be looked at as if I meant something, because I knew I would never see him again.
It was Julian. I meet his eyes, remembering the heat of his chest, the strength of his arms. He leans back against the pillows on the small bed with a soft exhale and it’s a struggle to look at him.
UNBREATHABLE Page 3