And he’s gone.
The moment he leaves, I pull out my daggers and sheaths. I'm about to change out of my nightgown when the door opens.
Slate slips inside. Soft moonlight shines off his mask. Worry gnaws at my mind.
“Where's Julian? Is he okay?” I ask.
“He can take care of himself. We have to go. Now.” He throws a package my way. I catch it. “I didn't see a point in giving you another set of daggers, so I got you something that will make you look like the warrior that you are.”
I shake the dark material from the package onto the bed.
A black body suit slips out, it’s stretchy and form fitting. There's a tunic too, it glints when I hold it up. Thin shiny scales, each one about the size of a small tooth line it, shimmering in the flickering light.
When Slate turns away, I slip into the body suit and hold my breath as I pull on the tunic, watching as the hem drops right at mid-length of my thighs. I slip into my boots, which reach up to my knees.
There’s a hood and an extra ring of fabric around my neck, lined in even smaller scales, making it more flexible. It stretches when I pull it up.
It's a mask. It covers my mouth and my nose, ending beneath my eyes. To protect me from dust. I pull on the supple gloves and spread my arms, marveling at my armor.
“But I'm not a warrior,” I whisper.
“You are mine,” he says softly. He looks me up and down and hands me a belt. It’s slotted with small knives, each one an inch apart. I strap it around my waist, but it's too big, made for a man like him, so it hangs lopsided around me.
I take a deep breath and look up at him when I’m done. He smiles warily. “Are you ready?”
“Never been more,” I say. And I mean it. Because for once, I am. The familiar quaking of fear isn’t there anymore.
The halls are lit only by the soft glow of the waning solar bulbs. We run, our footsteps light on the smooth floor. Him and me, father and daughter. Something shifts in my chest when I think of us that way.
Father and daughter.
He touches my wrist when we pause at the corner. I’m envious of his calmness. His every glance is calculated, measured. This is what a soldier is—a trained protector.
Gage taught me differently, that soldiers are dangerous, ruthless, heartless creatures with shells of bodies and zero souls. And yes, they can be that. But not to the ones they protect and love.
“Don't get distracted,” Slate says. But he stops too. His eyes are soft in the dim light. Why couldn't I have had gray eyes like his? “What is it?”
“You love me,” I say, as if the notion is impossible. My chest tightens.
He exhales and cradles my cheek with the palm of his hand, calloused and warm. “Of course I do. I've been loving you for seventeen years as my dead child. Why stop when you're alive?”
Footsteps sound down the end of the hall. He drops his hand to the shock gun at his waist and edges silently toward the sound. I hold my breath and follow.
The light brightens. There’s a flash of white hair. A blur of dark. A thud.
And I bite back a gasp when a body falls to the ground.
“'Bout time, Slate,” Dena drawls, wiping a wicked blade across the dead Jute. A machete. Dena carries an actual machete. It makes my dagger look like child’s play. She assesses my outfit with a watchful eye and smirks.
He clears his throat and she raises an eyebrow at him. “Babysitting's over. You're needed elsewhere. I'll make sure your burden of love - or is that bundle of love? - doesn't get hurt.”
“I don't need your protection,” I say.
“If she gets hurt—” Slate starts. Dena rolls her eyes, cutting him off.
“Yeah, yeah. Here's the thing: she won't,” she says. Her back stiffens and in that instant, she’s a completely different person. She scans the area around us before fixing her dark gaze impatiently on Slate again. “Bye?”
He turns to leave and turns back, remembering something. Me. He tucks the hair that came loose from my messy braid behind my ear.
“Be careful,” he breathes. “I can't lose you again.” I part my lips. But before I can say a word, he pulls me close and presses his masked face to my forehead. And when I think of Father, I no longer see those wise brown eyes, so much like mine, I see gray, pale gray so unusual only one person can have them.
My arms are clenched as I lift them, and slowly, slowly wrap them around him. When one fist touches the other, I am complete. Inside, a gaping black hole is filled. Tears burn at the edge of my vision.
“I love you, Lissa.” He pulls back. Gage never said those words to me.
I need Slate. I need to see his smile, hear his voice. I need him to be there for me the way Gage never was. My reply is there, on the edge of my lips.
“I love you too,” I whisper, hesitant and soft. But it’s too late, he’s already gone.
Dena snorts after a moment. “So much for being able to protect yourself. Stop dreaming.”
I turn with a sigh and walk past her, clenching my teeth when the sound of her laugh grates on my nerves.
And because of that, neither of us is prepared when four figures jump from either side of the intersecting hall.
“Now we're talking.” In a flash, Dena's machete is in her hand, her back to me. I pull my daggers into either hand, an odd calm settling over me.
Dena and Gage were right—the Jute are all unnervingly beautiful. Enough to distract you. These men have silky scraps of cloth tied around their mouths and noses. Louen, I realize, to lessen the absorption of oxygen. Slate said Jute aren't harmed with one breath as humans are, but oxygen is dangerous nonetheless. Don’t they realize the air in the Tower isn’t oxygen? Maybe it’s a precaution, maybe there’s a way for the Chancellors to allow oxygen to work in here.
The Jute to my right lunges. He’s fast, but I’m faster. I dart to the side as another Jute swipes a kick to my legs and I barely leap out of the way. I throw a kick at the burlier one, and when he bends over with a gasp, I whack the back of his head with the hilt of my dagger. He falls with a groan, temporarily unconscious.
A lean arm wraps around my neck. The Jute chuckles in my ear and drags me back. My heels drag helplessly along the smooth ground. I dig my nails into his flesh, but I’m nothing against his brute strength. He swiftly shoves me against the wall, pressing a blade against my back. He releases my neck and I gasp desperately for air.
“Only cowards… kill… from behind,” I wheeze. He chuckles.
I gather as much strength as I can muster and shove him off me. Duck and swerve. I drop one dagger and use both hands to drive the length of my other one deep into his chest. Surprise flickers across his face, widens his gold eyes. There’s a clatter as his knife drops to the ground. He sputters and drops to his knees, then onto his back. Blood trickles between his fingers clawing at his chest. I watch as the life slowly leaves his eyes.
His chest stops moving. His eyes stop seeing.
I sink to the ground. The dead Jute’s white shirt is soaked in dark blood, more pouring from around the dagger still in him. The dagger with my name written on its hilt, like some disgusting joke.
I killed him. Who am I to take the life of another person? Julian taught me so much. But not this. Someone shuffles behind me. Dena struggles in front of me.
But I hear nothing. See nothing. Feel nothing.
I killed someone.
Sharp pain explodes in my back and I cry out. I'm thrown flat on my stomach and my limbs scream when an immovable weight collapses on me.
My chest heaves. I struggle to breathe. I don't have my daggers. One is by the wall feet away, the other in the body of a corpse. I try to wiggle free, but the pain only increases. The bones in my back crunch beneath what feels like a boot and my lips part in a silent scream. I hear the swoosh of an unsheathing blade.
“She may need you alive, but she didn't say all in one piece,” the Jute hisses.
And he falls on me.
I
<
br /> Can't
Breathe.
I wheeze and cough. Breathing feels like pushing a boulder with all my weight.
Dena laughs at me. I roll my head against the wall and look away.
“You're good for nothing,” she says. I bite my lip against the angry, meaningless words waiting on my tongue.
I didn't ask her to save me. Then again, I would have died if it weren’t for her. Died because a boulder of a Jute fell on me. I almost laugh.
“Are you done yet? I don't have time for this crap.”
“Will you ever shut up?” I stand and rub the back of my hand along my ribs with a wince. I pick up my daggers. I’m grateful that she cleaned them, but I’m not ready to thank her for it.
“I'm not the one who expects half the human race to die for her.” Her voice is bitter. She starts walking and I don't bother with a comeback.
I'm not that girl either.
I don't expect anyone to die for me.
But Earth. The Jute have a ship. And the only way to get it is by force.
I shake away the thoughts plaguing my conscience and follow her. This time, I keep my eyes peeled for Jute. The sooner we get out of the Tower, the better. It doesn’t help that my room was on a higher floor.
“It's too quiet,” Dena says after a moment. She narrows her eyes at me and I have to pause, because she rarely ever looks me in the eye. “Run.”
I don’t need to be told twice. We run side by side down the hall, our boots squeaking on the glistening floor. We run as if we’re a team, when really, I’m sure Dena would kill me herself if she could.
I skid to a stop, my boots squealing before I slam into the person standing in my path. My hand instinctively tightens around a dagger. But Dena smirks and tosses her head, so her hair falls perfectly over her right eye.
I recognize Julian right away. He turns away from his companion to face me, his eyes wide in surprise. Dena crosses her arms.
“Dena, Lissa, what are you doing here?” There’s a nervous jerk to his words.
“What-” I start, but words fail me.
Because past Julian, is a man not much older than me. He’s dark-haired, a black knee-length coat swathing his figure, with skin a pale contrast to his clothes. His lips twist into an arrogant, amused smirk.
Rowan. The Jute whose voice was so much like Julian's. He looked familiar because he is familiar.
When I meet his eyes, I can't stop my lips from parting.
Brilliant, beautiful, shimmering blue.
He’s an exact replica, a slightly darker replica, of Julian.
My heart hammers in my chest. My gaze flickers to Julian. He reads my eyes as easily as I can read the helplessness in his. And before I have a chance to react, he dives. His body crashes against mine.
And the wall swallows us whole.
I realize two things when the impact of my fall on the soft carpet racks my bones.
One. The Tower only seemed to have a solid post in its center, marked with vertical lines. Every vertical line is actually an opening to this round room, so that the room is surrounded by doors. Doors that are hidden, keeping the room hidden and safe. In the event of an escape, like now, one can simply disappear into the wall.
Two. Julian's full weight is on me. His right knee is between my legs, his left is beside my thigh. His arms are around my stomach. My body is on fire.
If freedom had a scent, it would be his. It reminds me of my nights on the hill, my run in the crophouses.
His ragged breath tickles my neck and I meet his eyes, struggling not to get lost in the depthless blue.
In this moment, nothing exists but him. Us. I hold his gaze, and through the edge of my eyes, I see his tongue slide across his lower lip. I don't look. I don't let my eyes falls to his lips because I'm afraid of the quiver that will slide across my own.
He exhales and moves away, quickly slamming his fist against a flat button on the wall, which I’m guessing will lock the door. The buzzing in my body fades to a faint hum. But I tremble, everything else temporarily forgotten as I yearn for his touch. He must have felt the same way.
He must have.
He runs his fingers through his hair and clenches his jaw.
I sit up and cross my legs as the anger rushes back. I trusted him with everything. Yet he couldn’t trust me enough to tell me?
“Who's Rowan?”
He knows I saw the resemblance between them.
“I-I,” he begins to say, and stops himself. He runs his hands down his face and his lips press into one line. “My brother.”
Brother. Confusion replaces my anger.
I can only associate Rowan with evil. But Julian, despite his dark looks and rare smiles, I know he’s good inside.
He’s quiet, waiting for my reaction, but when I don’t speak, he does. “He says he’s here for the body, but he rarely comes.”
I stand because the anger pumping through my veins will make me say something I’ll regret. He rises to his feet just as fast.
“Why are you changing the subject? Do you work for the Queen too? As a spy?”
With each of my questions, I see him shrink back. His eyes freeze in pain. I bite my lip, and it takes everything in my power not to look away.
“No. I don't work for her. I never will. And”—he pauses—“even if wanted to, I can't.”
My eyes narrow to slits. “Why not?”
His eyes fall to the floor. “I'm a half-breed. I'm worth nothing in the eyes of anyone. To the Jute, I’m lower than a servant, even lower than a human. Rowan and I are half-brothers and he's Jute, through and through.”
His words hold no emotion, but I finally understand why he never spoke about our differences. Because despite us both being half-human, we’re at opposite ends of the Jute spectrum—he’s useless, I’m prized.
He is nothing, and I am everything.
Silence falls. The space between our bodies is feet. The space between our minds is leagues.
The walls rattle and shouts echo on the other side, breaking Julian’s daze and my thoughts.
He looks up, and I see the fearlessness he tried to instill in me. He angles his face back to me, like he did in the Chamber and in the crophouses months before.
“You need to get out of here,” he says.
“Where would I go?” I ask. My anger is giving way to panic.
“Julian!” The voice that vibrates through the wall sounds so much like Julian's that I jump.
His eyes widen a fraction and words fall out in a rush.
“Leave through that door, go down the flight of stairs. Take the first door on the right and keep going until you reach the outside. And go straight to Slate's house.”
“Can't you come with me?” I ask. My eyes flicker to the wall rattling beneath Rowan's pounding fists. Julian shakes his head.
“Rowan is mad. He has a notion that includes you and I need to make sure he doesn't follow you. We need you to be safe. I need you to be safe.”
“Okay,” I say softly, and turn away from the pain in his eyes before it makes me stay. They’re brothers, I tell myself. I stumble through the door and into darkness.
Light and dark should have no weight, but now, this impenetrable darkness does. I feel as though I’m trudging through water. I've never stood in so much water before—there isn't enough for that on Jutaire. But I’ve lived through books for so many years, and to me, that counts as experience.
A small part of me is trying to reason. Darkness is simply that. Darkness is massless.
But I can't breathe. Sweat trickles down my skin and for a heartbeat, I imagine fingers trailing down my back. I shudder when Rowan’s face flickers in my mind. Julian’s brother. Rowan is mad. Rowan wants me.
I swallow the scream building in my chest and run, blindly feeling against the walls and stumbling on my own feet.
Until a hand clamps around my mouth.
“Don't say a word, girly,” Dena breathes in my ear. “They're all over the place.”<
br />
I nod quickly against her and she lets go. I can only see the whites of her eyes. She laughs, low and dark. “They have no idea how easy you are to catch.”
I don't have the time or the mind for her bickering. Brother or not, Julian could be risking his life.
“Come on,” she says quickly, and I wonder if she had the same thought I just did.
I don’t need to relay Julian’s instructions to her, and I’m ashamed at the relief I feel because I’m not completely alone.
We find the flight of stairs in silence. Dena slips in behind me and eases the door closed.
Just as another door slams further down.
The stairwell explodes with light and a shock blast flies toward us.
“Oh, crap,” Dena shouts, whipping out her machete. She presses her back against the wall and I do the same on the opposite side. As soon as the blast hits the door inches away from us, everything goes quiet.
“We need to make it to the corner,” she whispers. I follow her gaze down to where the stairs change direction. It’s a blind spot.
I nod and rush down the stairs.
Right when a Jute rushes up.
I see my dagger digging into his chest. His heart ceasing to beat. His life. Gone. The Jute from earlier, in the hall.
And I. Can't. Move.
The Jute's eyes lock on mine, and I realize it’s a woman. Her hair is a deep shade of gold, and her eyes are slanted teardrops, in a beautiful shade of brown. She’s gorgeous.
Her beauty shatters when her lips twist into a snarl, but I still can’t move. I can’t imagine her heart unbeating because of me. Muttering a curse, Dena rushes past me and swings her machete. The Jute's sword connects with hers in a reverberating clang. It echoes in the enclosed space, and I suck in a breath and throw a glance behind us, but we’re alone. For now.
I hear a soft cry and turn as the Jute sinks to the ground, clawing at her neck as deep red stains her flawless skin. Dena steps over her before she even dies.
I swallow and carefully step around the body, keeping my eyes on the gray wall. It’s like me. Helplessly witnessing death and grief in bitter silence.
“Stop dreaming. We need to work together if we're going to get through this alive. I know you're all that matters, but I kinda want to live a little longer.” She sounds tired, and when she glances at me, I'm taken aback when she meets my eyes again.
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