They disappear into the house and I wonder if they’ve cleared Slate’s home of oxygen. But I don’t really care.
The Queen will probably send her soldiers back outside as soon as she realizes we're alone, so I hasten to make use of our time.
“That was impressive,” Dena says with a raise of her eyebrows. There's a wary shadow in her eyes. Her face is even paler from the loss of blood. She leans against her father and her shoulder is wrapped in dirty white cloth.
I guess I should feel proud. Dena’s complimenting me. But I feel numb. My mother is alive. My mother is the Queen of the Jute.
I feel like screaming.
“Thanks to you and your mess of a child, I'm going to die,” Chancellor Kole growls.
“You knew the end when you got yourself into this mess,” Slate hisses back. Their voices drop to a whisper and Dena joins in.
Julian stands off to the side, lost in thought. I drift toward him.
“What if you don't come back?” I turn at the sound of Slate's pained voice.
“Gage might have been ready to hand me over,” I say. “But when he was Galileo, he taught me to hope. That nothing keeps us alive but hope. And as long you hope, I'll live.”
A small smile flits across his face, but he shakes his head. “You don't know Rhea.”
“I will soon,” I say. “And once we figure out why I’m needed, I won't let her use me.”
“Those are your words. Your actions-”
“Stop.” Because if I hear his doubts and worries, they will become mine.
“You said I'm your warrior,” I say softly, amending my interruption. He stares at me for one long moment. The wind whistles in the silence and a door slams shut somewhere. Life goes on and on, and always will, whether we want it to or not.
“You are,” he whispers, drawing me close. In my heart is a voice, sad and soft. It says I won't see him again for a very long time. His fingers trail through my hair, soft and loving. My father. If not for the mask plastered against his face, I am sure he would kiss my forehead, as he’s tried so many times.
“I’ve known Julian longer than I’ve known you. Trust him,” he whispers. I lean away and meet his eyes. “Do you understand?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“Lissa,” Julian says suddenly. I break free from Slate's embrace as the Queen steps out of the house. Her gaze slowly flickers between us. She saw his arms around me. His fingers that trailed through my hair.
And from what little I know of her, I can tell her thoughtful silence isn't normal. Without a word, she turns and leaves.
Somehow, her silence is more frightening than if she had spoken.
Slate and the others make their way into his house, to keep an eye on the Queen and her soldiers, though they’re obviously powerless against armed Jute. They’re weakened by their dependence on oxygen, and forever will be.
I stay outside, needing the freedom despite the gradually increasing heat. It penetrates the sparkling scales on my clothes and layers itself on my skin. Some ways ahead, a few soldiers are busy readying the carriage for the trip to White Plains. Where it is, I don't know.
The houses around us are silent, and I wonder if everyone is at the market now, or still asleep. I never knew anyone well, but now, I feel even more like a stranger, foreign to the rows and rows of homes.
A shadow falls to my right and my pulse instantly quickens. I turn my head to acknowledge the Queen’s presence.
“Did you ever want to know your mother?” She asks. The thoughtfulness is still on her face, softening her features. Making her seem human.
It’s hard not to fall for the innocence in her voice. But then I see the pain in Slate's eyes, the anger. He was used. I’m a tool. I keep my voice carefully neutral. “I might have.”
Her expression remains the same. And I can't help but wonder if it’s all an act.
“You have my skin. My lips. Slate's nose and hair. Gage's eyes, Slate's mother's eyes.”
I press my lips together. I don’t want her to speak of Slate and his mother. I don’t want to hear Gage’s name from her lips. I stare ahead, where the soldiers rush.
“I carried you inside me, for—”
I whirl around. Her face wavers through my stupid tears. “Why are you telling me this?”
“What wrong have I done?” She asks. I hear a hint of her normal, heady self.
“I don't know or care what you've done, but it's what you will do.” My voice is hushed. Angry. I should stay silent.
“I won’t do anything to you,” she says tonelessly. “All I want is my heir. And that, unfortunately, is you.” She leaves, striding towards the men readying the carriage.
What if it isn’t an act? Maybe all she really wants is an heir. A daughter.
“Don’t trust her.”
But it isn’t my conscience that speaks. Julian comes closer, squinting up at the sun. The early rays cast a warm glow across his features. “She doesn’t need an heir. She’s going to Earth, remember? She needs you for that. Nothing else.”
“I didn’t trust her,” I say, stubbornly.
A flicker of a smile shadows his face. “You did. I could see it on your face.”
He laughs softly when heat creeps up my cheeks. Wren steps away from the carriage and smiles warily at me.
“You may board now,” he says, throwing a nervous glance towards Slate’s house behind me.
The Queen steps out. “’Your Highness’, you wanted to add, dear Wren.” Her voice drips with sweet poison.
“Eh, yes, Your Majesty,” he amends quickly, looking at her feet. He turns to me again. His voice trembles. “You may board now, Your Highness.”
He bows and I feel sorry for him, pity even, that he is treated this way after all his diligence. The Queen watches me, gauging my reaction as Wren hurries away.
“After you, darling.” She sweeps her hand toward the carriage. The words thank you rise to my lips, but I press them closed. I have nothing to thank her for.
Dena and Chancellor Kole step out of the house, Slate behind them. He holds my gaze, and I resist the painful urge to run to him. I’ve lived without him for seventeen years, feared him for three days, and now, I want him, my real, true father, by my side every breath of my life.
When he doesn’t move any closer, I don't either. And I think it is safer that way.
I feel his eyes on me as I walk toward the carriage. No one moves, not even the Queen.
Two soldiers stand on either side of the back end, holding open the raw fabric. It shimmers in the sun, ripples like waves, like my tunic, though unlike my black clothes, this is a beautiful shade between beige and cream.
I ascend the trio of steps. Inside, the carriage reminds me of a truck, where people on Earth would load furniture and the like through the back. Only, there isn't a vehicle at the other end, there are four mutants. Translucent, pitiful excuses for horses. I turn away in disgust.
The carriage itself is more exquisite. Long, with plush extravagant seats running along either side. It’s cooler, too. And despite its size, I shiver at how close we will all be to the Queen.
My mother.
I try not to think of her as that.
The floor is covered in rich velvet. Vain. The largest and seemingly comfiest seat is at the front, where the Queen will most likely sit. I run my hand along the fabric draped over the arching skeleton of the carriage. It’s smooth and cool to the touch, confirming my suspicion—Louen.
It’s funny how many benefits Louen offers. For human masks, to hold in oxygen and keep out Jutaire's air. For Jute protection, to reduce the absorption of oxygen.
I sink into one of the center seats as Julian climbs aboard. He doesn’t even spare a glance at the grandeur surrounding us before crossing the expanse to sit beside me.
“Are you alright?” He asks me.
I nod and smile at his concern, at the reminder of the many times he has asked me that question, once before I even knew him.
His
eyes are distant. He leans forward and rakes his fingers through his hair. I'm close enough to reach for his fingers and stop them. But I'm afraid to. The girl, who discovered she's the daughter of an evil queen and single-handedly killed a small army of Jute, is afraid to calm a boy.
Slate said to trust him, and I do. Somewhat. Gage said trust is earned, and once shattered, it can never be earned again. It was ironic of him to say that. But this is what I'm afraid of. Not of trusting Julian, but of never being able to trust him again if something happens.
Dena enters the carriage and Julian sits back. She frowns as she drinks in the lavishness around us and I don't miss the light that touches her eyes when she sees Julian.
“Thanks to you, I'll never come back,” she says to me, dropping into the seat to Julian’s right.
“You might,” I say, remembering the gun in my boot. But I don’t reach for it now. She raises an eyebrow at me. I lean back into my seat and close my eyes as she and Julian share a look.
“There are some things a person knows,” she says softly to him.
“A person also knows to hope,” Julian replies. And I wonder if he only says that because I did, or because he genuinely wants to comfort Dena.
And I wonder if he actually believes in what he says.
Dena snorts.
The drapes swish and Queen Rhea enters, her head held high. She crosses the carriage in slow strides. The air turns frigid the heartbeat she sits. Chancellor Kole slips in quietly, his tall frame louder than words in the enclosed space.
“We will be there soon, daughter,” says my mother. She smirks at Julian and ignores Dena and Chancellor Kole. I glance at them, father and daughter.
I wonder if they both expect to die at White Plains. I wonder if they’ve spoken to one another of their deaths. All Chancellor Kole wants is to protect his daughter. Would he die for her safety?
In that way, he isn’t much different than Slate. I shove the thought away.
The soldiers file in. Their tired, wary eyes are trained on the velvet as they take their seats.
A gray-haired Jute takes his seat by the queen. When she nods, he clucks his tongue and snaps the reins.
And we’re off.
My heart jolts with my body. We're leaving, leaving the home I’ve known forever. I crane my neck around Julian to catch a glimpse of the outside when the Louen fabric flutters.
I expect to see Slate. Instead, there’s a girl, not much older than ten. Her big round eyes stare in awe as the distance increases between us.
Every human will know of this by midday.
I wonder if Slate is watching the carriage, his eyes casting a storm. A soft touch on the back of my hand startles me and I sit back. Julian's forehead crinkles in concern and I want to reach up and smooth away his worry. You won't be alone, his expression seems to say, and something inside me catapults at the unspoken words. His fingers slide along the seat and close around mine. My heart explodes at the simple touch.
He looks away then, his face suddenly blank. My heart thuds a cacophony in my chest, thrumming all the way to my fingers.
Slowly, slowly, slowly, I turn my head. The Queen’s moonlight eyes rest on our hands and her lips twist into a sly smile.
Nothing is worse than the chill creeping up my spine.
I don't know what time it is, though it’s still light outside. One of the soldiers sealed the entrance flap shut. On the other end, I see the rears of the mutants. Through the gaps between them, I can see the ground punctuated by towering boulders. Some are double my height, others are smaller.
I shiver when the wind howls. It sounds like it’s crying.
For me.
With every heartbeat that passes, I feel more and more worried. I've never seen a Jute before this week, and now I'm going to the heart of their territory.
To the Queen's palace or wherever, no less.
Chancellor Kole snores softly. Dena watches Julian, her expression distant. And I wonder, despite Julian not loving Dena, if she loves him. Gage never spoke to me of love. In fact, when it came to being human, he spoke of nothing. It was always science, history, literature.
I know how to describe love, but I don’t know how to feel it. But when I look at Slate, at the life in his eyes and the warmth of his smile, I feel something. Something that must be love. When I think of Julian, his dark looks, intense eyes, and genuine concern, I feel something too. It isn't the same as what I feel for Slate. But it is something. Something that sends exhilaration shivering through me. But I don’t know how he feels.
If only I could read him as easily as everyone can read me.
The carriage wheels squeal to a stop, and my heart catapults to my lips. But when no one makes a move to leave, I know we haven’t reached our destination yet.
The white-haired soldier turns and bows his head to the Queen. “Rain is coming, Your Majesty.”
Sure enough, the scent of acid fills the carriage, stinging my nostrils and eyes.
“Have we covered much ground?” The Queen asks immediately.
“Half, more or less,” he says with a pondering twist of his lips. “We’re likely in the middle right now.”
Rain. In the middle of nowhere. Bloody images flicker through my mind.
“We should be fine,” Julian says under his breath. He frowns. “The fabric is pure Louen. It’s the only material on Jutaire resistant to the rain.”
“Then why-” I start.
“The mutants,” Dena whispers.
“Someone needs to shield the horses,” Queen Rhea's voice shatters my thoughts. I would snort at her use of the word horses, but my mind is reeling from the reality of her words.
Not all of us will make it to White Plains.
She looks at Dena with a smirk. Her every movement is deliberately slow, so not a single twitch goes unnoticed. Her eyes slide to Julian.
My throat tightens. No. I beg silently. Please no.
Her eyes flicker to mine and she holds my gaze. When she looks away from me, Julian whispers. “She's lying. No one needs to shield the mutants, rain doesn’t affect them.”
“It’s a setup,” Dena says as it dawns.
When the Queen turns her face to one of her soldiers, everything falls into place. This is my mother’s way of showing me her power.
“Wren,” she says sweetly. “Do you volunteer?”
He shoots to his feet, gripping the curving rod of the carriage for support. His knuckles are white, and his face is bloodless in fear.
He is the one who committed the harmless blunder earlier, who gave me time to speak with Slate and say my good-byes.
And because of that, he will die. Not a simple death. Nothing close to a hanging or even a slit to his throat. He will bleed beneath the open skies, his skin will tear under the pelting rain. He will suffer.
And no one will mourn him.
“Well?” Queen Rhea asks.
“I- my Queen, I have children,” he begs. His voice breaks under the weight of his need to live. But his show of weakness in front of strangers is what undoes me. “Please spare me.”
My legs twitch. My hands tremble. I don't know what's wrong with me. But any moment I will spring. My hands will wrap around her throat and I will strangle her. This woman who gave birth to me.
Julian's fingers tighten around my wrist.
“Don't,” he whispers by my ear. “Just stay still. She wants you to act.”
“Will your children die without you?” Queen Rhea raises one eyebrow. I certainly didn't die without her. “With the provisions they receive from me, they have enough to feed an entire neighborhood.”
“That's not what I meant, Your Majesty,” he stammers. “I can’t leave them fatherless. Their mother is dead.”
How can a mother be so cruel?
“You are of no benefit to them. As you are of no benefit to me.”
Her words are final. She turns away as if she can't stand to see him any longer. A thin soldier rifles through a chest beneath his seat
and brings out a sheet of the same light brown Louen lining the carriage.
Wren takes it with trembling hands. If Julian knows the mutants can survive, then surely he knows too. And if he knows that, he knows there’s no point in fighting back.
We're in the middle of nowhere.
One shove and he'll be stranded. The rain will consume him.
But the rain hasn't begun yet.
A sudden spark of hope catches within me. If the mutants don't need the Louen, they don't need Wren. He can protect himself, save himself. And if he steps out now, he has enough time to shield himself before the rain begins.
But will he?
He stands hopelessly in the center of the carriage. His face is puckered, holding back tears. He draws in a shaky breath and turns.
“Wait.” One word is all she says. It’s like a clap of thunder in my ears.
“Not yet.”
The carriage starts moving again. The rumble of its wheels along the rocky ground fills in the silence.
The acidic stench strengthens. It will pour any moment now. Why isn’t the Queen letting him go? Why isn't he outside, protecting the mutants as she says we need to? My confusion must be evident on my face for Queen Rhea laughs.
“All in good time, daughter.”
I hear the first drop. Like a blinding revelation in stark darkness. I hear the second drop. And suddenly, the rain is pouring. Thundering over my head in a cacophony of torrents.
“Ilen.” My mother's sweet voice breaks through the rain.
The thin soldier stands, his face crumpled. He turns to Wren, who stands in front of the entrance, his eyes widening in realization when I realize it too.
Ilen shoves him. There isn’t time to unfold the Louen. No time for protection. A heartbeat is all you need beneath Jutaire’s murderous rain.
I hear his cry. I feel my heart wrench.
And Julian leaps after him.
Not even my mother has a word to say.
Julian leaped. Julian is gone. Gone.
I jump to my feet, staring at the flap as if he’ll materialize before me. Dena stands too, slowly, one hand against her stomach, her face pale.
I act before I can think. I rush to the flap.
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