UNBREATHABLE

by Hafsah Laziaf

  And the door closes behind him.

  I stare at the door after he leaves, wishing I can pull him back inside, run my hands through his hair and my fingers across his lips, the bridge of his nose, and the stubble on his cheeks. Where these thoughts come from, I don’t know. But I think of his promise, I won't let them hurt you.

  And I hurry.

  I wash my face in the bathroom and drag myself to the closet. If I hadn’t stepped into the bathroom, I wouldn’t have even known where the closet was.

  My feet move as if they've walked through this room hundreds of times before.

  Behind the closet’s double doors, dresses hang in a multitude of colors. Lavish reds, dark navies, and elegant greens. I wonder how long they had been preparing for me. I run my fingers over the silk of a simple black dress on the far end. I pull it from the hanger with a smile, because this is the one Queen Rhea will least expect me to wear.

  Royals on Earth had maids to dress them, braid their hair, and tend to their baths. I have my own two hands. I don’t need anyone to work for me.

  The thought of Earth reminds me of the ship and the promise I kept to myself.

  Everyone hopes for a miracle. They hide in their small homes, nibbling on whatever food they have left, their faces dirty, their homes filthy. They don’t care for life anymore, their appearances say. But deep, deep inside an unseen crevice of that ever-moving mass we call a heart, hope still throbs, however faint.

  Every faint heartbeat brings a human closer to death. And once one person dies, another will follow, and soon the human race will fade away to nothing.

  I can save them all. Or I can bleed to death.

  But first, I will meet my mother. Then take a look around. Plan.

  And when I finally feel a sense of purpose, I clear my mind of everything and get ready.

  I've never worn a dress. It clings to me like a second skin, accentuating every curve of my body. I long for the Louen tunic and skintight suit Slate gave me. But the dress is the least of my worries.

  I step into the empty hall, which stretches from right to left, where it turns onto another hall. I turn right, because it ends with two elaborate double doors that look important. The emptiness feels odd, because in my mind, palaces are always teeming with nobles, servants, and maids.

  But maybe the emptiness is a gift and I can find out more than I expect to—like the whereabouts of the lab I hope exists, and information about the ship.

  I pass door after door, but I stop at none. Something tells me they are rooms much like my own, and I won’t find anything in a bedroom.

  “A Princess should never wander alone.”

  I freeze at the sound of Julian’s voice. Only it isn’t. This voice is dangerous. I hold my breath as his footsteps come closer.

  “Hello, Lissa,” Rowan says, meeting my eyes. His voice is soft like Julian’s, yet arrogant. His dark lashes brush against the tops of his cheeks when he lowers his eyes. I try not to see the shimmering seas of Earth. I try not to imagine Julian's gentleness. Because this isn't Julian.

  “What do you want?” I ask, holding my head high. I remember the flash of emotion that crossed his face when he plunged his dagger through Chancellor Kole.

  He raises an eyebrow. “Getting haughty now, Princess?”

  “I asked—”

  “You lied back there.”

  A part of me wants to run back to my room. But I’m not a coward. I’ve heard of horrors worse than Rowan.

  “And?” I ask.

  He stills and leans closer, forcing me to look in his eyes. The sea pulls me under. “And I think I know why.”

  I want to laugh in his face. But the gears in my heart turn faster and faster. He is close. Too close.

  He shouldn’t affect me this way.

  “What if you're wrong?” I ask, taking a step back. He steps closer, his body still inclined toward me. He smells sharper than Julian, spicier. The collar of his knee-length black coat reaches his scruffy jaw, swathing his long neck in shadows. Dangerous excitement trills through me.

  I take another step back, my throat growing thick when he follows. This isn’t Julian, my mind whispers. They are the same, says my heart.

  “I am very rarely wrong, Princess,” he whispers. His breath washes over my skin. Like the rare sprigs of mint from the crophouses. I can't stop my eyes from flickering to his lips.

  “Rowan,” someone growls. Julian. Rowan pulls away and guilt heats my face. “Lay off her.”

  “Why?” Rowan is amused. Not ashamed of being caught, not angry for being scolded by his half-breed brother. Amused. “What does it matter who the Princess associates herself with?”

  “Associate is the wrong word,” Julian spits. His eyes are livid and a vein pulses in his jaw. “Don't touch her.”

  Rowan laughs. “I've never seen you so angry, Julian. You’re so flat most of the time, I'm impressed. As for the Princess“—Rowan turns to me, his eyes darkening—“why don't we let her choose who she associates herself with?”

  There is no question of whom I would choose. But choosing would be dangerous in this place where Rowan is powerful. I bite my lip and meet Rowan's eyes. “If I say, it'll ruin all the fun, won't it?”

  I don't wait for an answer. I don't even spare Julian a glance. I turn and head in the opposite direction, hoping Julian will follow me.

  He does. When I turn the corner he is there.

  “How?” I trail off in surprise. The edge of his lips lifts in a treacherous half-smile and I forget to breathe. There must be a shortcut, because I know he didn’t follow me.

  “I have my ways,” he says. “I was told to escort you earlier. But I”—he runs a nervous hand through his hair—“got distracted.”

  “Distracted,” I echo. He doesn't reply. We turn down another hall, the gleaming wood floor hard beneath my shoes.

  “Dena's hysterical,” he says finally.

  “Oh,” I say, tonelessly. Her father was brutally murdered in front of her helpless eyes. I know what that’s like.

  “And you,” he says. His soft voice caresses my skin. “There's something you're not telling me.”

  I don’t want false hope in his heart. So I don't answer. He looks away. Before either of us can think of words to say, we’ve reached the room where the Queen requires me. His hand closes around the handle and a wary shadow of a smile crosses his face.

  “You're wrong, you know. It isn't fun at all.”

  But when I part my lips, he opens the door, leaving me beneath the Queen’s stare. She sits in a chaise in a room adorned with dark walls and a crackling fireplace, sunlight filtering through the windows behind her. Her expression turns from one of boredom to amusement when she sees my darkened cheeks.

  “We are making progress,” she says. I wonder if she speaks of my blood or something else.

  Good for you, I want to say. She raises one eyebrow as if she heard my unspoken words.

  “I trust the half-breed, you know.”

  “Julian.” My voice is quiet.

  “Hmm?” Her voice is the definition of apathy.

  “His name is Julian.” I grit my teeth.

  “I will call him what I like,” she says with a wave of her hand. “I trust him, as I was saying. He had a most unusual request though.”

  I am silent.

  “And I’ve decided to grant him permission. You may as well have some fun,” she laughs. “Life is short.”

  Very, very short.

  “I will have some maids sent to your room tomo—”

  “When will you stop acting? Do you care about what you’ll do to me? Your own daughter?” The words burst free from my lips.

  The room dies. Wilts. Freezes. My stomach drops. Her stare burns into my soul and something crawls beneath my skin.

  But my words struck. I can see it in the way her skin pales and the way her eyes freeze for the barest of moments.

  “Leave.” She drops the word.

  I don’t need to be told twice.
/>
  I slip into the hall. What did the Queen really need me for? I should have kept my blabbering mouth shut and listened.

  When the thrumming in my heart finally settles down, I make my way back to my room. Like earlier, the hall is empty, but not quiet. I hear loud, booming laughs and tittering voices. They’re far from here though, far enough that I’m safe from their eyes.

  But the palace isn't as empty as I thought.

  I trail my hand along the wall as I hurry forward. When I reach my room, I throw a glance behind me. I don’t intend to go back to my room just yet.

  I pause at the spot where Rowan caught me earlier, half-expecting him to materialize in front of me, his lips inches from mine.

  But I don't feel disgust or fear. It’s a faint thrill of something I don't understand. I shake my head, clearing my mind. I can't be found wandering around.

  At the end of the hall, the double doors are closed. I don’t know why I want to go in there, but something tells me I might find answers. It could be the lab. Even if it ends up being nothing more than a ballroom—if Jute dance like Earth royals did—at least my mind will be at ease.

  I press my ear against it and hold my breath. When I hear nothing but my pounding pulse, I wrap my fingers around the knob and brace myself against the door.

  “Don't do it.”

  Even muffled from the other side of the door, I recognize Julian’s voice, soft and commanding. But now, it’s tainted with desperation.

  Rowan laughs and I slowly release the handle. “Does it pain you, brother?”

  “I've stood by and watched you do so many things. Not this. Please don't do this.”

  Why is Julian begging?

  “I'll do what I want,” Rowan says, dangerously.

  “Don't hurt her.” Me? Dena? The Queen?

  “Don't get in my way. Do I need to remind you of what will happen?” Rowan muses. His voice grows closer with the sound of his footsteps.

  I look around, frantically searching for a way out. My room is too far and I won't make it in time. And the hall ends here. I catch sight of a smaller door that’s almost blended into the wall to the left of the double doors. The wood is frayed, the knob rusty. It’s old compared to the rest of the palace's restored beauty.

  “Please.” Julian tries again. His voice is hollow and desperate. He hasn’t moved from wherever he is.

  I stop breathing.

  Rowan stops walking. “That's enough. You've never tried to get in my way before. Why start now?” He sounds genuinely curious, and so much like Julian.

  “This is different,” Julian says, defeated, ashamed.

  Rowan laughs. Maybe he really is mad. “I can see that, Julian. And it’s just what I need.”

  My eyes widen when I hear his weight press against the door. I can’t risk it any longer. I can’t wait to hear what else Julian will say.

  I quickly throw open the other door and fall into darkness.

  I sit up as the room fills with light. I’m behind an old desk. The door I entered through must not be used if there’s a desk in front of it.

  Sounds of struggling and shuffling break the silence, along with shoes squeaking on the tiled floor.

  “Let go of me,” someone spits. Dena.

  My breathing shallow, I slowly sit up and peek over the table. Three soldiers struggle with Dena, pulling her toward the center of the room. She kicks one of them in the nose and he screams.

  The other two soldiers force her onto a flat bed and strap her arms with metal bands while she struggles fruitlessly against them.

  Test tubes surround her, some of them bubbling and emitting hazy smoke. Microscopes sit on the stark white desks pressed one beside the other. Pens and loose paper scatter their surfaces.

  I squint at the familiar features of one of the soldiers. Ilen. The other two jeer at him and his cheeks darken. He reluctantly picks up an injector filled with dark liquid. Even from here I can see his hands trembling as he brings it to Dena’s arm.

  She stills. Her chest rises and falls in rapid breaths. He whispers something and slips the needle into her arm.

  I watch as her breathing slows, fear shivering her frame. It looks unnatural on her, this fear.

  Ilen, crumpled and broken, ignores her shuddering plea and follows the others out the door.

  I shoot to my feet, lifting the hem of my stupid dress before swinging over the desk. I run towards her, sidestepping black bags and tables and other nameless things strewn about.

  I touch the back of my hand against her forehead and my heart crashes at the iciness of her skin.

  “Dena,” I whisper, glancing nervously at the door. She doesn’t move. She doesn’t even breathe. I could be wrong, my mother could be wrong.

  My blood could kill and no one knows.

  Dena’s face blurs in my vision and I struggle to hold back tears. I shake her. I don’t know if she still hates me, but I can’t hate her back.

  She lost her father because of me, her mother because of the Jute. And, a voice whispers in my mind, maybe even Julian because of you.

  “Dena, wake up,” I plead. My fingers are slick against her skin.

  Her eyes flutter open, her dark eyes flashing an image of Chancellor Kole’s bloodied face in my mind.

  “Lissa,” she sighs.

  “What happened?” I ask, my voice breathy.

  She shudders. “He’s dead isn’t he? He’s really gone.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say. And I mean it.

  “I should hate you even more now,” she laughs bitterly. “But my dad knew what he was doing. He knew this would be his end when he made Gage record that.”

  “What do you mean?” I ask quickly.

  “Hmm?” She asks absently. Wild delirium flashes in her eyes. I look down at the dark dot on her arm.

  “Does it hurt?” I ask, but I want to know what she meant. I want to know more about the relationship Gage and Chancellor Kole had.

  “Look at my face, Lissa. Look close. Real close. Do you see my nose?”

  I see her nose, yes. I see her lips. I see the contours of the mask that are forever wrought into her skin. But I don’t see a mask.

  “You can breathe—”

  She nods before I can complete the question.

  “It’s sweet. Pretty cool,” she says. But her voice is dead. She’s a completely different person than the one I met in the Tower. “They wanted to test it, make sure it works on humans. Looks like it works, but they won’t let me live.”

  “Why?” I ask.

  She gives me a look the old Dena would have given me. “If humans knew there was a way to breathe this damn air, we would be stronger. We would actually try. There would be a race for Earth, not this lame one-sided battle.”

  “I don’t understand why they want to go to Earth. They can breathe this air, they have everything,” I say.

  “Know what my dad used to say?” she asks. “Jutaire's resources are nothing compared to Earth. They can live here, sure, but look at it their way: if they can get Earth, why settle for this crap?”

  She sounds as if she understands them, as if she sides with them. As if their want for Earth is something that can be justified. My head suddenly feels heavy.

  “There can’t be a race,” I say quietly. She narrows her eyes at me. “There isn’t time. They had everything but my blood and now they have that too.”

  She shakes her head. “They can’t go around injecting your blood into everyone. There’s a catalyst. It needs to be mixed. Made.”

  She meets my eyes, the gesture no longer surprising.

  “We have time,” she says fiercely.

  I narrow my eyes. “We?”

  She grins. The first I've seen on her. “Yep, we. They won’t kill me right away.”

  “So you can help from in here,” I say as it dawns.

  She nods and wriggles her hands, frowning when the straps don't budge. “I’m not going anywhere yet. You, on the other hand, better scram.”

  I st
and, but I don’t want to leave her like this. Vulnerable, with a foreign substance running in her bloodstream, and air that could kill her if my blood decides not to work.

  “So, you and Julian, huh?” She asks. I stop and turn. She says it lightly, but I can hear the pain in her voice.

  “No,” I say softly, “I don’t- I don’t think so. I don’t know.”

  “Liar.” She smirks. I twist my lips.

  “I mean you don’t have to tell me or anything. It’s not like it’s my business,” she says quickly.

  “We never—I don’t even know,” I trail off. She nods, understanding. I never expected Dena to understand me.

  “He loves you though,” she says softly. “After his mom died, he was like this ghost of himself. He burned all his drawings. He tried to kill himself so many times, that’s what he was trying to do in the Chamber when you came. But now, his face isn’t as pale, he smiles. He’s… living again.”

  My throat is filled with a million tears of happiness.

  “Drawings?” I force the word from my lips. He loves you.

  She nods. “He’s an incredible artist.”

  I want to say something to fill in the silence, but I can’t. She watched Julian slowly distance her and slowly fall in love with me, when I didn’t even notice. I doubt even he noticed it.

  “I just… I want him to be happy,” she says finally. Her face falls. “My dad wanted you to have this.”

  She wiggles her hand into her pocket and pulls something out with two fingers.

  The replica of Earth Chancellor Kole had that day in the training room.

  “He said to fight, or we won’t go anywhere.” Her voice breaks. “I know I was a jerk before, but”—she stops—“truth is, you’re our only hope. I mean, look at me, I’m strapped to a damn table. Don’t let my dad’s death go wasted.”

  I take the ball from her hand, its tiny weight magnanimous. “I won’t,” I whisper.

  “And Lissa?” Her dark eyes blur in my vision. “See that case over there?”

  I follow her line of sight to a black bundle on a table against the wall.

  “There are empty vials in there. Do you think you can fill them with blood?”