UNBREATHABLE

by Hafsah Laziaf

  “She said she wanted to be left alone,” one says.

  “But she isn't alone,” the other whispers back, and they both break into giggles.

  I step into a short hall. The bright yellow glow of a globed oxygen candle warms the room.

  Just like our masks, the globes produce oxygen, allowing the flames to sputter in yellow and orange, rather than blue and purple, like Jutaire’s fire.

  I take three steps and pause when I see the shadows. Two heads inclined. My neck burns. Dena isn't alone. I step back, ready to leave when the floorboard creaks beneath my feet and a shadow flashes to my left, where the wall should be.

  A hand pulls me into a hidden room, and darkness clouds my vision.

  Faint moonlight bounces off the blade of my dagger when I whip it out.

  “You are dazzlingly fast, Lissa,” an airy voice says innocently. I nearly drop the dagger.

  “Mia?” I blurt in surprise.

  “It would help if you were a little quieter, but yes, it’s me,” she says. Only Mia can be so blunt and sound utterly innocent. A light flickers on, illuminating a small bed, an unwrapped cloth with half-eaten food carefully set in its center.

  “What are you doing in here? Why are you hiding?” I tuck the dagger back into my sheath. The room is so small I can’t stand fully straight. She sits cross-legged against the bed and shrugs.

  “I know you’re the real princess,” I say when she doesn’t answer. She chimes a small laugh.

  “There are men after me. I don’t know how they found out after so long, but I am slightly afraid of death.”

  I almost laugh at the way she says it.

  “You need to come with me. You need to be crowned. You need to—”

  “No, Lissa. You are the princess. I might be royal by blood, but that doesn’t make me capable of leading anyone.” She looks down at her toes. “Sometimes I wonder how I lead myself from one place to another.”

  I blink.

  “Okay,” I say, sitting in front of her. I lift the emerald from my neck but she shakes her head.

  “It’s yours now. It belongs to you. I just want to live a simple life. I like being a maid and dressing up in pretty clothes. This is the life I’ve always wanted and I am content with it. Do you understand?”

  I raise my eyebrows, but in the end, I nod.

  “Will you at least come with me? I can take you someplace safe.”

  She smiles and chews on a chunk of bread. I wait, but she doesn’t answer.

  “I wanted to say good-bye and see you one last time. We didn’t get a proper farewell before. So good-bye, Lissa. Farewell.”

  She shoves me out of the room before I can say another word and locks the door. If I had to choose one word to describe Mia, it would be crazy. Whimsical, alive, caring, gentle, sweet, yes, but in the end, crazy.

  The stupid floorboard in the short hall creaks beneath my weight again.

  “Princess?”

  “Ilen?” I ask in surprise.

  He grins, his bright hair disheveled, and points to another door on the other end of the room. He is young, probably not much older than me.

  “Thanks for coming back at midnight,” Dena says. She steps around Ilen and faces me, sarcasm dripping from her voice. Her face is flushed.

  “I-I’m sorry, I—”

  “Yeah, I know. Crap happened, right?” She asks with an eye roll. “Truth is, I never thought I would see you again, being in Rowan’s lair and all.”

  I clench my jaw.

  “You knew,” I spit. “You knew Rowan had me, but you didn’t even try to help.” You didn’t want help either, some part of me whispers.

  Her eyes flash. “Help you? Strapped to a table?”

  “You said you had a way out the night of the ceremony.” I shoot back.

  “But you didn’t show up. You were busy getting cozy with Julian.” A vein pulses in her neck.

  “Don’t talk about Julian,” I say, my voice deathly still. She scoffs. Ilen gently pushes Dena aside, breaking our stare.

  “I actually got Dena out late last night,” he says.

  Dena’s quick breathing slows and she sighs, her whole body sagging.

  “All of Jutaire is looking for you.” I look away. I’m ashamed I let my anger control my words when Dena isn’t the same person I first met.

  “I’m sorry,” I say quietly. Dena was in danger, Julian is still in danger.

  “Why are you here?” She asks.

  “Rowan is going to bring down the palace,” I say flatly. She sucks in a breath and I tell them everything.

  “Ilen, you need to get the maids somewhere safe. And Dena, you need to go back,” I say. She meets my eyes. “To the Tower.”

  “And do what?” Ilen asks. I look at him and blink. I never thought of that. “There isn't much good in telling them there’s a ship.”

  “No,” Dena agrees. “But they need to prepare. Get everything together.”

  “If Rowan does set the palace on fire, he’ll be the one to take the ship,” Ilen says, stating the obvious. “The humans will stand no chance against him.”

  “Why not? We have more numbers than they do. He only has one-tenth of the Jute,” Dena says, narrowing her eyes in confusion.

  “Haven’t you heard of mask tracking?” Ilen asks.

  “They track our locations, we know,” I say. That was what I was worried about when I broke into the Chamber. I never thought someone else would set off the Chamber’s own alarm.

  “There are two parts to the control. The main panel that tracks the masks and a smaller, portable control that controls the oxygen flow. It’s here, unguarded, secluded, and easy to access. One flick of a switch and every mask will stop functioning. Every human will die,” Ilen says.

  Dena and I share a glance. Her face suddenly looks so much like Chancellor Kole’s—haunted.

  “Well then, there's only one thing I can do.” She grins half-heartedly and unzips her leather jacket. I furrow my brow as she pulls the flaps open, revealing a clean tank top underneath.

  The inside of her jacket sparkles in the candlelight. Sown carefully into the leather are rows and rows of glass vials. Filled to the brim with blood. My blood.

  “You've been preparing,” I say, my voice no more than a whisper.

  “I told you I would help from the inside. Already mixed with the catalyst and ready to go,” she says proudly.

  “Can we stop wasting time?” Ilen says.

  “How did you get so much?” I ask, ignoring him.

  “Five vials were more than enough. Your blood multiplies faster than I thought.” She shrugs.

  “Then why did we think I would die?” I ask. What if we bloated everything? What if my mother never planned on killing me at all?

  “The more it multiplies, the less potent it becomes,” Dena says, zipping up her jacket. “There’s a nutrient in hybrid blood, which, when derived, functions as the catalyst. When fresh, it’s the strongest. These aren’t strong enough for the Jute, but perfectly fine for humans. And yes, I kept my ears open in there too.”

  “Dena,” Ilen groans.

  “Yeah, yeah, keep your head on. I'll leave now.”

  “Alone?” I ask. I still see the countless vials lining her jacket. I still can't comprehend how such small bottles can save so many lives.

  Ilen shakes his head. “She can go with me. There's a body I’m due to collect at sunrise. May as well get an early start.”

  I shudder. While I was away, humans were still being hung. I remember how much Chancellor Kole used to frighten me. I remember the limp bodies, the masks. The gaunt faces of every man, woman, and child living because there’s nothing else to do. Dena reaches for my hand.

  “It'll all end soon, Lissa,” she says softly. No doubt she's remembering her father too. “Try to stay alive.”

  She crosses the short hall and turns back, eyes narrowed.

  “What are you going to do, anyway?” She asks.

  Does she know what happened
to Julian? I’m selfish and afraid she'll want to come. I'm afraid she'll have questions that I won't be able to answer.

  I let Gage die. And Chancellor Kole. It won't happen again.

  “There’s something I need to do,” I say, letting loose a deep breath.

  Ilen meets my eyes and places a hand on Dena’s shoulder before she can push any further. “Come on, Dena. Let her do what she has to do.”

  I thank him silently and watch them leave, quickly and quietly. As soon as I’m alone, I reach for the emerald, warm from my skin, and knock on the hidden door again. Nothing. I call Mia’s name. Still nothing.

  I drop the stone beneath my tunic and feel it’s weight against my heart.

  It’s a part of me now.

  I step out of the maid's chamber without a sound. The wood floor is old and withered, creaking with my misplaced steps. A musty smell tickles my nostrils as I creep through the dark corridor.

  Ilen said the hall leads to the throne room, which should be empty at this time. On the other end of the throne room, through another twisting hall, is supposed to be a single staircase leading down to the dungeons, where Julian should be.

  But as I feel along the space of the corridor, something happens. I stop moving toward the stairwell.

  My legs are taking me elsewhere.

  I turn the corner, moving surprisingly fast despite not being able to see more than what is inches from me. I know where I'm going, though I don’t know why.

  I hear voices as I walk down the familiar, carpet-lined hall. I hold my breath and press myself against the wall as a Jute walks past, a gold and white goblet in his hand. This part of the palace isn't empty. I turn down an empty hall and stop at the door as it swings open.

  A short, dark-haired maid tiptoes out, a satchel clasped in one hand, a candle in the other. She starts when she sees me watching.

  “Can I help you, miss?” She asks, running her gaze nervously down my clothes.

  “Is the Queen awake?” I ask. The maid nods quickly, and pauses. She raises the candle to see my face and I throw up my hand to shield the light, but it’s too late.

  “Princess?” She breathes, her voice far too loud. I dart a quick look around.

  “Is the Queen awake?” I repeat, my voice hard.

  “She mustn’t be disturbed. She is ill, Your Highness.” The maid bows.

  “Tell no one—”

  But only the walls hear me. And all they do is stare blankly, absorbing everything, revealing nothing.

  I pull open the door and slip inside. I don't have much time—from what I've learned, maids can spread word faster than they can do anything else.

  The room is the same as when I last saw it, unadorned except for the dark chaise on one end. I cross the foyer leading to the Queen's rooms and hold my breath. I don’t knock before entering.

  My eyes fly to the flickering oxygen candle on the bedside table. Beside it, the length of a body glows in the shadows of a large, canopied bed.

  I hurry forward, tripping over a thick rug I didn't see and stop. Hold my breath.

  She’s not ill. She’s near-death. The Queen’s pale skin is near translucent. Her red, ankle-length nightgown is drenched in sweat. It looks like blood.

  “They say a mother's will is stronger than any.”

  I inhale sharply and raise my eyes to her face. Her moonlight eyes glow an eerie white gold as she stares at me.

  “The last word you said to me was 'mother.'“ Her voice is soft. I lean closer. “I never saw you again.”

  She watches me. I know she wants me to fill this void, but words fail to form. I can't even part my lips. She fills the silence herself. “Julian was right, Rowan is mad.”

  She called him by his name.

  “Rowan poisoned you,” I say. Rowan said he would avenge the woman who raised him as her own son.

  She laughs softly, her eyes straying to the flickering light. It’s a real laugh, the first I have heard. I snatch the sound and tuck it away, deep within my heart. The sound of my mother laughing. Because the woman in front of me is my mother. Not the Queen.

  Her eyes fall on mine. “Why are you here, daughter?”

  “I came—” I stop, my throat suddenly tight. “I came to warn you. Rowan plans to burn down the palace.”

  Silence follows my words. She’s staring, not at me, but into me. I swallow and drop my eyes away.

  “I'm a murderer,” she whispers.

  “Why Lissa? Why would you warn me?” I search her face. But her question is pure curiosity.

  “I don't know,” I say finally. “Come with me.” I don't know why I say this. I don't know why I suddenly want my mother to live. Why I care.

  “This is where I'll die,” she whispers. She reaches for me and I step closer. Her fingers brush my face, stroke my hair. Her touch is cold. “I only wanted to see you one last time. As my daughter.”

  Tears sting my eyes and my throat tightens. But why? After all she has done, why is it so different now?

  “I’m sorry, Lissa,” she breathes. I fold her hands across her stomach. I think of all the innocent murders she ordered—Chancellor Kole, Wren, her own sister and so many people I will never know.

  She smiles. Her lips curve up, trembling as they go. Tears trickle down her eyes, run over the bridge of her elegant nose and dampen her pillow. She tightens her hand around mine.

  “I really am. It wasn’t all a game. You weren’t meant to be a tool. I did love Slate once, and he, me. Tell him that. I loved you too. Forgive me, Lissa.”

  “I…” but I can’t say the words. How can I?

  “Forgive me,” she whispers again.

  Her hand falls from mine.

  Dead. My mother is dead.

  I will never be able to forgive her. She will never know that peace.

  I’ve wanted a mother for years, yearned for one. But what is worse? Watching your mother die or not having one at all?

  The Jute lying before me now, her heart unbeating, wasn’t Queen Rhea. She was sorry. She was my mother.

  I bite back the sudden tears wrenching in my chest. The door to the room flies open and I fling myself against the wall, grateful for my dark clothes.

  I shudder and wipe my eyes as nobles filter into the room, their voices loud as they follow the short maid. And before they can see me, the lost princess, I slip out of the room, not bothering to close the door behind me.

  And I know why my feet carried me to my mother instead of Julian. Because what she said was true.

  A mother's will is stronger than any.

  Was that really her last wish? To see me? To ask for my forgiveness?

  It doesn’t matter now. My mother is dead.

  The palace is bustling with nobles running back and forth, their faces flushed from exertion.

  I run past them, keeping my head low as I dart through the halls. Does Rowan know I’m missing? Is Eli okay? Does Dena have enough blood to distribute? Where’s Mia?

  My mother is dead.

  There’s an ache in my chest and I don’t understand how I can mourn her when she was so heartless. She was so many people—a queen, a murderer, a Jute, but she was my mother, even if only for a few moments before her last breath.

  And when the time came, would she have really taken my blood?

  “Princess!” Someone calls when I reach the dungeon stairwell. I hurry down the dark hole.

  I don't blink and my eyes sting as punishment. A stench slams into my nostrils, full of decay and waste. I hear a moan followed by a soft cry. My skin crawls.

  “Who is it?” A thick voice echoes on the cold, stone walls.

  I catch my breath and press myself against the wall as I creep down the staircase. Flames burst to life feet away from me, illuminating a guard, his eyes heavy with drink.

  I reach toward my ankle and close my fingers around a dipped dart. He doesn't notice. He’s still slouched in his chair but he runs a hand across his face. His black eyes peer out at me from beneath his dust-brown ha
ir.

  “Who're you?” He spits. He jerks his head toward the metal bars to his right. “Get out before I throw you in one of them.”

  “The Queen is dead,” I say, watching him closely for a reaction. But his mind is too thick for thinking. “You're needed in her chambers.”

  He bellows a laugh and I flinch at the sudden noise. “In her chambers, eh? I can imagine. Fo' what?” He struggles to stand and his foot slips, a snarl escaping his thick lips. Anger bursts in his dull eyes when he shoots to his feet and pats around his waist, searching for his weapon.

  I throw the dart. It makes its mark, embedding itself into his thick neck. He slumps back in his chair with a wheeze and his eyes droop shut. Asleep.

  When his breathing slows, I’m painfully aware of the many eyes burning into me and the labored breathing of every inmate watching me. But somehow, somehow, I know Julian isn’t one of them—I would know if his eyes were on me.

  I peer into the darkness of the cells. The torchlight sets an eerie blue glow across the rusted metal bars. But I can’t see anything aside from the dark gaping pits beyond them.

  “Free us,” a voice whispers. I swallow before realizing the voice comes from the cell I’ve been watching. I take one step closer, trying not to think of who—or what—might lie inside. With every pounding pulse, I feel the daggers against my bare skin, reassuring me with their cool whispers.

  “If I free you, how do I know I’ll be safe?” I ask slowly, my voice measured. I catch a flash of brown movement and step back as a boy scuttles forward with wide eyes and matted brown hair.

  My throat tightens. He can’t be more than ten.

  “I did nothing, miss.” His voice is barely audible through his thin lips. He presses his small, dirty fingers against the bars and something inside me breaks.

  “What’s your name?” I ask softly.

  He wears nothing but a long shirt with frayed edges. It's too dirty to know what color it once was.

  “Bo,” he whispers, his breath clouds in the cold.

  “Ye’ll need them keys,” a gruff voice says off to my right. I flinch and meet the green eyes of a large man, his auburn beard a knotted mess beneath his chin. He studies me closely. “I know who ye are.”