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
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
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