Read UNBREATHABLE for Free Online Page A

true? Father never lied.
    “Y-you expect me to believe you?” I ask anyway, finally understanding why he wanted me to sit.
    “No,” Slate says, voice crushed in sorrow. We have the same hair, I realize. But then, couldn’t we have the same hair if I was his niece? “I want you to believe me, but I know it will take time. And proving.”
    “You killed your own brother.” I don’t want a murderer for a father.
    He shakes his head. “There’s so much you don’t understand yet. There’s more to this than you, me, Gage, and the blood we share.”
    “What more can there be?” I say, but he’s already leaving. Running, almost.
    “Stay here,” he says quickly. “I’ll be back.”
    I lean back against the rough cushions and breathe. Inhale, exhale. Could Slate really be my father?
    Restlessness makes its way into my veins, so I stand and pace the room. I keep hearing Father’s last words: You are not my daughter . And Slate’s proclamation: Me. I’m your father.
    A small portrait on the wall beside the cupboard catches my attention. It’s covered in shadows, almost as if Slate wants to remember and forget at the same time.
    I cross the room. The colors are vibrant and alive, made by Jute, no doubt. Only they have such materials, close to what people had on Earth.
    The portrait itself is of a woman, sitting on a throne that seems plain in comparison to her. A robe of navy blue, accented in gold, is wrapped around her slender shoulders. Her skin is a flawless, pale ivory. Her lips are a brilliant red. My mind flashes to the blood on Father’s shirt and a shiver trembles up my spine. The woman’s features are sharp, from the slant of her nose to the line of her jaw. But her eyes are what catch my attention the most. They’re odd, the color reflecting everything around her, even paler than Slate’s gray. I lean closer.
    “Beautiful, isn't she?”
    I straighten and turn. A ghost of a smile crosses Slate’s lips. He scratches the side of his head.
    “And cruel.” Pain underlines his words. His eyes drift to the portrait, and finally to some distant place.
    “Who is she?” I ask.
    He looks surprised. “You don't know?” I shake my head. All I can think is: this man could be my father. “The queen. Queen Rhea.”
    “Of the Jute?” I ask. He nods.
    I turn back to the portrait and carefully trace the billows of her lush robe. I’ve never seen a Jute before. In my mind they were feral, ugly creatures and all they wanted was to see me dead. But she is the opposite of that, cruel or not.
    “She's been ruling for decades. Jute live long lifespans.”
    “Have you,” I pause. “Met her?”
    He laughs softly. “I have.”
    I want to know more. I want to know why he laughed. Why he chose now to say he is my father. Why, why, why.
    “We can leave now,” he says after a moment, without meeting my eyes. I have time, I decide. I can ask him later.
    When we step outside, the ground is as dark as fresh blood. The Tower’s shadow casts everything in a hushed gloom. From its nearness, I estimate we’re roughly twenty rows from my own house, where the Tower is far enough that I don’t have to worry about it. Mostly soldiers live this close to the spiral of pure black, with dark windows glinting like watchful eyes. Soldier houses are longer than ours, though they’re still small with sloping roofs and red doors.
    Everything on Jutaire is red.
    “Where are we going?” I ask.
    In answer, he looks up to the Tower. I stop.
    “No,” I burst out. “I’m not going there.” Chancellor Kole is there. Power is there. I don’t want to be mixed in this anymore.
    I committed a crime last night.
    Then it hits me: Slate is trying to take me in.
    He sees the thought strike and lunges for me, sending a flurry of dust and sand flying between us. I stare at his hand around my wrist.
    “You wanted answers, Lissa. I’m not going to hurt you,” he says. Could the desperation in his voice be an act? “Please. Everything