Dark of the West (Glass Alliance)

by Joanna Hathaway

  Arrin opens his arms. “I’ve seen what he can do in battle. You’ll learn a lot from him.”

  “Don’t make this sound like a favour.”

  “This has nothing to do with me, Athan. If you don’t learn to separate what you want from the job that needs to be done, then you’re headed for a fall. Why do you think I’m still here? It’s not because I do what I want.”

  That makes me laugh. “Right.”

  “Bite your tongue. You think I want to spend the summer as Windom’s pet? It’s about as close to a personal hell as I can imagine.”

  “Why?”

  “None of your damn business.” He grabs me by the shoulder again. “Don’t trust anyone there.”

  I throw him off and head up the stairs.

  “I mean it, Athan! You watch your back.”

  I stop at the door and face him. My voice is slick with sarcasm. “Like you watched mine?”

  He stands down there, glaring all hell at me, hands balled like he’d rather they were around my neck, and then I do the one thing I want to do, the thing I’ve always wanted to do—I give him the one-fingered salute.

  Then I disappear into the plane and there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

  IV

  SEA AND SKY

  14

  AURELIA

  Hathene, Etania

  A tremor of anticipation wakes me before dawn. The eastern mountains have only just begun to glow, bringing with it the Safire arrival, and I sit in my bay window, silent, sketching the familiar view with lazy strokes of charcoal against blank paper. I feel mostly calm. Ready. But my stomach still feels like a knot, and I sing to myself in Resyan, distracting my nerves best I can.

  “I am a mountain,” I whisper, “a song you remember.”

  Invariably, my sketch changes to Liberty. The leafy branches become his mane and his eyes have hawks in them, wings spread. The poor stallion is still trapped in his stall, injured leg wrapped and splinted, and subtle despair tinges the groom’s reports. They’re leaving the decision up to Reni, the very worst idea. Reni won’t even speak of it. He pretends it never happened, refusing to visit the stables, and now the General is coming and everyone will forget suffering Liberty altogether.

  I shade hard enough my pencil splinters.

  Yesterday evening, Heathwyn lectured me on the protocol of this visit, rattling off the things to remember while a maid carefully manicured my nails, another one softening my hands with lavender-scented oil.

  “All discussion with our visitors will be conducted in Landori, and you’re always to be pleasant and welcoming, no matter the attitude your brother adopts. And you be sure to offer the General the greatest respect. No commentary on Karkev or Thurn or anything contentious. Divert the conversation with a smile if you must, because your smile will be your greatest credit to this visit.”

  I made sure to smile extra wide at that, and she clucked her tongue.

  “Please, Aurelia, remember you will be watched every moment and your words and actions will reflect entirely on your mother. Reflect well, is that understood?”

  She doesn’t know how well I understand that, how the weight of this visit feels like an entire secret world on my shoulders, one that no one else sees, and I promise to smile, smile, smile. Now, the morning sun shines fully and I strain my ears to listen for the sound of aeroplanes in the sky.

  A slight impatience pricks inside.

  Heathwyn arrives with warm bread and marmalade in hand, a nervous set to her lips, and I pick at the breakfast while she and another maidservant fuss with me—braiding my hair and pinning flowers, dabbing red on my lips and buttoning me into a sea-blue gown with ivory pearls—but in the end, it turns out well.

  “The Safire won’t know where to look first,” Heathwyn says, studying me in the mirror, pleased. “You or your mother.”

  “I’m sure it will be Violet’s breasts,” I reply with a grin.

  Heathwyn clucks her tongue yet again, but she hasn’t seen Violet’s chosen gown for today. I have, and so has Reni, and it certainly leaves only the most critical things to the imagination.

  “Aurelia, such comments won’t—”

  Her rebuttal is cut off by a growl that rattles the very windowpanes. It’s a fierce sound, echoing harshly off the mountains, passing close overhead. I rush for the window and press my face to the glass, trying to peer up, and Heathwyn tells me to stop because I’ll rub the pink off my cheeks. But there they are! Two Safire fighter planes circling low, flashing brilliant silver in the morning sun. They’re all sharp angles and grey metal compared to the smooth curves of our green Etanian planes, their ferocious noise carrying, surrounding us, seeming to grow with each moment like there are at least ten more hidden out of sight. One loops higher, playful in the morning sky. Black swords wink from the underside of the wings as he spins. Easy and graceful, like a falcon, before diving low again and rejoining his friend. Together, they arc towards the western airfield.

  “Stars,” Reni says, appearing suddenly behind me. I step back, giving him space to look as well. “They’re moving at quite a speed, aren’t they?” He cranes his neck as they disappear from sight.

  “Have you ever seen anything like it?” I ask.

  “I have. It was at a circus, and everyone was dressed in ridiculous colours and acting like fools.”

  I swipe at his arm. “I hope those aren’t your opening remarks to the General.” I notice, then, that nestled against his elegant green coat is a ceremonial pistol. “And I hope you’re planning to take that off.”

  “It’s custom,” Reni replies. “Father wore his to every diplomatic function.”

  “But we’re insisting the Safire remove theirs. It doesn’t look right if we refuse to do the same!”

  Reni shrugs. “Dogs are muzzled, not royalty.”

  On that vain note, he marches back for the hall, waving for me, and I say a quick, fervent prayer to my father that Reni doesn’t begin a whole war in one day.

  * * *

  Outside, the west entrance of the palace is bright with sun, its honey-coloured walls almost a glare. Etanian and Safire flags dance in the thick mountain wind, displayed in hopeful unity, and courtiers wait along the wide stone steps with chiffon skirts blowing, music sparkling amid the excitement. All eyes are on the long runway before us.

  Reni and I stand on either side of Mother as she waits quietly, regally, at the top of the open-air steps in a maroon gown trimmed with gold, her chin raised and my father’s crown glimmering on her black hair. It’s a rare occasion for her to wear it. But today it gleams, luminous as she, a glorious reminder to the kingdom that there is nothing to fear and she rules in splendour. But there’s still a tiny tremor nearly hidden. She fingers the lace detailing of her skirt, and I wish I could squeeze her hand in reassurance.

  On the tarmac, the two Safire fighters have landed, silver pipes along their nose trailing exhaust. The wind smells strongly of petrol and smoke. In the distant sky, a larger aeroplane appears, wide-winged and imposing. We watch it lower, hitting the runway with a high-pitched screech. It’s very large, propellers on either side, and the wings rattle as it brakes, swaying side to side slightly. There’s a fox-and-crossed-swords crest painted on the flank, and everyone lining the steps ceases their chatter, tilting their heads, whispering now as if their words might already be heard by the General himself.

  One of the Safire pilots leaps down from his now idle fighter. His red hair is ablaze in the sun. The second pilot walks over, and they light up their cigarettes without even a glance at the royal court waiting nearby. Etanian ground crew attempt to speak to them, but they ignore it, striding for the large plane, trailing smoke like their fighters.

  Mother flicks her hand. The royal guards on the tarmac come to attention.

  Safire uniforms emerge from the General’s plane as the metallic creature hisses in the sun, steel and aluminum pieces settling. They march down the stairs, appearing confident, but none of them look quite like Gen
eral Dakar—at least, not as far as I know. I’ve only ever seen a few distant photographs in the newspapers. It’s not until the two Safire pilots stamp out their cigarettes and straighten that I think we must be nearly to him. A man with dark skin appears at the top of the stairs. His uniform’s richly medaled, his head swiveling round to take in the runway and palace.

  “Admiral Malek,” I hear one lord say knowingly to a nearby friend.

  Then the Admiral is down the stairs and another tall, grey-clad figure looms in the door of the plane.

  The General, at last.

  He pauses there for a long, weighted moment, surveying the world before him. His gaze moves from the line of royal guards to the stone steps and then on up to Mother beneath the arched facade. He smiles.

  Descending the stairs, he greets Lord Marcin and Lord Jerig with handshakes. They both put on a good show, thank the stars, then Admiral Malek and the General walk across the tarmac together, the General offering those he passes a formal, yet affable, nod.

  When they stride up the palace steps, he’s still wearing his polite smile, and Mother returns it. It’s her polished one that radiates certainty. The General drops into a short bow before us. The rest of his Safire party, following behind, do the same.

  “Your Majesty,” he says. “At last we’ve arrived. We’re honoured to be your guests.”

  Mother dips her chin in respect. “You’re most welcome in Etania, General. The honour is ours.”

  I can’t help but stare at him, now only a few feet from me. He towers over her, his face angled and weatherworn, dark chestnut hair greying, and he speaks Landori with a pleasant accent, his voice low and graveled.

  He turns to Reni. “This must be your prince. Nearly a man grown, I see.”

  Reni conjures a sudden smile. “Welcome to our kingdom, General.”

  “Thank you, Your Highness.”

  “I must say,” Reni continues, “your remarkable reputation precedes you, and we have enjoyed following all you do with an attentive eye, particularly in Karkev.”

  Stars, I’d like to slap Reni for that, but the General simply tilts his head and says, “Is that so? Well, I hope you’re learning something.”

  Reni’s expression tightens, and Mother laughs, the kind that makes everything seem light, motioning me forward. “And this is my star, my daughter.”

  “Ah, yes.” He glances at me. “Pretty as your mother. They must say that often.”

  “It’s truly an honour to meet you,” I say. “We’re grateful you’re willing to grace us with your distinguished presence.”

  “You are kind.”

  His green eyes study me, as if waiting, and I’d rather not disappoint, not after Reni’s jab. I nod at his fighter planes nearby. “It’s been said, General, your aeroplanes are the most impressive in all the world. Perhaps while you’re here, you might be willing to give us a demonstration. We’d be quite thrilled.”

  Reni looks at me like I’ve sprouted a second head.

  The General turns to Mother, smiling. “I think I like your girl best.”

  He offers me no further reply, nor any acknowledgment of my compliment. He even turns his back slightly so our conversation is clearly ended, and my cheeks sting a bit. The Admiral beside him looks me up and down, a cursory appraisal, detached, and it feels like the entire world has just witnessed my rebuffed attempt at diplomacy.

  The entire world except for one.

  Violet’s standing a few steps away in her tempting emerald gown, beautiful, lit by sun, and oblivious to my miserable exchange with the General of Savient. She’s happily occupied with something else—the red-haired Safire pilot. He’s gulping her in without shame, confident as a strutting cock, and she blushes with that breathless delight that makes him try even harder.

  “Let’s move inside,” Mother says. “This wind is strong, isn’t it?” She smiles again. Always smiling, no longer a tremor to be seen. “In the mountains, weather can change with the moment. We’ll be sure to safekeep your planes inside our hangar.”

  She motions Reni and me to her, and we head through the tall doorway for the cooler halls of Hathene Palace. Marching boots echo in the quiet. The music’s long since ceased. Palace guards approach when we reach the grand staircase of the main foyer, decorated now with large porcelain vases of Etanian orchids and Savien chamomile. The tender white flower with its sunny yellow middle seems entirely dissonant alongside the men it represents.

  Mother addresses the Safire. “As was agreed upon prior to your arrival, I will now ask each of you to lay down your sidearm. This is a peaceful meeting and I wouldn’t wish to invite any opportunity for mistrust.”

  No one mentions the fact that the Prince of Etania has a pistol strapped to his hip. The General simply nods and hands his over first, then waves his men forward. They go, one by one, Mother scrutinizing each with great attention, as if memorizing their details will keep them from entertaining trouble. The last to surrender their weapons are a younger pair, fresh-faced and lean. One with copper skin, and after him, a fair-haired boy.

  Up close, they can’t be older than Reni, and Mother stares longest, a strange expression on her face.

  “You’re starting them quite young these days,” she says to Dakar.

  “We don’t spoil our boys in Savient,” he replies, glancing at Reni, which seems vaguely rude.

  Mother raises one arched brow. “Indeed.”

  “The proposals are ready to be discussed,” Uncle intervenes. “Perhaps we shouldn’t let these moments go to waste?”

  The General turns, pausing. He reminds me of Mother, unlikely to say or do anything that isn’t precisely necessary. “We’ve only just arrived, Lord Lehzar, and my men are tired. After a day of travel, surely you wouldn’t begrudge us some rest?”

  Uncle steps back. “As you wish then, General.”

  “Please, make yourselves welcome,” Mother says to the gathered group of Safire. “A private dinner will be prepared for you, and tonight, it would please me to have you attend a music concert, in honour of this great visit.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” the General says.

  He addresses his party in Savien, and it’s not quite beautiful, slightly jarring at times. There’s a brief discussion, the Admiral expressing some concern and the red-haired Cock asking a question, but the General responds with a few firm words and then they’re gone down the hallway, escorted by footmen to their quarters.

  * * *

  By afternoon, the Safire soldiers are wandering the palace at a leisurely, unarmed pace. Though their stiff grey uniforms and tall leather boots feel entirely military, all structured patterns and battle-hardened medals, they smile casually, laughing together, lighting their foul-scented cigarettes inside, young and easy and striking. Our Etanian soldiers keep their short hair properly gelled from forehead to nape. I expected the same from the Safire, perhaps even more so. But instead, these foreign boys keep theirs longer along the top, barely slicked back. A romantic sort of look that suits the old oil paintings they stand before, smoke curling about them with serpentine trails.

  The lords don’t bother to hide their judgment. They pronounce their opinions in Landori, not Etanian, so as to be sure they’re very much understood, subtly critiquing the General’s victory in Karkev, the new agreements in Landore, anything to prove they won’t be won over by such young warriors.

  The Safire soldiers ignore the barbed comments, uninterested in anyone but themselves. If anything, they appear mostly bored.

  Violet and I watch from a safe distance. A smile plays on her lips. “They’re very handsome in those uniforms.”

  I don’t confirm or deny this. “They seem arrogant,” I say, not wanting to admit it out loud yet, but I think to Violet it’s all right. She needs the tempering.

  “There’s nothing wrong with a bit of boldness. It will certainly help in the South.”

  “They have no manners, Violet. Smoking indoors, even! Who raised these boys?”

&nbs
p; “Then we’ll have to teach them better,” she says, giggling suddenly.

  The Cock has materialized on the second floor, gazing down at us from over the marble railing. He gives a cavalier salute, and Violet, rather impetuously, waves back. He’s much older than us. Far from a boy, broad-shouldered and tall, and his ranking shows.

  “Do you think the men in Savient know how to dance proper, or shall we have to teach them that too?” Violet whispers in my ear.

  A nearby lord frowns, observing us, and I’m afraid I’ll be implicated in this indecency. What frightens me more, though, is her genuine intrigue. It feels different from Slick, who was simply her chess piece for a single dinner. I won’t let her do this to Reni.

  I grasp her arm and pull her from Cock’s attention. She follows, feet dragging, glancing behind like she’s abandoning happiness altogether. I’m not sure where I’m taking her. There’s little escape, since the Safire seem to be everywhere, but she’s quick to protest once we’re on our own.

  “It’s not wrong to indulge them,” she says.

  “They’re getting enough attention as it is.”

  “From lords mocking them behind their hands? By God, Ali, we need to do our part and make them feel welcome!”

  She’s grinning, and I’d like to shake her for it. I’m annoyed by her delight, annoyed further by the Safire and how utterly uncaring they seem about the gracious welcome we’ve given. Perhaps they’re exactly what Reni predicted—rough-handed men who care nothing for the order of things.

  I march Violet down the hall, round the far corner, then halt abruptly, Violet bumping into me. We’ve nearly run headlong into two Safire uniforms. They blink at us, startled as we are.

  It’s the younger pair.

  Surprise changes to a quick smile on the fair-haired boy’s face. “Princess Aurelia,” he says, as though he’s said my name a hundred times before and has any right to greet me without introduction. “How are you?”