Cyar looks at me hard, clearly deciding whether to let it go or force the discussion further. Then he shakes his head and begins unbuttoning his uniform, shedding it quickly and dropping into bed.
I make it as far as my shirt. “I swear I don’t know anything else, Cyar. I’d tell you.”
He says nothing, dark hair buried in the pillow.
Guilt leaves me standing there, half-dressed, because I do know more. I know that if I don’t get the royal siblings to talk to me, if I don’t show up with something useful at the end of this week, it will be Cyar facing enemy planes without any kind of tactical advantage. Possibly in an entirely different squadron from mine.
Sinora’s supposed to burn—I want that.
But Cyar is a different matter, and holding this secret feels like uncomfortable power.
I strip off the rest of my uniform, hating the feel of satin sheets on my bare skin, hating how it smells like Sinora’s lair all around me. And then I force myself to close my eyes.
There’s a knock at the door within moments. Or at least that’s how it feels.
“Get up bootlickers,” Garrick orders. “Your turn to watch the birds.”
I push from bed, groggy, and everything feels stiff. I’d like to ignore him and say to hell with the fighters. Who’d touch them, anyway? But Cyar’s already standing, pulling on his shirt. Can’t let him go alone.
By the time we’re creeping down the midnight halls and across the wet grass, weariness gives way to unease. Sinora could be crouched anywhere.
We relieve those on duty and hunker down against the wheels of a fighter, cement floor cold beneath us. Have to find a distraction. Anything to keep me from looking at my watch, or into the darkness beyond. Shadows shiver along the walls, sinister patterns with teeth for ends. They grow in size, twisting, coming closer, and I keep reminding myself I count for nothing in this game.
Never thought that would be a relief.
“Vintage weapons for parade,” Cyar muses eventually. “Did one of your brothers tell you that?”
I don’t confirm or deny.
“Do you think he’ll actually try something now?”
The he in this doesn’t need to be explained. Cyar never calls him my father. He’s always the General. Or he. Or him. Vague things that keep it distant.
I shrug, fighting a yawn. “Doubtful. He doesn’t rush things.”
Cyar is silent a moment. “I don’t think it’s the whole kingdom’s fault what Sinora did.”
His observation sits uncomfortably between us in the chilly air. Cyar and his honesty.
“Then Sinora better cooperate,” I say, covering my own uncertainty. “Hopefully she cares about Etania as much as you.”
Cyar sighs. He doesn’t like that answer, but he says, “Either way, no more airplane stunts. Don’t crash yourself before you’re off the runway.”
“I won’t.”
And I won’t, for his sake.
The cement numbs my legs and we shift closer for warmth—it stopped being awkward long ago, after nights of field training. The hours drift by, indistinct. A grey haze appears above the mountains. They’re not jagged and snowcapped like the ones in northern Savient. These are round and welcoming, green and full of life. What I’ve always hungered for. I walk to the wide hangar doors, and the air smells like wet cedar in the dawn mist.
I want to disappear into those woods and never come back.
On the far hill, the gardens hold pinpricks of colour. Bright on dark, like the ruby pins in the Princess’s hair. Thoughtless flecks of wealth. How can I smile at her? I don’t want to, and maybe that’s my problem. She gets this beauty, every day spent in ease, no struggle from beginning to end, and all while her mother’s a devil gambling with lives. A traitor who tried to hurt my father by taking my innocent mother.
I lean on the cool door.
A devil who gambles with lives.
All right, perhaps we have that one sliver of a thing in common.
16
AURELIA
The stables are my escape in the morning. It smells like grain and leather and mud, the most beautiful scents in all the world. But today I’m here to face my guilt—Liberty. I force myself to peer into his stall, to see him standing there and hobbled on three legs. Those lovely, strong legs. They’re meant for galloping, for leaping obstacles, and the sight of him confined to this cramped space, riddled with pain, breaks my heart. I offer him an apple, and he nudges it with a soft nose, then turns away.
His heart is broken, too.
An hour passes quietly with Ivory, currying and brushing her, then feeding her the apple that Liberty refused. I step out of the stall, latching the metal tight, and spot a yellow-eyed barn cat skulking through the grass outside. It’s crouched with tail twitching, hunting some poor little animal. Vicious thing. I run over, hissing, and it bounds away. The baby sparrow on the ground makes no effort to move, so I kneel down and nudge it lightly once. Then twice. On the third push, it flutters up and away for the forest beyond.
The cat barrels after it.
Stars, maybe it’s me that’s cursed.
“Princess,” a familiar voice calls.
I turn on my knees in surprise.
The fair-haired daredevil is suddenly standing there, looking down at me curiously.
I hurry to my feet, embarrassed, and we’re very alone, no sign of the stable boy with his pails of grain. The pilot wears the same peculiar expression as the night before, watching, waiting, but what’s he waiting for? He approaches me.
“Yes?” I ask, attempting an air of authority.
He nods to the trees beyond. “I’d like to explore the woods. Which way do you recommend?”
This must be a lie. Some kind of game, though it makes no sense. He can’t think it’s fine to just walk up and ask me this, like I’m a footman with directions. But he’s still standing there, expectant, so I think he does. “There are many trails,” I say. “Five hundred acres of them. You’ll certainly get lost if you go on your own.”
“Oh.”
“And you wouldn’t want to get left behind after dark. We have wolves.”
“Wolves?” He sounds intrigued. “Here?”
It’s my own invented lie, hoping to strike some sort of fear into a Safire heart, but it seems that has failed, too. I stride past him, in the direction of the palace. Best to leave while I can.
I hear footsteps on the grass behind me.
Is he actually following me?
“Princess, I was dishonest. I didn’t wish to only ask directions. I wanted to apologize.”
His Landori is polished and gently accented, not what I expected from a lowly pilot. It’s like the tide along the seashore, rising and falling on different words.
“Apologize?” I ask over my shoulder.
“Yes, for yesterday. I shouldn’t have flown without permission. I was hoping you might be willing to overlook it. Or better yet, perhaps you might ask your mother to overlook it?”
I stop and turn. We’ve reached the eastern gardens. “You should have thought of that before you climbed into the plane.”
His eyes are an earnest grey, surrounded by dark lashes. “I know. But I’d rather not die for a crime I didn’t commit. I’m only seventeen.”
“Die?”
“Yes, doesn’t the Queen hang foreign spies? Or is it the firing squad? If it’s something worse than that, please don’t tell me.”
Amusement lurks behind his words, but I won’t give in. “If you weren’t spying, then what were you doing?”
“Flying. That’s it. Those pilots of yours, they insulted our reputation, said we wouldn’t be able to do a single maneuver in this mountain wind.” He steps closer. He smells like something warm from the runway. Petrol, maybe. “And that isn’t true. I had to prove it.”
“That’s a terrible excuse for recklessness.”
He smiles, near enough now I could touch his arm. “You’re right. Can I try again?”
“No
,” I say, but it’s a bit less forceful.
He reaches down and plucks an orchid from the garden. He holds it out to me, the russet-coloured watch on his wrist flashing in the sun. “I’m truly sorry for what I’ve done. It was thoughtless.”
I stare at the flower, at the soft pink petals, then at his chest, the simple stitching on a less formal uniform, the unbuttoned collar, and then again into his face. Blond hair brushes his forehead, more windblown than messy, his fair skin sprinkled with a few faint freckles across the nose. Again the grey eyes and dark lashes. He’s all the colours of the seashore. Elegant, but in a shadowed sort of way, like he’s seen most of life and knows already how it goes.
It doesn’t match his sweet smile.
“What’s your name?” I ask.
“Lieutenant Erelis.”
I take the orchid from him. “I’ll admit that was some fancy flying yesterday, Lieutenant Erelis.”
“I graduated at the top of my class, Princess.”
“Ah, I’ve heard that before. But the real test comes in battle, I think.”
“You’re very right,” he agrees. “But since I’ve already shot down three enemy planes…”
Three! I take him in from head to toe again. Perhaps that explains the shadows.
“Possibly four,” he amends. “The last one wasn’t proven, but I like to count it. The fuselage was smoking. I’m certain the pilot had to bail.”
“Does your friend fly, too?”
“Yes. Which is another reason why you can’t let them execute me. I’ve made a solemn promise to Cyar—Officer Hajari, I mean—that I’ll only die in flames and at his side. It would be a waste to hang here, for an offense I didn’t intend.”
Amusement continues to slip between his words, that subtle certainty like he’s watching me from another world, set apart and pleased with his story. I’d like to dislike him for it. But he’s not so distant as the others in Safire uniform, closer and not much older than me. Seventeen, he said. And at least I haven’t seen him holding a filthy cigarette.
“I’ll see what I can do, Lieutenant.”
I resume my march down the garden path, because this is where our conversation should end, but there’s a clip of boots on the stone behind me.
Heathwyn’s voice chirps in my head. “Divert with a smile.”
I turn again, doing just that. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
He appears perplexed. “Was I dismissed?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“Did I need to?”
He steps back, returning my smile of diversion. “Sorry. I’m accustomed to more direct orders.”
“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”
He nods and gives a salute, then turns and walks back in the opposite direction, straight for the woods.
“Please don’t get lost,” I call without thinking. “I’ve done it myself, and it isn’t fun wandering in circles for hours.”
He spins and walks backwards. “I have a compass.”
“Even so, you shouldn’t go far.” I raise the flower in my hand. “And this is bad luck.”
“Bad luck?”
“Yes, to pick our orchids.”
“For you or for me?”
“Oh…” No one’s ever explained the logistics of it to me. It’s superstition. “I’m not sure.”
He’s ahead of me, though, already grinning. “Then let’s pray we each get half of the bad luck. An even share of it.”
I toss the flower into the nearest fountain. “No, I think I’d rather pray that you get all of it, Lieutenant, as I’m the innocent one in this. Which is too bad. You’ll be needing good luck for your next dogfight.”
The Safire boy laughs, a bright sound.
I hear myself laugh, too, then quickly stop before anyone sees.
* * *
A flustered and urgent Heathwyn greets me at my room. She says I’ve been summoned for lunch with Mother and Havis, and where have I been? And why am I covered in dust? And now I just need to go and make up some excuse. I hurry regretfully for Mother’s parlour. Lunch with the newly returned Havis certainly isn’t my first choice of things, but in the interest of pleasing Mother during this critical week, I’ll do it.
When I arrive, however, I’m surprised to find Uncle with her as well. The three of them are sitting round a table set with china and lace, ladling from a bowl that smells like tomatoes and cinnamon.
“Aurelia,” Mother says. “Where have you been?”
“Grooming Ivory,” I reply, going to her side. “Reni won’t be joining us?”
She pours steaming water into her cup. “He’s reviewing agendas with Lord Marcin.”
How on earth did Reni talk himself into that one? “You’d better not let him bring up Karkev. His opinions on that won’t be appreciated by anyone Safire.”
“He knows his boundaries,” Mother says.
“Does he?” I venture, and I think it’s a legitimate question after the Chase.
“He knows his boundaries,” Mother repeats, sharper, “and you know yours.”
Havis sips his soup silently, playing uninterested in the conversation, and I’m about to ask if Violet’s feathers came from him when Uncle says, “You should avoid affairs you’ve no experience with, Aurelia.”
I turn to him, annoyed. “I never said I agreed with Reni. In fact, I even met one of the Safire today, and I’m thinking to invite him to sit at our table this evening. It would look good for the court to see us welcoming them as friends.”
“You’re inviting the General to our table, then?” Uncle asks dubiously. His eyes look extra birdlike through his spectacles.
“No, but I would if you thought he might accept.”
“Please do.”
“I would!”
Mother raises a hand between us. “Tell me, Aurelia, who exactly are you inviting?”
It seems I’m now stuck. I said it mostly to silence Uncle, but they’re all watching me, awaiting an explanation. Havis butters a slice of bread. “It’s like you said at the Chase, Mother. Sometimes inviting the enemy to your table can smooth things over.”
“The Safire aren’t our enemy,” she points out.
“No, but Reni believes he caught one of them spying on our aeroplanes yesterday. He made a horrible deal out of it, and may have offended them. We should make amends before word of it gets to the General.”
Havis looks up.
Mother frowns. “Spying on our aeroplanes?”
“Not really, Mother. He only wanted to fly. He’s a pilot, and a very good one.”
“I’m sure it was spying,” Uncle mutters.
“It wasn’t,” I insist.
“It wasn’t,” Mother agrees, giving Uncle a pointed glance. “And Reni was aggressive with him?”
“You know Reni. You’d think the Safire pilot tried to start a war.”
Mother clucks her tongue.
“Did he speak with you alone?” Uncle presses. “Did you get a name?”
I divert the first question with an impressive smile. “Lieutenant Erelis.”
“God in heaven,” Havis coughs into his soup.
“Lieutenant Erelis.” Mother draws out his last name, thoughtful, then looks again to Uncle. “I’ve no issue bringing an officer to my table. Aurelia’s right. It would give the right impression to the court, and General Dakar.”
Uncle throws his napkin to the table. “It’s a pointless gesture. A low-ranking officer means nothing to anyone. And not only that, he’s a spy. There’s only one reason one of them would try to talk their way into our aeroplanes.”
“You weren’t there,” I say, “and it’s best to avoid affairs you’ve no experience with.”
Perfect silence envelops the table. Uncle’s cheeks turn a fierce shade of pink, and no one moves. Then a sound escapes Mother. Her lips twitch, widening. Soon she’s laughing enough tears sparkle in her eyes.
Uncle and Havis sit staring at her.
“Thank yo
u,” Mother says to me, chuckling over the words. “I needed that.”
“Then I should invite the Lieutenant?” The full implication of this is suddenly dawning on me.
“Please,” she says.
Neither Uncle nor Havis looks so happy about it, and I wonder what I’ve done. Certainly the Lieutenant won’t accept such an offer. He’ll say no. He must. Reni will hate the idea, and Havis will slink his way to my side. Instead of doing good, it will do the opposite, and the entire thing will be terrible, from beginning to end, with me trapped right in the middle of it.
“I suppose I’ll invite him, then, Mother.”
“Splendid,” she replies. “I look forward to seeing him up close.”
I hope to all the stars he says no.
17
ATHAN
“Do you think she’d poison my wine?”
I ask Cyar the question in Savien as we stand at the edge of the bustling, golden reception. The ballroom around us vibrates with voices and violins, the air stinking of perfume and fresh-cut flowers wound around large pillars. Above us are bright facades of mountain scenes and elk, chandeliers twinkling like obnoxious stars. Food and wine glistening. Sinora’s elaborate production of fake generosity.
“In front of everyone?” Cyar asks, eyeing the lengthy table of appetizers. “All these foreign visitors?”
I shrug. “She killed my mother in broad daylight.”
“I don’t think she’d waste the poison on you.”
I’m about to question that, but he’s already investigating what’s on offer, a plate in hand and a pleased look on his face. If there’s one thing we learned from Norvenne, it’s that royals serve good food. I pretend to study it as well, but my survey leads my eyes away from the table and onto the Princess, speaking with her brother. She’s small in the swirl of courtiers and dignitaries. A glimmer in the unfamiliar crowd.
Should I approach her again? It’s difficult to tell how today went. She laughed at the end, but maybe it’s all a ploy, pretending she doesn’t know who I am. Maybe Sinora gave her the same mission Father gave me. A chance to rout out secrets and discover exactly who’s making what move, and where, and when. It’s possible.
Dark of the West (Glass Alliance) Page 16