The Princess tilts her head now, whispering to her brother. They’re a matching pair—dark-haired with the hint of Southern features, glittering in their fancy clothes.
“I’m surprised to see you here, Lieutenant.” The voice has a suspiciously familiar serpent quality, and I turn to find Ambassador Havis. “You don’t seem very useful in a place like this,” he adds, as if it’s up for debate.
“You’re right,” I say. I take the plate of glazed-something from Cyar’s hands—Cyar making a little noise of annoyance—and hand it to Havis. “I’m the youngest. I believe I’m here to smile and serve the food.”
Havis doesn’t smile at my joke, nor does he accept my offer. There’s nothing pleasant between us, and that hasn’t changed since Norvenne. He stares hard, and I just wait, because I think he thrives on watching people squirm, and unfortunately for him, I’ve got a lifetime of experience with that type. Eventually, his eyes drift to the royal table, to the Princess, and I follow.
She’s glaring a black storm of fury at me.
I almost take a step back from it, my stomach doing a giant leap into oblivion. She knows who I am. Of course she knows, because she’s Sinora’s daughter, and now I’ll never get her to speak with me, or even look at me, and it’s goodbye to Cyar’s twenty-millimeter cannons. Goodbye to serving together. He’ll be pushed into the hell of battle and I won’t even be there to cover his wing.
I feel sick.
Unaware of my impending horror, Havis mutters, “Watch yourself,” and brushes past.
I wait a moment, steeling myself, then hazard a glance back to the Princess.
Thank God and everything holy! Her furious gaze has followed Havis—not for me, after all. Her eyes return, softer, more hesitant, studying me from head to toe. We’ve been instructed to show up in full dress uniform. Polished with leather gloves on. I never feel entirely like me in it, which I guess is fitting for tonight. Did I tell her it was three planes or four? Five? Need to keep my story straight.
She motions me to come.
Me? I check to see who else is around, but we’ve put ourselves in a corner, our normal strategy for these kinds of parties, and there’s no one except Cyar. This must be what it’s like in the gunsight of an enemy plane. Time to act, whether you’re ready or not.
She waves again, an encouraging impatience to the gesture.
“That’s for me, isn’t it?” I ask Cyar.
“Certainly isn’t for me.” He snatches his plate of food back. “Get yourself off the runway, Lieutenant.”
He’s right. Unfortunately, I have no idea what the sky looks like beyond the runway, if there’s a storm of vintage weapons brewing. But since Father’s only ten feet away, encircled by a captive audience and certainly keeping an eye on me, I’d better act.
I straighten my shoulders and walk for Sinora’s table.
“Good evening, Lieutenant,” the Princess says when I arrive, chin raised.
“Good evening,” I say, suddenly wondering if I need to bow or not.
“I hope you’ll sit with us for the evening.”
Yes, this feels like a trap somehow. There’s a flicker of polite anxiety on her face, the way Kalt looks when Arrin and Father are going at it in public, and why else would she invite me here? I try to think of a way around the offer, but she beats me to it.
“I told my mother about your apology and she was happy to have you join us tonight. The entire misunderstanding is forgotten, all that business with the aeroplane. It’s fine now.” She smiles again.
If only it were that simple.
The Prince, standing nearby, appears less forgiving.
“You want me to sit with you?” I clarify, looking at him.
She clasps her hands. “Only if you’d like to, of course.”
“I’m sure the Lieutenant would be happy to honour us with his presence,” Havis contributes, swooping to her side with a relishing grin. He sounds far too enthusiastic about it.
She darkens again, that little storm breaking through the politeness, and steps away from him. “You don’t have to, Lieutenant. We’d understand if you have other obligations.”
I really can’t tell if she wants me to stay or go.
“I suppose…” I glance over my shoulder at Father’s table, but he’s working his crowd. Uninterested in my predicament. “I suppose, yes. Why not?”
“Wonderful. Take that seat there,” Havis says. “I’ll request another glass of wine and—”
“First, my mother wishes to meet you, Lieutenant,” the Princess interjects, and my pulse picks up hard. I’m in the gunsight now. There’s a shadow on my wings, no going back.
We walk for the head of the long, narrow table, my thoughts bolting in a hundred directions, and the Princess stays at my side, heady jasmine filling my nose. Sinora greets us with an inclined head. She’s dressed in gold, seated like a lounging cat beside one of her lords.
I bow to her. It hurts my bones.
“Ah, Lieutenant,” she says. “I heard a rumour today about you and one of my aeroplanes.” Her red lips purse with what might be amusement.
I force a smile. “Only a bit of fun, Your Majesty.”
“Fun? I didn’t know the young men of Savient were allowed that indulgence.”
“Only when we’re certain not to be caught.” I nod towards Father, then lower my voice. “So please don’t tell on me.”
She chuckles, sharp lines appearing around her eyes and mouth. “Your secret is safe with me.” Then she regards me, taking her time. I’m sure she sees all of Mother in my face, lit like a spotlight in the dark, maybe even a trace of Father. “You seem familiar, Lieutenant. I can’t put my finger on it, but you remind me of someone I once knew.”
My blood prickles hot. “I hear that a lot, Your Majesty.”
“Oh?” Her lids are lined in black, feline. There’s a question in her eyes, like perhaps I’ll admit the truth to her.
I manage a laugh. “No, not really.”
She stares, her face changing from surprise, and then she laughs as well, loudly, though no one else at this table besides Havis would ever get the joke. “Be welcome here,” she says with a sweep of her hand, jewels on every finger.
“Thank you, Your Majesty.”
I turn and nearly run into the Princess. Forgot she was standing behind me. Her face is upturned to mine, eyes wide and velvet, relief there, like I’ve passed a test.
“Lieutenant,” Sinora calls, “perhaps you’re unaware, but it’s customary to bow when departing my presence as well.”
She’s making me do it again. She’s reminding me of my place, and all of me burns with hatred as I oblige.
The Princess escorts me back to our seats, putting me at an empty spot between two lords, and a fresh glass of red wine awaits. She sits beside her brother, across from me, and Havis lounges on her other side, flicking a steak knife against his plate.
“We’re delighted you decided to join us,” she says once I’m seated.
“Yes, thrilled,” the Prince echoes, sounding rather the opposite. “We’re eager to learn more of your exploits, Lieutenant…?”
“Athan Erelis.”
“Mm.” The Prince sips at his wine, analyzing me.
“Athan,” the Princess repeats under her breath.
Servants set steaming plates before us. “Lamb in mint sauce,” they announce, but the Princess gets her own little creation. All greens and potatoes.
“You don’t eat meat?” I ask.
She gives a delicate shrug. “No creature should die for me to live.”
Apparently she doesn’t see the irony of that, surrounded as we are by all this indulgent grandeur, but I let it be. I try to search for any guilt or nerves or angle to her face, but she only smiles, looking mostly pleased with me. Curious and waiting. At my hand, my wine taunts like a viper. The fear is illogical, since this entire visit is perched on the illusion of alliance, and harming one of us, even a rookie officer, would only unleash a nightmare of
diplomacy.
Still …
The Princess gestures at my glass. “It’s the best wine we have in Etania. My favourite.” Her lips part with pretty expectation. “It’s very sweet. You’ll like it.”
Would they send me to my death in such a tempting way?
The Prince drums fingers against his glass. “Perhaps we should toast to something,” he suggests, raising it in my direction. “To the new agreements between Savient and Landore.”
His words are edged with sarcasm, more of a challenge, but I raise my glass anyway.
The Princess joins in, then takes a sip, and her brother adds, “Or should I call them concessions? I’d like this to be accurate.”
She chokes slightly on her wine, and I send my glass flying.
Better to be careful.
There’s a collective gasp as red liquid runs between silverware and candelabras. “God, I’m sorry,” I exclaim. I grab a cloth napkin and cover the red splotches with it.
The Prince extracts his glass from the mess, unimpressed. Servants reach around me, removing forks and soiled napkins, and everyone at the table looks perturbed. Sinora watches from her seat with a frown, like I’m trying to ruin her evening on purpose.
The lord on my left gives a sniff of disapproval.
“Sorry,” I say, turning, and realize it’s the Savien-speaking lord from last night.
“Indeed,” he replies, icy. “You Safire do bring chaos, don’t you?”
We’re no longer friends again, and I try to figure out how this benefits either of us. Is he helping Father by stirring sentiment against Sinora? By hating us? It’s the sort of convoluted plan Father would concoct, so I guess it’s possible. Anything to make sure the trail never leads clearly back to him. But I hate not being sure.
I’m on my own here.
“It was an accident, Lord Jerig,” the Princess says on my behalf.
Havis sips his wine with a sly smile. “Was it, Lieutenant?”
I have the sudden strong urge to kick him under the table. I’m now on everyone’s nerves, the idiot who spilled his drink, and I can tell the Princess feels sorry for me. If Arrin were here right now, he sure as hell wouldn’t have people feeling sorry for him. He’d have a hundred stories from the war, distracting everyone until they forgot he was Safire, until they were desperate to have him on their side.
At least until he pulled a gun and just shot Sinora point-blank.
“Here, try mine,” the Princess offers, extending her glass to me. “Though I already took a sip.”
She’s earnest about it, and I suppose if she’s tried it, then it can’t be poisoned. The plan would have to be pretty elaborate if it was going to go like this. I test the drink. Rich, with a pleasant aftertaste.
“Yes, very sweet,” I say, but I’m looking at her face.
She smiles again, her polite interest transformed to something warmer.
A bit of confidence restored, I turn to the Prince. “Concessions?”
“I don’t think I need to explain myself,” he says, cutting his meat with precision. “Your military base in Thurn is a curious development.”
“They asked for our help, Your Highness, after what happened in Hady.” I pause. “You do know what happened at Hady, don’t you?”
“Of course I do,” he replies sharply. “I’m well-informed, Lieutenant.”
“Of course you are. But you seem confused on the nature of our agreements, which is understandable, since you weren’t there.”
The Prince pins me with a sour look, and I wonder if I’ve stepped too far. But he has no right to be sniping like this. We’re supposed to be allies here, and whether he knows the truth or not, he should be better at playing along. He’s Sinora’s son, after all. He should be smarter.
“Perhaps, Lieutenant,” Havis says, pointing his steak knife at me, “you could further explain your personal position on the matter?”
I’d really like to kick him now.
“I don’t have one,” I say. “I trust the decisions of my superiors.”
“Will you go to Thurn, then?” the Prince asks.
“In a few weeks, yes. King Gawain is intent on moving our forces to the region as quickly as possible. Hady is a vital point to have lost, but we’ll reclaim it.”
“But why is it so important?” the Princess asks. “It’s terrible what happened, of course, but it must have some other consequence to rally such fuss over it. The papers tell us only so much.” She seems genuinely curious, setting down her cutlery to listen to my answer.
“It’s a gateway city,” I explain, glad for a chance to wield the conversation. I had to translate all of this in Norvenne. I know infinitely more than the ridiculous prince. “It lies at the mouth of the Izahar River, the longest flowing river in the South. The rebels are calling the area they now control Free Thurn, and they’ve no interest in negotiating around a table. The Nahir want to establish their own government, you see, claim the region as their own, but hopefully a Safire base will make them think twice before they attempt anything else.”
“Free Thurn,” the Princess repeats, considering the idea of it. Then she nods at me with a pleased expression. “You’re doing a very brave thing, protecting our noble Northern empire.” She turns to her brother. “We should be grateful to Savient.”
“That wasn’t quite what I was trying to suggest,” I say, a bit uncomfortable now.
“It’s very brave of you to take this daunting task upon yourself,” she finishes generously.
“Hear, hear,” Havis says with a false, knowing grin.
“But you must be careful,” she continues, leaning forward slightly. “It’s very dangerous down there, and seventeen is much too young to die.”
I feel my lips twitch. “Is it?”
“So I’ve heard.”
She smiles, just for me, and the Prince rolls his eyes slightly. Such royal manners.
We eat our meals in a bit of a truce while Lord Jerig talks at the woman on his left about how anyone with Southern blood really can’t be trusted, not even the ones from Resya, and my suspicions are confirmed. He’s here to slander Sinora. He seems to be doing it well.
A more familiar voice carries on from near the foot of the table, filtering through the noise of conversation.
Garrick.
When did he get here?
“Strafing runs are the most nerve-racking,” he shares between bites. “You have to bring your plane dangerously close to the ground, avoid the flak and try to hit whatever target presents itself. I tell you, life seems precious in moments like that.”
The singing girl, beside him, hangs off every word.
“And what was it like to engage the Karkevite pilots?” a bearded lord asks. “I’ve heard they proved to be more of a challenge than expected.”
“You’ve heard right, my lord. Many of their planes were Landorian models, hijacked from the northern borders. But we did what needed to be done. We gave their supply lines hell and kept them running for the hills.”
“I can’t imagine!” the girl says, thrilled.
The Prince makes a sound close to a growl, his glare zeroed in on Garrick and the singing girl, and now I might see how this is.
Good luck, Captain.
The Princess tries to whisper something to her brother, but he ignores it and stands abruptly. “This show’s become old,” he says to no one in particular, and then he’s gone.
A servant scurries after him, carrying the plate of half-eaten food.
“Captain Carr brought down two planes entirely on his own,” the singing girl reveals with pride, as if she’s accomplished it herself. “Pilot to pilot.”
“In the pitch-dark,” Garrick adds, and everyone chuckles.
The Princess raises her chin. “Only two?” she says to the girl. “Lieutenant Erelis has brought down three, possibly four.”
My hand freezes on my fork.
Garrick sets down his glass, leaning forward in his seat to peer down the table at me.
“That’s right, Lieutenant. I always forget that last plane. How did it happen again? A direct shot to the undercarriage? God, it’s a good story, I can just never remember the details.”
He has no sense of camaraderie, the ass. “It’s really not that exciting, Captain, not compared to—”
“Don’t be bashful, Erelis. Everyone would love to hear about it firsthand.” He smiles like a bastard. “Including me.”
“I don’t think it’s important what I accomplished,” I say. “What matters is we won.”
“The Lieutenant is very modest,” an older lady says, pleased.
Garrick frowns. “Yes, he’s extraordinarily good at flying under the radar.”
The bearded lord raises his hand. “I must say, though, I saw one of our pilots practicing yesterday near the palace and what a splendid display it was! Perfect talent. Why, if our boys had your magnificent aeroplanes, they’d be unstoppable.”
The Princess meets my eye, secret amusement quivering between us, and I make a slight face.
“Congratulations, Princess,” Havis says. “You seem to have found yourself a man in uniform who’s humble about it.”
She doesn’t look at him. “Please go bother someone else for a while, Ambassador.”
“As you’d like, but don’t let him off the hook too easily.”
“Something I should have thought of long ago with you.”
He appears amused. “Enjoy the evening, Princess. Lieutenant.”
I nod, wondering what, exactly, he’s up to. If he’s on our side, then he’s as much of a bastard about it as Garrick, and I suddenly feel very alone at the table. I don’t even have Cyar.
I pick up a cloth napkin and get to work.
“What are you doing?” the Princess says after a moment.
“Folding.”
“Folding?”
“It’s fun to do.” I finish, then hand her the little swan I’ve made.
She studies it, holding it like it’s made of glass, looking between me and the swan like there’s some invisible thing to be discovered there.
Then she squashes it.
Dark of the West (Glass Alliance) Page 17