Dark of the West (Glass Alliance)

by Joanna Hathaway

  “Won’t you get in trouble?” I ask, hanging on to his arm, like that might stop us both.

  “No.” There never seems to be any hesitation with him.

  “But the General—”

  “The General’s in negotiations with your mother. I doubt he has time to worry about whether or not a princess is sitting in one of our planes. Unless you plan on flying it, of course. Because I’ve learned the hard way that might come off badly.”

  He gives that resistance-ruining grin again, and the next thing I know I’m climbing onto the wing. I take his offered hand, this time feeling his warm skin free of gloves, and step gingerly into the open cockpit. Both of them climb up after me, leaning against either edge to point out the switches for landing lights and oxygen supply, the elaborate system of instruments that indicate everything from altitude to fuel temperature. It’s dizzying.

  Cyar taps the control panel. “It’s easy to lose track of the horizon when performing fast maneuvers. Good pilots trust their instruments as much as their instinct.”

  I peer round the narrow space, at the endless buttons and knobs and numbers. “But how do you remember it all when someone’s shooting at you?”

  “I’ll let you know when I find out.” Cyar gives a little shrug. It’s an endearing reaction, like he didn’t know what to do with himself and so his shoulders went up of their own accord.

  “Why aren’t you a lieutenant as well?” I ask curiously.

  “Me? I’m not the sort to order others around.”

  “But you’re an officer.”

  “Yes, but Lieutenant Erelis was good enough to get promoted right away. A future captain. You have to be quite extraordinary for that honour.”

  Athan makes a face, propped on the other wing. “The honour of being first into battle, you mean.”

  Cyar salutes him glibly.

  They lecture some more about aeroplane things that make little sense—pitch and yaw and something-magnetos—and then the tale circles back to Savient, and how Athan would like me to sign a letter for his sister so he can prove he met a real princess, and Cyar talks about how he joined the Safire army so his family could show their loyalty to the new nation, and how he had to travel on a train for three days, all by himself at age eleven, to reach the Air Academy. I look between the two of them, and suddenly feel very small.

  They’ve lived an entire life already.

  “Flattering the Safire with more of your compliments, Ali?” a scornful voice interrupts.

  We turn in surprise.

  Reni prowls towards the plane, frowning.

  “I was learning how to fly, in fact,” I say, gesturing at the cockpit. “It’s more complex than it looks.”

  “And I’m sure you’ve also been enjoying their luminous tales of heroic victories. I hope they didn’t forget to mention the innocent people murdered by its bullets.”

  Athan’s on the wing closest to Reni. “I’m sorry?”

  “Don’t deny it, Lieutenant. Many questionable things took place in Karkev, things your General is now trying to hide.”

  Athan drops down onto the floor. “I wasn’t there, Your Highness. Can you enlighten me with your own personal experience on the matter?”

  Reni grimaces. “On second thought, you keep quiet. I don’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth as it is.”

  “That’s not—”

  “I said keep quiet.”

  “No,” I object from the plane. “Keep talking, Lieutenant. You say what you’d like.”

  Athan glances between us. “Two royal commands at once. Who’s the higher rank?”

  “Me,” Reni snaps.

  “Oh.” Athan steps back and gives me an apologetic look.

  I pin my brother with a glare, hoping he’ll take the hint to quit before he makes a fool of us, but he doesn’t. “Ali, the Safire forces committed crimes in Karkev that are sickening. I’ve tried to keep these dark things from you, but evidently you need to know before you start waving this fox flag yourself.” I roll my eyes at that. He ignores it. “The General himself accepted the surrender of a town only to send these very aeroplanes after the people he promised to make peace with. A land may be filled with criminals, but it doesn’t mean the honourable way of fighting can be forgotten.”

  “Wait,” Athan says. “None of that’s true. Those are lies spread by the Karkevite rebels.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yes. Did you read it in the papers?”

  Reni pauses. “Well, no. But I have reliable sources.”

  “Here in Etania? Halfway across the world?” Athan gives a skeptical look, then glances at me. “I promise it isn’t true.”

  Reni narrows his eyes. “Were you there, Lieutenant?”

  “No.”

  “Then your opinion counts for little.”

  “But my brother served in the campaign, and I can assure you he never said anything about murdering anyone.”

  Reni stalks closer. “Your brother was in Karkev?”

  “He was … involved, yes.”

  “Then he’s complicit in the crimes carried out. He’s a blind fool who follows without question.”

  Athan grins. “Yes, he is.”

  “Is this a game to you?” Reni asks fiercely. “Your General reneged on every promise made. He swore left and right that he’d stabilize his own borders and push no further. And now, two years later, where’s your army? In the damn capital of Karkev! It makes one wonder how Savient came about, doesn’t it? Perhaps it’s time the Royal League heard how he actually built his ‘new nation.’ It’s rather convenient, I think, that he found such support there and suddenly there’s no one left to object. Not a single protester to the Safire cause.”

  The amusement vanishes from Athan’s face, like a cloud over sun. Sudden and sharp. “You forget to mention, Your Highness, that the rulers of Karkev let brigands run wild and terrorize their people, as the old leaders did in Savient. Why? Because the corruption kept their pockets full of gold. If you’d like to applaud them for that, please do, but being a royal yourself, I suppose you’d be better acquainted with those who feast than those who suffer.”

  Reni flushes. “How dare you…”

  “I’m not going to stand here and listen to you speak lies about us, not when you yourself have more to answer for.”

  Colour drains from my cheeks, and Cyar appears equally stunned, still beside me. No one speaks.

  “I don’t need to answer to anyone, least of all you, Lieutenant,” Reni says at last.

  Athan draws a breath and steps away. “This is pointless. You believe whatever they tell you.”

  Reni snorts. “I’m not the one who runs to fetch when the General whistles.”

  “At least I’ve seen enough to know why I’m running.”

  “I’m not as ignorant as you think,” Reni bites, voice rising again. “I know far more about the politics of these negotiations than you.”

  “Then why are you standing out here with me?”

  “Watch your mouth! This palace is mine.”

  “Funny, because I thought it belonged to your mother.”

  I gasp, a slightly strangled sound.

  Reni’s face darkens with fury. “Might I remind you that you’re not in those negotiations either.”

  “Which is fine with me,” Athan replies hotly. “I’m a youngest son. I don’t expect much else. But if I were you, I might be a bit more insulted.”

  “There’s an order to things, Lieutenant, and unlike you Safire, I accept it!”

  “Perhaps that’s why you’re losing your girl to an upstart Safire captain with no crown at all.”

  Reni’s fist strikes Athan dead in the face, horribly perfect aim. Athan keels over, and Cyar leaps down from the wing.

  I stand in shock. “Reni!”

  My brother appears stunned by his own reaction, staring at his fist like it isn’t a part of him. The two Etanian mechanics gape in the corner.

  Athan groans and raises an arm to ke
ep Reni back. “God, I didn’t see that coming.”

  “You didn’t?” Cyar asks, already at his side.

  “I…” Reni begins, then stops.

  Athan winces. “Do you feel better now?”

  My brother swallows, his mouth opening like he might say something further, then he closes it yet again.

  I crawl down out of the plane and run for the pilots’ icebox near the mechanics. They quickly pretend to be working again. I fish some ice from inside, wrap it in a nearby rag, then hurry back to Athan. He’s sprawled on the floor, leaning against the wheel of the plane.

  “I’m terribly sorry,” I say, hand trembling as I pass him the compress.

  He rests it on his eye. “Why are you apologizing?”

  “I don’t know,” I fret, kneeling before him, reaching to make sure he has the ice in a good position.

  “I’ve got this,” he says.

  “I feel terrible.”

  “It isn’t your fault.”

  We sit there, him wincing and me feeling useless. I knew it. I knew Reni would start a war, I just didn’t see it happening quite like this. Not that Athan’s words weren’t entirely out of line either, but he’s Safire, and what else would anyone expect? Reni shouldn’t have provoked him.

  “How can we make it up to you?” I ask.

  “Please don’t worry.”

  “Anything at all.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “There must be something.”

  “Well, I suppose there’s one thing.” As usual, no hesitation. Here or there. Never in between. “I’d really like to climb that,” he says, pointing out the hangar door, to one of the higher peaks nearby. “But I might need someone to show me the way. I’ve heard the trails are confusing.”

  I look at the mountain. “Climb the entire thing? With me?”

  “I was thinking your brother.”

  “You’re joking.”

  “Princess, we Safire never make jokes. But if you’re willing to go with me instead, that would be fine, and I’ll lie about where this injury came from.” He flinches, head crooked as he balances the ice.

  It takes a moment, but I realize he’s teasing, something playful in his good eye.

  “All right,” I say, voice lowered. “But it will take the entire day.”

  “I have ways to make it happen if you do.”

  I nod.

  He salutes.

  I turn from him and find Reni still watching us. Cyar’s trying to show him the fighter plane—a noble but futile distraction—and my brother ignores it, walking towards us with a frown, the sort that means he’s unfurling knots in his head.

  “For a junior lieutenant,” he says to Athan coldly, “you do have a lot of gall.”

  Athan shrinks slightly back against the wheel, ice perched on his face, and Reni leaves the hangar.

  19

  ATHAN

  Our third night in Etania, we’re off the hook for watch. A full seven hours of sleep that feels decadent. Cyar and I wake up, yawn our way through some calisthenics, and I throw on some sunglasses to hide my left eye. It’s rather swollen and ugly. Somehow, though, Father finds me at breakfast in the Safire lounge—a common area with games and cabinets of expensive liquor—and the next thing I know he’s pulled the glasses from my face and snapped them in two. I’m sure he’s heard about the illegal stunt with the plane, and maybe even my run-in with royalty, and there’s a brilliant threat in his glare.

  Then he’s gone.

  Garrick sits smoldering across the room, a cup of coffee clenched between his hands. He’s looking at me now with a face that says, “You do one more thing wrong, it’s my neck on the line, and I swear to God I’ll kill you for it.”

  I give him a smile that says not to worry.

  “You really had that fist coming,” Cyar offers.

  “You’re right.” I remove the cherries from his plate.

  “But I know you don’t regret it.”

  I toss a cherry into my mouth. He hates them, I love them. “That stubborn ass of a prince couldn’t survive a single day outside this palace.” I grin, and regret it.

  Pain.

  “This might not be a good idea,” Cyar observes. “The hike.”

  “You think a sixteen-year-old girl is going to murder me in the woods?”

  Cyar pauses, then shakes his head. “Never mind.”

  Bad idea or not, my bag is quickly packed and I’m off. Yes, it’s going against my own rules, but if I have to die, it might not be such a terrible way to go. Murdered in the mountains, or executed for it later. At least it’ll be an enjoyable last few hours.

  “Where are you off to this early?”

  Havis catches up to me in the hall, pacing alongside, and I don’t look at him. “A hike with a local.”

  “Who?”

  “The Prince was happy to volunteer his time.”

  “I find that difficult to believe, Lieutenant, considering the rather fantastic rumour going around.”

  “Is there?”

  Havis grips my arm, halting me. “Yes. One of Sinora’s lords heard—from a major in the auxiliary air force, no less—that the Prince was seen sparring with an impudent Safire boy in the hangar, and won. He was quite impressed.”

  “Hardly a fight,” I clarify, since it’s not like I could swing back.

  “Well, either way, it’s a good thing the Queen’s son seemed the victor, otherwise the story might not have been so charming.” His voice lowers. “And Sinora won’t be pleased to find you sporting in the woods with her daughter.”

  “There are lots of things she wouldn’t be pleased about.” I wrinkle my nose. “And that’s an unfair angle to assume.”

  “You undermine your Father’s mission.”

  “What if I said I was acting on his orders?”

  “And what if I said I’m marrying the girl?”

  I step back as far as his grip allows. “Marrying her?”

  “Yes, when she’s old enough.” He smirks at my skepticism. “Listen, Lieutenant, the tree may be corrupt, but the apple still looks fine to me. Don’t bruise my apple.”

  That’s rather disgusting. But I saw him in Norvenne “sporting” with his lady friends as it were, so it’s not a surprise he’d find some kind of reward in this mess. When Sinora’s brought down, where else would the Princess go?

  Something guilty nips inside.

  “She’d never choose you,” I say.

  “She’d never have a choice.”

  I yank my arm out of his grip. “Good thing I don’t like apples, Ambassador.”

  “Yes, good thing.” He turns and stalks off, but not before adding over his shoulder, “Nice eye, Lieutenant.”

  * * *

  The Princess is waiting for me outside on the garden walkway, bag in hand and looking entirely different. Gone are the fussy gowns, replaced by brown pants and plain shirt, her hair pulled into a simple braid. Not a jewel or a pearl in sight.

  She waves me over anxiously, glancing at the palace. “Hurry. Before anyone sees.”

  “We’re doing this in secret?” I figured she’d tell at least one person.

  She stares at me a moment, at my eye, then darts her gaze away. “Would you prefer I invited my brother?”

  Her sarcasm is music to my ears. “Lead the way.”

  She ducks behind the bushes of the gardens, motioning me to follow, and we slink to the stables, heads down, like there’s a sniper on the loose, but really it’s our parents that we’re terrified of. The whole thing is comical enough I almost laugh.

  Almost.

  She stops at a split-rail fence just beyond the horse pasture. The mossy woods are alive with sounds—snaps and rustles and feathers taking flight—and far above us the tree line gives way to rocky bluffs, sunlit and surrounded by a spotless sky. The definition of an inviting horizon.

  “Here, we have to climb it,” she says, gesturing at the fence.

  “Is this a trail?”

  “Not officially,
but you wanted to climb that mountain, so here we are. And there’s less chance of running into anyone this way.” She removes her bag from her shoulder. “I’ll go over first.”

  “No, let me.” That’s what a gentleman does. “In case there are wolves on the other side.”

  She smiles finally, a bit of tension disappearing from her brow.

  I hand her my bag and hop the wooden rails. She struggles to pass it to me over the top, then gives me hers and crawls up and over.

  I weigh her pack in my hand. “This is rather light.”

  “Yours is rather heavy. How much water did you bring?”

  “Enough.”

  “How much is enough?”

  “Three bottles.” Her face colours slightly and I point at her bag. “You do have water in there, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “And?”

  She shrugs. “A sketchbook.”

  “And?”

  “Paint.”

  “And?”

  “Stop interrogating me, Lieutenant.”

  “I’m not interrogating,” I say. “I just want to make sure if we get stuck up on that mountain we survive.”

  “Then what did you bring?”

  I shoulder my pack again. “Water, matches, food, a warm jacket. Thank God you brought the sketchbooks, though. I don’t know where we’d find anything else to burn in the middle of the woods.”

  For half a second, she looks ready to give me another black eye, but I grin and it throbs.

  A pleased smile appears on her lips. “If we get stranded, I trust you’ll share, Lieutenant.”

  “That’s a large assumption, considering you hardly know me.”

  “I’ve a good feeling.”

  “Well, if it’s a risk you’re willing to take, let’s go.”

  She waves in assent and leads me onward. We cut over fallen logs, through the brush, and the conversation stays polite while she follows her map in hand. She’s good at coming up with pointless topics that mean nothing—weather and palace history and the quality of my previous night’s sleep. Years at those stuffy dinners must teach you something about small talk.

  “Be honest,” she says eventually, looking over her shoulder. “Did you really take top score when you graduated?”