Dark of the West (Glass Alliance)

by Joanna Hathaway

  We stop to refuel.

  We take off again.

  But I have my own fear. The looks from Father gnaw at my certainty, the creeping exhaustion of two lengthy flights delivering the final blow. This past week was a spectacular mistake. I began with the upper hand, but somehow, now, I’m the one admitting defeat.

  I miss her.

  God, I do. My life is grey, straight-lined, an inevitable path of compass points and marching orders. All charcoal. But she’s spiraling colour. She’s fireworks. Sunsets. Dawn skies in flame. She could scatter like light and end up anywhere. My fitful sleep is broken by the image of her on that balcony, gold as sun.

  Beautiful in a world of steel.

  When we land outside Norvenne, the mountains are gone, only a distant cityscape beginning to wake as day appears. The runway is still lit by lamps, and Kalt’s standing by the narrow doors of the airbase. He looks tired. There’s a very good chance he’s been waiting there all night. Waiting for the moment of Father’s arrival so he can get another order and say another “Yes, sir.”

  But Father only nods to him, cursory, then motions for me.

  Here we go.

  “What did you do?” Kalt mutters on my way by.

  “Nothing,” I say. And everything.

  Like a guilty dog, I follow Father into the airbase. This conversation won’t be pleasant. I have little to show for a week’s effort, only the purple around my left eye, but I have to be quicker than him. I have to talk my way out of this somehow. Words hover like fog in my mind, wavering.

  I’m too exhausted for an interrogation.

  Father claims a small office, locking the door behind us. We sit down across from each other in two brown leather chairs and he flicks the blinds open. Harsh light floods the window. I squint.

  “That was an interesting predicament I found you in,” he says, the implication like a razor.

  “It was nothing, sir.”

  “Not according to Captain Carr.”

  “Captain Carr,” I say, “spent every day with an Etanian girl in his bed.”

  “And you didn’t?”

  I blink for a moment, offended. “Me? No, Father, I’ve never even—” Then I stop, about to admit the one thing no almost-eighteen-year-old son should ever admit out loud. “I’m not Arrin,” I finish instead.

  Father waves, like he doesn’t want to hear any more either. The earlier disgust on his face said enough. Not because of what I might have done, but because of who I might have done it with. Sinora’s daughter. A gross betrayal in his eyes.

  “Then what’s your report, Lieutenant?”

  I steady my hands on my knees. I have to make this good. “I’m certain Sinora’s lying to her children, sir. She’s protecting them from the stain of her crime. They know nothing.”

  “The Princess isn’t aware of who you are?”

  “Not as far as I can tell. I don’t think Sinora wants to answer those questions.”

  He nods. “Sinora’s mastered her act well, hasn’t she? But she can’t play innocent forever. I always warned her not to get ahead of herself.” He crosses his arms and looks out the window. “Nothing else from the Princess, then?” I hesitate and he continues, “I must say, I did find Aurelia charming. Quite like Leannya. She doesn’t seem like the others.”

  A sliver of hope squirms inside. He used her name. “No, she doesn’t.”

  He looks back at me. “But she is like them. Nothing changes her blood ties, as I’m sure you know.”

  The hope dissolves. “Of course, Father.” His stare pierces, scraping my soul, searching for treason or weakness, but I’m better at hiding. “She told me something interesting, actually,” I say, stifling a fake yawn. “She told me her father was murdered.”

  It works, and I relish the satisfaction of seeing my father, the General of Savient, recover from obvious surprise. He leans forward, examining me like he thinks I’m lying. “She said this?”

  “It was more of a confession, since she only just learned the truth this spring. No one else in Etania knows. It’s been hidden.”

  “Murder,” he repeats.

  “Or so they’ve told her.” I struggle to keep afloat. The almost-kiss he saw was convicting enough. But if I can make my connection to her purposeful, then he’ll tell me to continue it and he’ll never know the truth, and then I can protect her.

  It’s a miserable logic, but all I have.

  He cocks his head. “That explains what she told me.”

  “You spoke with her?”

  “Oh yes.” His lips twitch. “She had some impressive praise for you, in fact. And she told me her father died because he wasn’t a warrior.”

  I wait. I don’t know where this is going.

  “She sees him as weak,” he explains. “I’d wager she admires ambition more than Sinora would like. I’d also wager she listens more intently to their words than they believe. Perhaps you can continue to nudge her in the right direction?”

  He means towards him, towards his army and ambition and the glorious sun of the Safire. An unknowing traitor in Sinora’s own home.

  “I doubt that,” I say, trying to apply the brakes without stalling. “She’ll forget about me after this week.”

  “You believe that?”

  “I told you. I’m not Arrin.”

  “I’ve never seen any girl look at Arrin the way she was looking at you,” he points out, and panic rises in my chest, but I’ve created this. “The Prince is a lost cause,” Father says. “He’s already set in his ways. Bought by Tanek Lehzar. But the Princess? She’s outside of it. Inconsequential to them, and the most perfect gambit for us.”

  I shake my head. “She doesn’t know what they know, not like we need.” I’m not even sure what that means. Weariness and guilt have made a mess of my head.

  “She knows enough to say how the winds are blowing. And if she likes you as well as it seems, enough to reveal a thing like murder, then it wouldn’t take much on your part to encourage her to share more.” He nods with approval. “You’ve done better than I hoped.”

  No choice now. Have to finish the act. “I want Sinora brought down,” I say, as if it’s as simple as that. It used to be.

  “Then we can’t let this opportunity go to waste. I promised the Princess an air demonstration at the end of summer, but until then—”

  “I said I’d write.”

  “You did?”

  “I had to keep my foot in the door somehow. I spoke with her governess before I left. I talked her into it.”

  Again, he appears pleased. “I think I’ve underestimated you. Though there’s still the chance of Sinora laying eyes on the letters. You can’t write down anything that might be useful to her.”

  “Never. And imagining her face when she discovers them is entirely worth the trouble.”

  Father laughs. A real laugh. “I’ll give you rein to do what you think best.” He pauses. “But stay out of that girl’s bed.” Then he stands before I can remind him that’s impossible, since I’ll be thousands of miles away. “With this new revolt in Beraya, I’m advancing my schedule for the region. Arrin and Windom return tonight, and they’ll brief us on the situation. You leave for Thurn tomorrow. Your reward sails with you, Lieutenant.”

  The suddenness of war startles me. Then again, maybe it’s better this way. No time to think.

  “Twin cannons for Hajari?” I ask, like I’m not afraid.

  He nods. “The fastest planes in the sky. For both of you.”

  I manage a smile. Cyar safe, for now. But what about her?

  * * *

  By morning, the Impressive paces like a wolf in the waters near Norvenne. She arrived in the night, a silent ghost churning up the harbour, red banners colourful against grey iron. She easily puts the Landorian flagships to shame. Everyone on shore gapes, overwhelmed by her sheer size and strength. Kalt tells me not even Gawain’s most lethal ship, the Northern Star, can match her for speed or weaponry, and nothing but a shot from God to the ma
gazine could ever destroy her beauty.

  It’s the most excited I think I’ve ever seen him.

  Shadowing the Impressive are three Safire battle cruisers, two destroyers, and a large transport. The beginnings of our sea cavalry, chomping at the bit to head south across the Black.

  We’re given a briefing along with the other squadron pilots being deployed, and General Windom tells us this new rebellion in Beraya, near the Resyan border, has put the entire western region in flames. The victories of the Nahir are luring more to their cause, rallying greater numbers.

  “Nahir power has never stretched this far,” Windom explains. He’s a burly fellow, balding, more like a bear in his pristine blue uniform. He glances at Arrin more than Father. “But with Landore and Savient united, we’ll bring them to their knees. Our army extracted their secrets in Beraya. We have the upper hand, I assure you.”

  “Taught them a damn good lesson, too,” Arrin mutters beside me.

  I mutter back, “What the hell does that mean?” But he looks the other way.

  Father speaks next, giving directives for his squadrons. Nightfox—led by Admiral Malek’s son, the captain I’d be flying under if there was any sense of fairness in the world—is headed for Beraya to patrol army supply routes. Lightstorm gets the prize, Hady, and will be waiting on the forefront of strikes to reclaim it. As for Garrick and his Moonstrike pilots … we get Havenspur. The seaside capital isolated from the recent violence. It’s out of consideration for us, the rookies. A place to break us in that’s not about to explode. But there’s no glory for Garrick there, and I can see the frustration in him. For once I understand it. I wouldn’t want to babysit Cyar and me either. Not when Father saves all his praise for Lightstorm and Nightfox, bound for the frontlines.

  Garrick gets nothing but an order.

  At noon, Cyar and I stand on the wooden docks, bags in hand, controlled chaos everywhere. Supplies are loaded—trucks and ammunition and fighter planes. Voices ring across the water. Smells of salt and seaweed and that rancid fish scent that hangs over every wharf. We’ll be on the Pursuit, a destroyer, smaller than the battleships but still fearsome. It’s also the vessel Kalt serves on, and I’m a bit suspicious that Father arranged it this way.

  Kalt’s overseeing activity from the deck above. Garrick’s younger brother, Folco, leans on the rail beside him, equally red-haired but infinitely more likable. He and Kalt have been friends for many years. Both wear the formal overcoats of the Safire Navy, striped with maroon on the shoulders and made for thick sea winds.

  I’m admiring the colourful barnacles on the hull when a crushing arm wraps itself around my shoulder.

  “Ready to sail, littlest brother?” Arrin asks, pushing me along. “I know you can’t handle the waves and it’s been rotten weather lately.”

  I halt us. “Sounds like clear sailing from the reports.”

  He shrugs. “That can change in a moment. Just like the South. You sure you’re ready for this?”

  Cyar slinks to the farthest end of the dock, well-trained about when to give my family space, and I remove myself from Arrin’s grip. “What did you mean this morning in the briefing room? When you said they were taught a damn good lesson in Beraya?”

  He frowns. He’s tanned from his days in the sun, faded red along his forehead. “I meant they won’t be trying another stunt like that again.”

  “The Nahir, you mean?”

  “I meant what I said and let’s just leave it at that.”

  He turns with a shake of his head, and something dark kicks inside me, something I wish I could ignore. “Sinora’s son accused us of crimes in Karkev,” I say at his back. “He said Father accepted the surrender of a town, then strafed it. I told him they were lies.”

  Arrin stops.

  “Tell me they were lies, Arrin.”

  He spins and strides back. “Listen to me, Athan, I don’t know what world your noble little brain lives in, but you’re going to learn very quickly that those who seem like the enemy might not be, and those who don’t seem to be very much are. Garrick told me what you did in Etania—playing with Sinora’s daughter like she’s any other girl to be had, even after I told you not to trust them.”

  “What did we do in Karkev?” He won’t divert me out of this.

  “We won a war.”

  “How?”

  “Goddamn you,” he says.

  “I defended us, Arrin! I swore they were lies, and I deserve to know the truth.”

  “You’ve done nothing to deserve anything. You flirted with a pretty girl and ate fancy food for twelve days. Ask me again when you’ve lived under barrage for an entire night.”

  “I have,” I say. That was my entire childhood.

  Arrin sticks his face right in mine, breath stinking of tobacco. “All right. Fine. But first, do you want to know what those lovely rebels in Karkev did to us? To our soldiers? They tied them to trees and threw grenades at their heads for fun. They dug holes in the snow and dropped them in naked, to die slow or let the wolves do it. When men fight like that, I don’t give a damn how we win. And I won’t apologize for anything.”

  I take a step back, realization dawning. “Father didn’t strafe that town. You did.”

  “So you’re brilliant, after all.”

  I lower my voice, unable to hide my sudden desperation. “What are you planning for Etania?”

  His fingers bite my arm. “Why? So you can warn your new girlfriend?” Before I can protest, he hits me on the head. Hard. Like the day of Mother’s murder, when I didn’t even realize we were under attack. “You idiot! Don’t you see what’s happening here? Father wants to do this the slow way. He cares what these royal bastards in Landore think. But if we’re going to do it, then to hell with the rules. We don’t have time. Sinora has a gun at our heads and we have one at hers. It’s only a question of who shoots first.” He shoves me away. “It will be us.”

  The Impressive blasts her horn, and the people on shore cheer, delighted by the prospect of vengeance in Thurn.

  Arrin gives me a mocking salute. “Goodbye, Lieutenant. Watch your neck down there.”

  With that, he’s across the dock and over the ropes.

  The dark thing gnaws at my stomach hard. Suddenly, I don’t want to get on this damn ship, not with Arrin left here to plot behind my back. I don’t trust him. He’s no longer the pragmatist from the council room, though I knew that had to be a sham. Arrin is Arrin. He either thinks too much or doesn’t think at all. He’ll never see that Ali is innocent in this.

  The dock moves beneath my feet, and I shut my eyes, feeling the shift and creak and stir of the world around me. Waves. Ships. Wind.

  “Ready, Lieutenant?”

  Father’s voice.

  My eyes open, and he’s striding near, boots heavy on the wood.

  “Yes, sir.”

  He stops, giving me the usual quick scrutiny. Checking for hidden messages. “Now that you’re in service, you’ll be earning your own pay. Don’t be like Arrin and spend it in one place.”

  “No, sir.” It’s not like I even go out most nights.

  “And you always be ready to fight, even in Havenspur. Anytime I’ve been told a sector is quiet, it soon enough becomes hell on earth. You remember that. You always be ready to fight.”

  I nod.

  He looks up at Kalt and Folco, still on the deck. His eyes narrow, dissecting them. “And watch those two. Kalt will be stationed nearby. I want a report on what you find.”

  “Find?”

  He turns. “Goodbye, son.”

  I swallow, unsure what I’m supposed to be reporting. “Goodbye, sir.”

  I feel like there’s more to say, but he’s already turned away. What would I have said? I never know. A hundred voices circle around, and suddenly all I want is to turn and hightail it for the mountains. One last shot at freedom.

  “You waiting for the footman?”

  Cyar’s question snaps me back. He’s by the gangplank.

  “
I think that’s you, Officer Hajari.” I pretend to toss my bag at him. “Why else would I keep you as my right hand?”

  He smiles and says, “For the cherries,” then nods at the ship. “Let’s go. Before we both have second thoughts.”

  Gripping the rails, we walk the creaky ramp, and the Pursuit groans deep within, the water below churning to furious life.

  25

  AURELIA

  Hathene, Etania

  The days following the Safire departure are empty and colourless. The strange beautiful accents have disappeared, along with the clipping leather boots, the lingering scent of cedar and cigar smoke that trailed their officers. The familiar now seems too tame and predictable. Only delicate silk on marble and hushed laughter in the halls.

  The silence leaves room for misery.

  Despondent, I open my atlas to a map of the world, tracing the patchwork colours, the faraway shapes, and on these pages, the distance doesn’t seem so miserably vast. The space between Savient and Etania spans the stretch of my hand. Across knuckles and palm and the length of fingers. Across mountains and valleys and an expanse of deep sea. Athan doesn’t seem so far away on paper, the memory of his smile still making me warm and delirious. It’s all I can do to hold back laughter and tears. I feel I’m being broken into terrible, wonderful little pieces on the inside, and Heathwyn is kind enough to pretend she notices nothing.

  If I had wings, I’d be gone.

  The third morning after the Safire departure, Havis and his new guest host a lunch for Mother, Uncle, Reni, and me. Their table is rich with foods from Resya—olives and tomatoes drizzled in currant and cinnamon, fried eggplants with onion and garlic and sea salt. The air smells like delicious spice. But Mother appears hardly wooed. She and Uncle have already met with the two of them, no doubt thanks to the recent events in Thurn, and our new guest invites suspicion. He’s quiet and sharp, his collared shirt unbuttoned at the neck, cream against brown skin.

  His gaze strays everywhere but our faces.

  “This is Lark Gazhirem,” Havis explains as we wait to be seated. “A dear friend from King Rahian’s court.”