Dark of the West (Glass Alliance)

by Joanna Hathaway

  “It’s not like that.”

  “You’re speaking from your vast military experience?”

  “You should watch your tongue, Commander.”

  “Why? Because I’m honest? People never like the truth, Princess. They don’t like discovering that the Jewel of the South is actually a den of the Nahir. They hate the ugliness of that reality, but there it is, whether anyone likes it or not.”

  “Truth?” I spit furiously, stepping too close, into his minty scent. My whisper is fierce. “Resya isn’t what you believe it is, Commander. The real truth to be discovered is what you did in Beraya.”

  This wasn’t how I planned it happening, but here we go.

  He stares at me. “What did you say?”

  “You heard it.”

  “How do you…?”

  “Photographs,” I say under my breath. “I’ve seen them.”

  Anger flares behind his clear blue eyes, and he leans down closer, voice equally low. “The Landorians did something in Beraya. Not me.”

  I’m certain he’s lying. The denial’s too quick, too practiced, and his sudden hostility borders on guilt. “You should be careful, Commander. You’ll tarnish your father’s reputation, and I don’t think you can afford that. Not with the League still considering your petition for war.”

  His gaze darkens. “Good God, I certainly don’t need a lecture from you on strategy. You have no idea what it’s like down there.”

  Someone clears a throat. “Excuse me, sir.”

  He turns from me abruptly, facing a nervous servant holding a drink. The Commander grabs the glass, waving the man off, and then takes a very long drink—most of it—eyes on the tarmac again. “You tell me to preserve my father’s reputation?” Unfriendly laughter growls from his chest. “I did nothing, Princess, and even if I had, where do you think I learned it?”

  That unrepentant observation saps my burst of confidence. The aeroplanes below suddenly glint in a sinister way, creatures of prey, blood on their claws, and I hate that I must smile on it.

  “I don’t want your show!” I snarl. “I didn’t want it before, but they made me accept it and I wish I’d refused. I want nothing to do with you or your father!”

  He blinks down at my fury, stunned by the rude words. I realize I might have just ruined my own plot for negotiation. In this moment, I don’t even care. But then he smiles. “Nothing to do with us?” he repeats. He looks at the runway, at Athan’s plane, then bursts into laughter. He laughs so hard, with such sudden delight, that I’m certain he’s finally drunk.

  I spin to leave, but I’m not quick enough.

  “We’re set to begin, Your Highness,” the General calls, his steady voice like firm ground. “Are you ready?”

  I force myself to face him. “Yes, of course.”

  “Got my second drink,” the Commander adds, raising it. “Now I expect this show will be spectacular.”

  The General shoots a look at his son. It holds a sliver of pure derision, reminding me, at this very important moment, that they aren’t one and the same. He walks over and places himself between us. “Would you like me to tell you about the planes, Your Highness?”

  “Please,” I say.

  He does just that, pointing out pilots and aircraft, explaining how he pulled them from three different squadrons since he couldn’t very well pull an entire operational unit home from Thurn. My gaze drifts to Athan again. He’s inside his plane now, Cyar in the one beside it. I’m hardly listening, but I nod every now and again while the General explains this and that about firepower and special cannons, and then the planes have come to life. Flames licking from exhaust pipes and propellers spinning.

  They roar into the sky, and from where we stand, it’s like they’re mere feet apart, nearly touching. Three of them separate, spiraling. Three more do the same, and soon they’re moving in pairs, diving far too steeply, a whistle screaming as they devour hundreds of feet of air. The crowd cheers, but I can scarcely breathe. Didn’t Cyar say pilots can become disoriented and lose sight of the horizon?

  Two planes pass above the crowd, rolling their wings and flying inverted. They make it look effortless, like a skip in the sun. Even Reni appears impressed.

  Other pairs take their turns, the General explaining each maneuver to me, and finally the two planes with no squadron symbols on their flanks approach from the west. Athan and Cyar. The leading plane does two wild spins as if caught on an invisible string, snapping over twice before swooping high again.

  “A double flick-roll,” the General observes.

  “Is that difficult?”

  “This low to the ground, yes. It can easily become a stall and you need room to recover from that. A bit of a risk.”

  I’ve no idea what a stall is, but secretly I’m pleased to see Athan showing off for me. Of course it was him.

  A Safire man approaches the General. “There was a request for a low pass, sir.”

  “Was there?”

  “For the Princess.”

  “Very well,” the General says, glancing sideways at me. “You’ll like this one.”

  I find his kindness wearing my anger down, yet again. It’s like we’re the only two on this balcony and he’s forgotten anyone else who might be wanting his attention. He’s interested only in my happiness.

  I steal a glance at the Commander nearby. He’s idly sipping another full drink—his third? fourth? He covers a yawn, then catches my eye and gives a bored smile. “Father, how about we get some Etanian pilots up there? Make this an actual match?”

  The General ignores him.

  As I turn my gaze back to the sky, a growl of thunder skims the palace behind us, erupting across the balcony. A lone fighter passes right over our heads, impossibly low, propeller raging. There and gone again in the space of a petrified breath. Everyone ducks, glasses dropped, shattering.

  Everyone not in Safire uniform, at least.

  The General sips his drink. “That’s a low pass,” he says to me, as if we’re sharing a private joke.

  I clutch the railing with white knuckles. “I thought for sure it was a low crash!”

  He laughs. “Rattles your bones, doesn’t it?”

  “Stars in heaven, General!” Mother exclaims nearby, hand over her heart. “I hope that’s a punishable stunt.”

  “I believe it was in honour of the Princess,” he says. “If she objects, then yes, it might be punishable.” He looks down at me. “What do you think?”

  I glance at the retreating plane, its flank empty, and recognition dawns. “That was Lieutenant Erelis, wasn’t it?”

  “I hope so,” the General replies. “The older pilots wouldn’t bother with such a stunt.”

  “No, I loved it. I’ll never forget it! Can he do it again?”

  “Stars, once was enough,” Reni says nearby. He looks pale, as do Jerig, Marcin, and Violet.

  The Commander raises his drink in my direction. “I’ll remember your pilot’s name now. The one who terrorized an entire balcony of royalty. That might deserve a medal!” He laughs again, that good-natured laughter, elbowing Reni in the arm.

  My brother smiles reluctantly.

  The aeroplanes perform a few more figures in the sky, then land, lining up proudly to rousing applause.

  “Would you like to see one up close?” the General asks me. “That’s Captain Nevern in the third plane. Leader of our first squadron, Greydawn. He’d be happy to show you.”

  I spot the older pilot, stepping out of his cockpit. “Yes, of course. I’ve so many questions for him,” I lie. Before the General can suspect my deception, I hurry down the steps, past the courtiers, and onto the tarmac. Smoke lingers in the air. Pilots hop from their planes, speaking with ground crew, and I offer a brief stop at Captain Nevern. “Very nice show,” I say, “and thank you.”

  He bows from the neck. “Of course, Your Highness.” He looks about to add more, but I march on, winding through the planes, ignoring the surprised stares of the pilots I don’t kno
w. My heart begins to pound quicker. I wish more than anything there weren’t a hundred eyes watching, no rules to follow or manners to remember. Then I round the nose of a plane and they’re in front of me.

  Athan Erelis and Cyar Hajari.

  No longer a memory but real, both leaning against Athan’s plane. They’re a splendid match. The same height. Funny I should notice this now, but it seems very perfect.

  “So you weren’t lying,” I announce, and they straighten quickly. “You really are pilots.”

  “We tried to be modest about it,” Cyar replies cheerfully, “since not everyone has this sort of talent.”

  Athan holds up a rag. “I was even blindfolded.” His face, golden from the sun, splits with a grin that’s more infectious than I remember.

  Oh stars, I want only to throw my arms round him! Why must I feel this nervous now that he’s three feet away? An army of butterflies has me light-headed and flushed, entirely undone. I turn and study the plane, covering my nerves with curiosity. “It was an incredible show. I swear my heart stopped more than once.”

  “And what was your favourite part?” Athan asks.

  I run a hand along the hot wing. “I don’t know. I’ll have to think about that.” Of course he’s hoping I’ll mention his stunt. Surely that’s what he wants. But I’ll keep him guessing awhile yet. “You know, the Commander believes you pilots aren’t very helpful in battle. That’s what he told me. You’ll have to practice some more if you hope to impress him.”

  Athan glances to the balcony. He gives a slight roll of the eyes, a bold move for a rookie, but I don’t blame him. “Do you know how difficult it is to impress him? Almost as difficult as impressing you.”

  “Oh, I am impressed, Lieutenant. I thought Officer Hajari did a very fine spin on that last lap.”

  Cyar bows, and Athan nudges him. “Are you trying to make me look bad, Hajari?”

  “Not trying at all, though the Princess is entitled to an opinion.”

  “But how could she even tell whose plane it was?”

  “That’s a good point.”

  “So we’ll say it was mine.”

  Cyar salutes. “You’re the higher rank.”

  Athan smiles at me. “Thank you for the compliments on my spin, Princess.”

  I laugh and continue to circle the plane. “And where do your orders take you next?”

  “Hopefully, home,” Athan says. “At least for a bit.”

  “I’m sure your family misses you with autumn harvest coming.”

  “Harvest?”

  “Yes, for the crops. I’ve done a lot of reading this summer for my exam. Water cycles and irrigation and all the things farmers must think about. It’s very fascinating to me. There’s quite a lot of work that goes into it.”

  Athan nods. “You’re right. A lot of work.”

  “Good thing your family only has cows,” Cyar says. “No crops.”

  “Yes, exactly,” Athan agrees. “No harvest for us.”

  Two little marks on his plane catch my eye, and I touch them. “What are those?”

  “My count,” Athan explains. “How many planes I’ve knocked down so far.”

  “You mean shot down?”

  He nods, and this blunt admission shadows the mood. Somewhere in this world are graves for two pilots, put there by this boy I desire so terribly. I try to shake myself out of the inevitable thought, for his sake, but it still steals some joy.

  He steps near, the closest he’s yet come. “Don’t worry, they both had parachutes. We always hope to see those.”

  Relief returns. “I’m glad.”

  “Come on, enough about me,” he says. “You’ve been hinting at rumours of an escape for weeks now. Don’t I get to hear about it finally?”

  “Perhaps for a price,” I say, taking my own step closer, now that we’re hidden behind the plane. He’s close enough to touch. Smelling of petrol and smoke.

  He wrinkles his nose. “Did I mention I’m a poor pilot with a rather meagre monthly wage?”

  I reach out to adjust the crooked lapel on his chest. I let my hand linger just a moment, feeling the firmness of his chest, wondering if I might feel the beat of his heart, even. “There are other things I’d accept, Lieutenant,” I say softly, and this time he’s the one who looks undone.

  ATHAN

  Being with Ali again is as exhilarating as flight.

  I’m wearing a uniform smudged with oil and engine grease, sleeves rolled to my elbows, but she notices none of it. She doesn’t care, breeze tugging the curves of her perfectly pressed dress. She’s different and the same and new all at once.

  Cautious and inviting.

  I don’t understand it. I love that I don’t understand it.

  Out on the tarmac, it feels safe together, our own little world. We’re far from the dark horizon—Sinora, the Prince, Father, Arrin. But every time I start to get distracted by them, by the storm I know is brewing, she turns on me with those beautiful eyes, asking another question about Thurn or my plane, and I keep saying things that seem satisfying enough she won’t push further. Eventually, though, I slip up. I make a joke about saving Cyar’s life and realize the misstep immediately.

  She stares at me with the kind of furious precision that rivals Father’s.

  I’m dragged down a narrow stone path deep into the gardens, away from the crowd, dodging green-coated men on horseback who hold our Safire vintage. A reminder of our fake unity that sets me on edge all over again.

  We make it far enough into the flourishing grove that we’re nearly to the stables, and then she faces me. “You never mentioned the knock-downs in your letters,” she accuses. “You can’t go off and do these things without even a warning.”

  “I’m sorry,” I say honestly. “I didn’t want you to worry.”

  “I know, but if anything ever happened to you…” She sighs, a new kind of heaviness in her gaze. More like grief. “Everything down there, it’s not as simple as you think.”

  Bitter laughter escapes my lips. I can’t help it, since nothing is simple, not here nor there, and I know it well.

  But she narrows her eyes further. “I mean that. You’ve only seen your little corner of it, and there are terrible—” Her annoyance changes to distress. “There are terrible things that have happened and you don’t understand,” she whispers.

  “Understand what?”

  “You won’t believe me.”

  “I will.”

  “Do you promise?”

  I nod, and she looks at me, as if trying to determine if I’m lying, but she’s not very good at that anyway. I wait.

  “Your General’s son did horrid things in Thurn, and no one knows. I saw the photographs. I swear I did. There were children. Little children, and they were shot.”

  She clutches my arms, bare skin against mine, and no words come. I’d like to have a hundred of them right now, a hundred reasons why she’s wrong, reasons why it can’t be true, but I don’t. We just stare at each other, her hands clinging to me. Her words demanding an answer.

  “Children?” I say finally, wanting to hit something. Wanting to hit Arrin.

  I hate that I don’t doubt it right away.

  I hate that it feels like it could be truth.

  She can only nod. “It’s not right. It isn’t, and someone must do something before this next war begins.”

  I push an escaped dark strand of hair from her face. I’ve waited too long to do that, liking the way she stills beneath my brief touch. “There won’t be another war, Ali. The League will never allow it.”

  “But they could, Athan! It’s all so very complicated. You were right when you said that the Nahir might be justified in their revolt. I see what you mean now.”

  I stare at her. “I never said the Nahir were justified.”

  “No, but you implied it strongly, and now I’ve heard the truth, from someone there. It’s more than—”

  “I believe you,” I interrupt, wanting her to stop talking. I don’t
want to hear things I shouldn’t, not this time. “Whatever the Commander has done, I promise the rest of us are trying to do the right thing. I swear it.”

  She leans up on her toes and kisses my cheek. “I know you are.”

  But the feel of her lips doesn’t send my pulse into a flick-roll. It’s too much like a blessing, like an offering of trust, and I don’t deserve it. Not with what’s happening today.

  I force a laugh. “God, it’s your birthday. Why are we talking about war? We should be talking about your masquerade and what the hell I’m going to wear to it!”

  Her eyes widen. “You’re coming tonight?”

  “We don’t leave until first light tomorrow.”

  “Oh, Athan, you can wear whatever you’d like. It doesn’t matter!”

  “I might have to,” I admit. “I haven’t been planning on this for months like you.”

  “Come as you are. That’s the best gift you could give.”

  “I have something else, but it’s quite small.”

  “You do?”

  “Close your eyes.”

  She obliges, and I pull out the amber necklace, placing it in her outstretched hand. She opens her eyes, her face lighting up all over again. “From Thurn?” she asks, fingers moving over the sharp-edged gem. “It’s very crude, isn’t it?”

  “Exactly the reaction I was hoping for.”

  This is why pilots don’t give gifts to princesses.

  “But it’s perfect all the same,” she says quickly. “Put it on for me, please. I’ll wear it now.” She turns around, sweeping the dark hair off her neck, waiting.

  I glance left and right down the path. Not that there’s anything wrong with this, but guilt still prickles as I bring my hands up and fiddle with the clasp, fingers brushing her skin. I imagine kissing her neck.

  I imagine kissing a lot more than that.

  She turns and faces me again. “Thank you.”