Dark of the West (Glass Alliance)

by Joanna Hathaway

  “That was easy,” I say.

  “Who wouldn’t believe Cyar?” Athan replies.

  Quickly, we dash for the back doors, the ones I always take through the kitchens. It seems the safest bet. We stumble into the scullery, greeted by wide-eyed faces. Hall boys, footmen, maids. They’re all crouched behind tables, gaping at me and my muddy gown and Safire jacket. But I see the one thing I need to see in their gaze—relief. They may be following the General’s orders, panicked, but they’re glad to see me alive. Safe.

  It means more than they can know.

  “Your Highness,” a hall boy says tentatively. It’s the one who always delivers my breakfast. “Are you all right?”

  “I’m fine,” I say, trying to sound confident but wildly grateful for a familiar face. “I need to get to Her Majesty.”

  “Those rioters in the city are saying terrible things,” one of the maids blurts out. Another elbows her, but she keeps on. “We know it isn’t true, Your Highness. How could anyone believe it?”

  The others nod, and I want to cry now. Their loyalty bolsters my courage and touches my heart. My mother has to address the kingdom. These liars don’t speak for everyone and they must be silenced.

  “I need to get to Ambassador Gazhirem’s room,” I tell the nearest footman. “We’ll need to use your service stairs, to avoid the main halls. Can you work out a diversion?”

  The man fidgets nervously. “We’ve been ordered to stay here, Your Highness.”

  “By who?” Athan interjects. I’d almost forgotten him standing behind me.

  “Safire orders,” the man stutters in reply.

  “Then I give you a new order,” Athan says. “You’re making a diversion. Where are my comrades posted?”

  Athan’s words do the trick. It’s almost comical, all these grown men suddenly bumping round, discussing the best way to go, and all because of an eighteen-year-old farm boy who wears the right uniform tonight. But I’m sure it’s reassuring to have a Safire soldier working in unity with me.

  Like they’re gambling on both sides at once.

  The older footmen go out the doors to the hall, and after a moment there’s a sudden argument in Landori—the Etanian footmen saying they need to check on the injured in the ballroom with the physician, and the Safire saying the injured are well taken care of and about to be transported by the General’s plane to proper facilities, and then the Etanians saying it’s still their duty to check, and back and forth they go while the younger footman slips Athan and me across the hall and into a narrow service door.

  We dash up the spiraling stairs for the wing of the state apartments. I pray to Father that my mad idea works.

  If Lark is hiding there, let him give me those photographs. Let him see the dire situation we’re in. And if he isn’t, then at least let me find them. Somehow.

  Stars, it all sounds worse now that I’m in the palace. My cousin will never let me waste his evidence to save myself. I wonder, briefly, where Havis is but it doesn’t matter. He’s off saving his own neck, for certain.

  We’re nearly there and I feel I’ve been running a lifetime. There’s a smoky veil to the air. Someone has opened the windows, letting in the stench of burning trees and flowers and earth. The gunfire and shouts are very close now, just outside the palace.

  Silently, the servant boy leaves us at Lark’s room, darting down the hall to scout for Safire. I try to open the door but it’s locked. Athan pushes me back and swings out his pistol. No choice. I say another silent prayer that Athan’s shot will blend into the stammering cacophony of the night, but the report is still loud. Echoing.

  I push the wounded door open and—

  “Your Highness!”

  We both spin.

  Three Safire soldiers approach with guns raised, but Athan swings his pistol at them, and they halt abruptly.

  “Where is the General?” Athan demands. Again, he sounds far more bold than I expect, as if it’s only natural they should be following his orders, answering his questions.

  But it works. They swallow, step back, eyes still on me.

  “He’s in the throne room,” one says. “We’re under orders to—”

  “To leave her to me,” Athan finishes for him.

  The man blinks, then nods.

  They retreat down the hall, casting suspicious glances, and we disappear into Lark’s room, shutting the door firm. He isn’t there. Perhaps he’s run off with Havis—which is a relief to me. At least he’s safe. I pull out every drawer, scattering papers and books and maps. I don’t think. I just grab at things, searching, throwing, scouring. But then at last, it’s there, the simple paper folder smudged from sweaty fingers.

  I grip it in relieved victory.

  “That’s it?” Athan asks, staring like I hold a serpent in my hand. His face is pricked by shameful curiosity, and I know he’d like to look, to see the horrible truth that could condemn his fox and crossed swords forever.

  I nod and flip it open. He needs to see.

  For a long moment he studies it silently, the wall, the murdered boys, then says, “What, exactly, do you plan to do?”

  The realization that he’s just followed me into all this madness without asking that question humbles me. He trusts me. I don’t think anyone has ever trusted me quite like this before.

  I shut the folder. “I’m going to demand your General speak on my mother’s behalf. He has control of the palace, so he must announce that these horrid accusations are lies, then let her address our people with a broadcast. If he doesn’t, these photographs go public. To the League. To everyone. It would ruin him before the North.”

  “And if he does what you demand?”

  I stare at the photographs, reality suddenly shifting with his question.

  “If you do this,” Athan continues, “if you use these photographs against my General, you must honour your word and hide them forever. No one can see them. Not your mother, your uncle. Not even your brother. You have to forget the children.”

  My chest aches, the images before me begging for justice. Little bodies covered in mud and blood. My hope at bringing two worlds to the table of negotiation. A reason to make people stop and listen.

  And the only way to save my mother is to destroy it forever.

  “This is important, Ali. Please listen. My General won’t take betrayal lightly. He’ll find his revenge if you lie to him tonight, if you reveal these later and shame him before the North. He doesn’t give second chances.” Athan swallows. “You have only one chance. Do you understand what I’m saying?”

  I do understand. It’s fear I hear in Athan’s voice now. I’m playing with a man—a warrior—who knows how to protect himself, who built his own nation from nothing. He won’t let me play him, not with so much at stake. If I go ahead with this move, I’ll be bound to it forever, and the children killed in the mud will be forgotten.

  “Tell me, Lieutenant, how much trouble will you get in for this?”

  He takes my hand. “We’re long past that point, Princess.”

  His sacrifice sharpens my resolve, dissolving doubt. He’s given up too much already. “Then I have to help my mother first,” I say, not wavering from his solemn gaze. “The children must wait. How can I stand by and watch my own family burn? I can’t.”

  He nods. A lonely smile plays on his lips. “You can’t.”

  It’s only a moment that passes between us, alone in the emptiness of Lark’s room, holding this darkness together, but it makes me love him. I don’t know exactly what love is, but I believe it must feel very much like this. He won’t turn back now. He’s with me to the end of this night.

  He stalks towards the window, peering outside carefully. He listens. “There’s still gunfire at the gates. I’m not taking you into a battle.”

  “But if the General is in the throne room, we need to get to him. We need to—”

  Athan returns to my side. “Not yet. I want to be sure the palace is settled, under our control. Those men in th
e streets…”

  He doesn’t have to finish that. He said it earlier. They want my neck. A fragment of my own people, convinced we’re liars and murderers. Would they shoot open my chest as they did the guard’s? Or would these rough men simply put a rope round my neck?

  It feels suddenly very alone here, all kinds of horrors beyond these walls, and in this room, I have only him.

  Only us.

  And in some mad way, that seems written in the stars.

  I grip his neck, his familiar, safe warmth. “Kiss me. Properly, this time.”

  He looks startled.

  “Hurry!” I whisper desperately, willingly, and he does.

  At last.

  Those perfect lips on mine. Gentle and hungry. We both smell like smoke and woods, his hands touching me like he’ll never get the chance again—in my hair, along my neck, following the curve of my ribs beneath the Safire wool. I want more. I want everything, and I don’t even stop to think if I’m doing it right. None of it matters. Only his mouth moving with mine, gaining confidence.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispers beneath my ear, his lips kissing me there, kissing my neck.

  You have nothing to apologize for, I want to say, and I could cry at the regret aching behind his touch, like he knows it should be better than this, yet we’re here.

  This is all we have.

  Then his hand moves down my hip and I pull away. I’m afraid he’ll feel Cyar’s pistol in the pocket.

  He accepts the retreat, bringing his warm hands back to my face. “Don’t ever forget this. Don’t ever forget what’s ours.”

  I shake my head. I trace his lips with a finger. “I never could.”

  We wait, and he whispers his mouth against mine once more, tasting, learning, and eventually the gunfire lessens, fading.

  I don’t want to leave this moment. I don’t want to ever move again if it means a step away from him.

  But we look at each other and know this is where we make our gamble. I turn to the desk to retrieve our evidence. I grasp for whatever of my mother is in me. I call upon the girl inside of me who refuses to wait for fate.

  “Drop the photographs,” a voice growls softly, and I freeze.

  Lark.

  37

  ATHAN

  Father’s Southern man steps through the door, a dangerous look on his face, and I don’t think.

  Not that I’ve done much of that tonight.

  I swing my pistol at him and consider just pulling the trigger, no questions asked. I don’t care if he’s bought by Father. I don’t care if he’s on our side. My only thought now is for her. That’s it.

  And I will shoot him.

  “Get out of our way,” I order. “We’re going to the General.”

  If he has any kind of sense, he’ll take the hint.

  But he doesn’t, and his gaze shifts from me to Ali. “What are you doing?” he asks her, and the danger on his face transforms to something like betrayal.

  She holds the photographs close. “Saving Etania.”

  “With something that belongs to me, Cousin?”

  “They don’t belong to you,” she says firmly. “They belong to the ones who were murdered.”

  “And are you helping the children or yourself?” He strides to her side, and my brain is too busy processing the word cousin for me to realize what he’s doing. He snatches her to his chest, gun at her head. “Please, Lieutenant. Drop the weapon.”

  “Lark, stop it,” she says, struggling against his grip. “You’re mad! This isn’t the Lieutenant’s fault!”

  Lark looks faintly amused. “Isn’t it?”

  “He’s helping me here, Lark. We’re going to make sure the world knows what happened in Beraya. We’re going to expose the General’s son for the criminal he is.”

  I have to admit, she lies really well.

  But Lark holds her tight. “I think, Cousin, you overestimate Safire promises. Now put the gun down, Lieutenant. I will shoot her. Blood or not, I’ll do it.”

  “He’s bluffing,” Ali tells me fiercely.

  But I know he isn’t. He’s with Father, and I have no choice. I set my pistol on the floor, hands raised. Then I kick it out of reach.

  Lark nods, pushing Ali from him. He motions for the photographs. She’s about to protest, then sees Lark’s gun now on my head. An easy shot. Trapped as well, she surrenders them, and with it our one chance of ending this nightmare.

  “You can go now,” I tell Lark. “You have what you want.”

  “I’m not sure that I do,” he replies, gun still trained on me.

  My hands are raised. “You’re not going to shoot me.”

  He won’t. He can’t. If Father’s truly allied with the Nahir, shooting me would only put the whole thing in flames, and right now both sides have something the other wants. They give us victory—against Sinora, against the South. We give them freedom. Both get something greater than they’d secure on their own.

  Lark fidgets on the gun, his eyes narrowed. “Wouldn’t I shoot you? There are some who believe the General will save us in the South, but I think that’s a fool’s wish. I think we’ve been fed yet another lie from one who wants only to gain for himself. Just like every other Northerner who has come before.”

  My hands falter slightly and raw fear crawls along my spine. This isn’t a dogfight. I can’t spin from one moment to the next. I can only stand here, staring into that hateful gaze and see all my father’s plans burning to nothing with one traitorous Southern gun pointed at my head. And I’m the one who’ll take the shot.

  There’s nowhere to run, not anymore.

  “You don’t want that,” I say. “You will regret it.”

  “I won’t.” His finger fidgets to the trigger.

  “Do not—”

  He takes a step for me. “I don’t give a damn about you! Your kind always—”

  A crack shatters the air.

  It hits my ears, too close, obliterating all sound, and I expect pain. The scorching pain of a bullet in my stomach. Blistering darkness. But nothing happens. I open my eyes and find Lark twisting on the floor before me. Red spurts from his neck in little gasps.

  I turn.

  Ali’s beside me, a pistol clutched in her hands and still pointed at the air where Lark was standing.

  What the hell?

  She’s pale as her muddy gown, shaking, and I’m about to reach for her when she falls to her knees and scrambles on all fours for the one she just shot. She crouches over him, her hands hovering above his neck like she might try to staunch the blood herself. Her mouth makes tiny sounds. I realize she’s apologizing under her breath. Over and over and over, like a prayer.

  Boots near in the adjacent room, a silhouette appearing in the doorway.

  Havis stares at us.

  He absorbs the scene, stunned—Ali on her knees with a pistol, Lark writhing and gurgling on the floor, me useless in the middle. Then his horrified face darkens and he shakes his head. “You’re going to start a goddamn war, girl!”

  “I didn’t mean…,” she whispers, her hands trying to comfort Lark now, a futile effort.

  The endless gurgling continues.

  Havis pulls out his own sidearm. “I know, but you can’t take it back. If he speaks of this, we’re all dead, do you understand?”

  She nods, more a knee-jerk reaction.

  “Step away, Aurelia.”

  She doesn’t move, and he glances at me. I reach for her hesitantly, drawing her up to her feet, and she reluctantly allows it.

  Havis holds the pistol to Lark’s temple and fires. There’s a spray of blood and brain. Lark stills, a river of red around him, dark as oil in the night. I’ve been here before and I hate it. I hate how easy it is to extinguish life. How meaningless and cold.

  But the strangled noise at my side reminds me she hasn’t been here before. I hold her closer, but she hardly notices. I know the feeling. I lived it this summer, in the shadows of the airbase, but I had silence to process. She has only
this fiery night, and I whisper into her hair, “You did what you had to.”

  Because I know she needs to hear it the way I did.

  For some reason, it sounds hollow saying it to another person.

  Havis watches us silently. Then he shakes his head again and waves us to follow. “You don’t ever speak of what’s happened here. We’ll say it was suicide.”

  “He was shot in the neck,” I point out.

  Havis is in front of me with two long strides. “I said you don’t ever speak of what’s happened here, Lieutenant. To anyone. And I mean that. I don’t think my king would appreciate hearing the Princess of Etania murdered one of our own.”

  Ali holds my arm, still shaking—or maybe it’s me.

  “You wouldn’t do that to her,” I say, but I’m beginning to doubt all these things I thought were certainties. This night has changed everything.

  “Wouldn’t I?” Havis smiles coldly, then glances at Ali. “And you, Princess?”

  She looks up at him, pale and furious. “You are a snake.”

  “Good,” Havis says. “Now let’s get out of here. Things are not going well for the Queen. I assume you have an aeroplane somewhere, Lieutenant?”

  This man makes no sense to me. The entire place is under siege and he wants the three of us to run for the hills together? If Father finds out … Wait, unless Father arranged this? I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m not even sure how that would work, but Ali decides for me.

  “We’re going to the General,” she says, chin rising. “I’m not leaving my mother behind.”

  “It’s too late for her, Aurelia. The General is preparing to make his broadcast to the kingdom, assuming emergency powers until this is solved. Come now and at least you’ll have your lieutenant to keep you safe. Let the dust settle.”

  “No!” Her voice snaps hotly. “I’m saving my mother. Tell her that, Havis. Tell her I’m safe and I’m coming.”