Dark of the West (Glass Alliance)

by Joanna Hathaway

  “You’ll never make it to the General!”

  “She will,” I say.

  “Lieutenant,” Havis begins. “You can’t—”

  Ali grabs the photographs and we sprint for the hall, always running, leaving Havis behind with Lark’s mangled corpse. Father’s in the throne room. We have to get there—and fast. The halls are silent tombs, an orange colour still faint beyond the windows. No gunfire. I hope to God Arrin has settled the rioters. For once, I want him to be right so this war doesn’t have to spread.

  We turn a corner and run right into an entire flood of Etanian uniforms.

  Two dozen of them.

  I freeze, as does Ali, and her hand tightens on mine, ready to run. Then the Prince pushes through them.

  “Reni!” she cries, abandoning my side and throwing her arms around her brother’s neck.

  The armed royal guards stare me down like a viper that might slither off with the slightest movement. I’m not sure if I should raise my hands.

  Did we just lose somehow?

  Then I spot Lord Jerig staring at me, white-faced, and I see his weak betrayal. The Prince has won him over. Our bought traitor has been bought right back.

  “Stars, Reni, what’s happening to us?” Ali asks.

  “It’s a mess,” he replies. “A rotten mess. They’ve revolted in three cities, and a thousand men came marching from Hathene alone. Armed to the teeth. I don’t know how they could have rallied such a force.”

  He doesn’t know, but it suddenly makes perfect sense to me. Father’s vintage weapons bound for the Queen’s Mounted Regiment. A traditional gift, as Kalt said. Generous. Expected. But I saw them being loaded in Norvenne. There were enough crates there for a sufficient amount to go “missing,” numbers erased, rewritten, the rest disappearing to be repainted, refurbished, and stripped of Safire design. Ready for these men to march on the palace, not with fancy machine guns, but with exactly what everyone would expect from a home-grown militia.

  It’s clever.

  Arrin clever.

  “But I have the Air Force,” the Prince continues. “Colonel Lyle has mediated with 3rd Squadron outside the city. We’re going to order the Safire planes down and get our sky back.”

  “Can anyone help us?” Ali asks.

  “Lyle tried to radio Classit straightaway. They’re closest to assist, but they refused the requests. Said we should let the experienced General deal with this.” He sounds thoroughly hateful.

  So Father’s visit to that neighbouring kingdom paid off. I wonder what he gave them for the loyalty. Or maybe they really believe the myths about him? No bribery required. Whatever the case, it’s left Etania and its outdated planes alone in a sky against Safire. One word from Arrin and this will be over.

  “The truth is getting out, Ali,” the Prince continues. “Uncle and Lyle have also gone to the army. They’re loyal, I know it. He’ll have them deal with the ones in the city. And I’m bringing my guard to the General. We’ll stop him before he addresses our kingdom.”

  “You won’t convince my General with that,” I say. “They’ll hold you to trial, just like your mother.”

  The Prince scowls. “Do not dissuade me from this. I see through your lies.”

  “I’m not lying, Your Highness. You’re the son of a woman now accused of murder.”

  The Prince looks at me fiercely. “I am a king, Lieutenant, and I will bring an entire kingdom. I will bring the rest of the Heights!”

  A king.

  If I’m stunned, Ali is even more so. “What are you doing?” she whispers fearfully.

  His face is elegant iron, his hands wrapped gently around hers. “I’m doing what I must, Ali. It’s time, at last, for me to rule.”

  God, this little faction of Etanian men is declaring him their new leader. Just like that. In the middle of a coup against his own mother. I don’t know how royal politics work, but this seems more like something we Safire would do, not a proper Northern prince. Maybe I really have underestimated him. But still, he’s wildly outnumbered. If Father’s about to make his own address, then he’ll be quick to muddy the waters with half truths and bold lies, putting the Prince and Sinora in the worst light, and all he needs is a wireless radio and some airtime. He’d have everyone in the Heights convinced the whole family is in on the murder cover-up.

  Trying to stay a step ahead, I leap through the possibilities as fast as I can. If Arrin is still suppressing the rioters, then we have a chance. Father cares about appearances. He’ll listen to what Ali says, as dangerous as that is. But Arrin? Never. He’ll take one look at her photographs—and his guilt—and order the Safire planes to attack. I’m certain of it. He’d rather take everything out at once than play politics. He’ll come up with his reasons later.

  And if the Prince already has his factions on the move, then we’re running out of time.

  Once again, though, Ali beats me to it. “You can’t take the risk, Reni. If you’re our leader now, then the people need to see you.” She steps away. “I’m going to reason with the General. I can get him to speak on our behalf.”

  Now it’s the Prince’s turn to look stunned. “You’re going to what?”

  “I have a way and you have to let me go.”

  He looks about to protest, but she throws her arms around his neck again, whispering something in his ear.

  He pales, visibly, eyes flickering to me.

  “No, Ali, you can’t be—”

  But she’s already away from him, grabbing my hand and dragging me down the hall in the other direction. I don’t need to be convinced. We sprint side by side, the final stretch. The nearer we get to the throne room, the more Safire uniforms appear. They’re all gaping at me but I plough right through them. No time. Two of Father’s officers try to step in front of me before the large doors. They look angry.

  “Lieutenant, you need to stop—”

  “Get the hell off,” I say in Savien.

  This might mean a firing squad later, but I’m still hoping I can redeem myself.

  I drag Ali past them, flinging open the doors and throwing us through them in front of the startled expressions of Father’s men. But there’s no sign of him.

  Only Arrin.

  All hope and colour drains from my face. I’ve run her right into the lion’s den and there’s nothing I can do.

  I let go of her hand helplessly, retreating as she strides forward.

  Uncomfortable silence reigns in the darkened room. The velvet curtains are drawn tight, routine protection from snipers, and everyone stares at Ali, trying to register where she’s come from.

  Then Arrin grins. His casual grin that’s all danger on the inside.

  “Princess,” he says, eyeing her up and down. The ruined dress. Cyar’s crumpled jacket. “Have you been running around outside?” Then his eyes jump to me. “Wait a minute. Don’t tell me. Is this Lieutenant Erelis? The one who frightened the balcony of royalty?”

  “It doesn’t matter what’s happened to me,” she says, chin raised in her usual show of force. “There isn’t time. Right now, you must let my mother speak to the kingdom. She had nothing to do with my father’s death.”

  I’m impressed she’s still going to try her scheme on Arrin. It will never work, but she’s not afraid to try. Guilt works at my stomach. I could speak up and defend her. A no-name lieutenant can’t mouth off to the Commander, but his little brother can. And I want to. How I want to give him a piece of my mind for all of this! But then she’d know the truth, and this is the worst time and place to hear it.

  I’d lose her forever.

  So I stay behind and pray Father shows up fast.

  Arrin meanders over to her, a hint of concern on his face. “You think so? You think it’s coincidence that a king was murdered and a Southern woman now conveniently sits on a Northern throne? I’m not sure, Princess. I don’t think it looks very good.”

  “And don’t you think these protesters know that also?” she replies. “We’ve been set up
. They want to tear Etania apart for their own gain. It’s obvious.”

  “Well, it might have been obvious if Resya wasn’t now also accused of aiding the Nahir.”

  Ali tenses at that. I can see her hands tighten on the envelope. “Those are lies. There is no proof, and most of our kingdom is still loyal to my mother. You’ll see.”

  “I will see, yes, but first what is that?”

  His hand whips for the envelope, no doubt having zeroed in on it right from the first moment, but she’s even quicker. I don’t know how she saw it coming, but it’s already behind her back. “Photographs,” she says calmly, looking up at him.

  The false humour on Arrin’s lips fades. “I hope it’s a portrait of you,” he says. “I’m sure the Lieutenant would love to carry it into battle.”

  “Of your crime,” she declares. “And if your General doesn’t release my mother and speak on her behalf, everyone will see them. I’ve already sent the other photographs with a trusted ally. Take these if you like, but the evidence will get to the Royal League. I’ll make sure of it.”

  It’s another bold lie, but she sells it too well.

  “I told you before,” Arrin says to her, voice dangerously low. “I didn’t do this.”

  She reveals one photograph. “Were you not in Beraya, quelling the revolt there?”

  “Yes. But I didn’t do that.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. Whether it was you or whether you were complicit with the ones who did, I’m sure the murder of prisoners—and children, at that—is something the League would like to be informed of. There are already enough rumours about your campaign in Karkev as it is.”

  Arrin sucks in a breath and turns from her. From him, that’s restraint. But I don’t trust it.

  Speak, you coward, my bit of conscience says, but I can’t.

  Not like this.

  “Princess, you have nothing to go on but hearsay. It’s my honour at stake. I’m the one you will blackmark for all of history, whatever the truth may be. Do you think that’s fair?”

  She doesn’t look away. “You needn’t worry. God favours the innocent, doesn’t he?”

  He reaches for his pistol and turns on her. “You damned little—”

  “Arrin, step back!”

  Father’s cold voice whips like a leash as he strides into the room.

  Arrin’s hand is still on the sidearm, but he steps back from Ali.

  This is progress. Now I just need to stay alive long enough to explain it all to Father. He wouldn’t put a bullet in me, not in front of everyone. But Arrin might, and he’s glaring at me now like the thought’s definitely in his head.

  Father walks to Ali without hurry. “You’re sweet to care so much for the Southern children, Your Highness.” It’s the tone he saves for the public. Calm. Gracious. “Now how do you want this to go? You know I’m only trying to protect your kingdom from revolt. Such unrest must be dealt with decisively.”

  This fatherly angle—like none of this was his idea and he’s only assuming the role forced onto his shoulders—works. Ali relaxes, lowering the photographs. “I know,” she says, equally gracious. “And we’re so grateful you’ve secured the palace. You’ve saved us tonight from these vile men. But I swear to you that my mother is innocent. She lives only for Etania, for the kingdom of my father.”

  Father cocks his head. “May I talk plainly, Princess?”

  She nods.

  “I wonder,” he says, “if you might be blinded by your affection? That’s understandable, of course. We would all believe the same in your position.” He gestures at the men around. “But honesty is the only thing that can quell the storm tonight. All cards on the table so that an understanding may be reached.”

  “An understanding?” she repeats.

  “Yes. No one wants your mother slandered, Princess, I assure you. Dangerous men can persuade even the most noble into terrible things. And that isn’t the fault of the noble ones, but of the dangerous men.” He pauses. “I think we all know the Resyan king has put quite a lot of pressure on her lately. With his ambassador … Ambassador Havis, I believe?”

  It’s a cruel trap, an invitation to innocently implicate her mother by placing the blame on someone else, but she shakes her head. “He has tried, but she refuses. She wants nothing to do with Resya.”

  “You know all your mother’s private dealings, then?”

  “I know enough. And she is innocent.” Ali’s dark hair has escaped its elaborate style, strands sticking this way and that. She’s a mess. Torn lace and wearing a jacket too big for her shoulders, dried blood splattered all over. A miserable, muddied star fallen in disgrace. “Now let me say plainly, General, if you do not release my mother and speak on her behalf, the entire world will know what your son did to the unarmed boys of Beraya.”

  She’s glorious.

  The whole room waits for Father’s reaction, his men shifting in their boots, sharp glances filled with nerves.

  This is the precipice, and I’m ready to throw myself in front of her. Beg him, as his son, not to hurt her. Destroy Sinora, but never Ali. Shoot me, even. I’m the worst traitor in this room. I let her kiss me when I knew her world was ending. When I knew my brother wouldn’t hesitate to pull a gun on her.

  I’m the worst, but I will fight.

  But then a small smile appears on Father’s face. “Persuasive, even without the blackmail.” He waves to one of his men. “Bring Her Majesty. Perhaps together we can make our address and right this night.”

  His attaché nods, disappearing into the hall.

  “You have protected our home and done us a great service,” Ali says to Father, playing beautifully, putting him in the best light, “and you will see the truth.”

  “I do hope so,” he replies.

  Then he looks right at me. Wordless. Razor-sharp.

  I want to disappear.

  “It’s not his fault,” Ali says quickly. Father turns back to her. “The Lieutenant,” she explains, gesturing at me. “He didn’t know I had these. I said I needed to speak with you, that’s all. I ordered him to it.”

  Father smiles again. “Of course. My soldiers are bred to follow the orders of the higher rank, even those from a girl.”

  Arrin smirks darkly at me and kisses his pistol before holstering it.

  Father’s attaché creeps back through the door almost as quickly as he left.

  “Yes?” Father demands.

  “The cities have been dealt with, sir. Our planes are returning.”

  “Returning?”

  “The Etanians have taken the sky. And the Lalian Air Force is patrolling the eastern region, settling the city there.”

  There’s a stir, everyone trying to figure out the change in events, and Father narrows his eyes. “On whose order?”

  The man swallows. “The Prince’s order.”

  Everyone stares.

  “He issued a wireless address to Etania and the surrounding Heights,” the man explains nervously. “Every kingdom except Classit has responded. He’s already made arrests.”

  Father’s frown turns to vague darkness. I’m sure he thought the Prince was locked tight with Sinora. We both underestimated him.

  Then it dawns on me.

  I look at Ali and find her wearing an almost invisible smile. Her whisper in her brother’s ear. She stalled for enough time with the photographs, luring Father here, away from his emergency address of lies, and her brother went and took the kingdom back from us.

  I stand, exhausted by shame, and think the Isendare siblings might be better at this than we Dakars.

  38

  ATHAN

  When the Prince arrives, he’s greeted like a damn hero. The plain brown and green costume he wears looks like something anointed, like he’s made of this mountain earth, the son of his father, wooing his kingdom with a single speech and saving his own mother from a wrongful coup. He strides the room, giving orders, patting shoulders, and the Etanian men no longer offer him simple obedience.
They offer him admiration. True and pure.

  Respect has a tangible quality, but so does anger, and I can feel that as well, radiating from Father and cinching my neck.

  It’s Sinora Lehzar who gives him the perfect punishment.

  She arrives in a show of trembling gratitude, embracing Ali tightly, thanking Father, praising her son. She plays the fragile flower, only a woman and mother.

  How could she ever breathe a dark word?

  “The Lieutenant saved me,” Ali explains, grateful weariness in her voice, as if to reassure Sinora, though it certainly has the opposite effect. Ali also leaves out anything to do with the photographs, the blackmail, the death of Lark.

  She plays the fragile flower, too.

  “Ah, Lieutenant,” Sinora says to me, sighing over my title. “You bring honour to your mother.” I bite the inside of my cheek to keep from glaring, from playing any less than her. “Now, Captain,” she continues, motioning at a uniformed Etanian man, “escort my daughter to her room. I want three of your men outside her door the rest of the night.”

  Sorrow graces Ali’s face. The realization that this is our goodbye, here and now.

  She comes near, offering me Cyar’s jacket, the edge of the pistol glinting from the pocket. “Thank you,” she says, and her voice is so perfect in its aching love, such a mirror of the thing I hold inside, that I want to kiss her again. I would, if it wouldn’t sign me a death warrant—from both Father and Sinora.

  But Ali is braver than me. Her arms are suddenly around me, boldly, all of her nestled against my chest, and I feel her lips against my neck. It’s brief and secret, burning like wildfire.

  A promise for me alone.

  Then she’s away from me and following her captain out the wide doors.

  Sinora watches me with a neutral gaze, less warm than a moment earlier. But she smiles. A flowering smile of polite interest. “General, might I have a private word with your lieutenant? I wish to properly thank him for saving my daughter.”

  I don’t think he’ll say yes. He’s furious with me, true, but if someone is going to kill me, I think he’d rather it was him.

  For practical reasons. Diplomatic ones.