Storm from the East

by Joanna Hathaway

  Now I’m shocked. Five minutes ago, he said Leannya was the only one who wasn’t a disappointment. This has to be a game somehow, the bullet about to come, but I can’t see it, and the terror of that blindness makes me panic. I don’t know what move to make next.

  His gaze eases slightly, as if he senses my paralyzed bewilderment. “You don’t need to be afraid of me, son. Simply do the right thing and you’ll be fine. You’re enough.”

  You’re enough.

  He thinks this is what I want—his earned respect, a squadron of my own—but I’m suddenly seeing Ali on that citadel tower again, free beneath the wild sky, so far from this exhausting game, and maybe what I want and what I need are two different things entirely. His respect is a sentence worse than death. It’s the thing I’ve always fought for, willingly or unwillingly, and now that I have it, I’m only further from the place I actually need to be.

  “It’s his star, not yours, and with him you’ll always be the dog.”

  Sinora’s voice rings in my head, unexpected, as I look at my father.

  “Tonight,” he finishes, “you’ll come to the victory gala at the palace. Sinora has arrived, and I wouldn’t be surprised if a few old grudges come back to haunt her.” Dark amusement tightens his voice. “The Nahir’s favourite daughter. Returned at last. And you keep an eye on the girl. I want to know what they’re planning.”

  “Will you be a dog?” Sinora’s voice asks me again. “Will you follow the whistle like your brother?”

  Now’s the time to find out.

  41

  AURELIA

  Rahian’s Palace

  Rahian’s home has transformed to another world in my absence. It feels like a palace again, the affluent aristocracy with no appetite for war having returned at last. The corridors glitter and swirl, though it’s certainly by demand, a royal court occupied by Safire uniforms. The stiff smiles of the footmen betray this truth, the way they speak too graciously to each foreign officer, the way the courtiers move as if by rote, forced to resume a rhythm that’s lost its center—Rahian.

  “He’s fine,” Havis tells me as we step through the tense halls, on our way to my mother. “Still under guard in his wing. The League won’t allow him to be held for long.”

  We pass Tirza, and she looks relieved to see me, an urgent question in her eyes.

  I nod at her, a silent message that we’ll talk later.

  Mother’s waiting in the guest quarters that were previously mine. She gazes out the wide window at Madelan, not speaking as we enter—nor even turning to acknowledge our arrival. The room is filled with her. Jasmine and quiet strength. The coiling, waiting patience of a cat, and I sense her anger. Her disappointment.

  Today, mine rivals hers.

  “Your Majesty,” Havis begins, “might I—?”

  “Leave.” Her low voice is a command. “Now.”

  He doesn’t question it, a bit startled—perhaps even afraid—and gives me a look which might be apologetic, might be warning, then retreats from the room.

  I’m alone to face my sentencing.

  A thousand questions.

  A thousand lies.

  Sunshine shifts on the floor with the palm leaves outside, scattered patterns, and then she turns. Her furious face is fractured by pain. She’s holding one of my pamphlets, sharp disbelief in her gaze. “A mountain you cannot pass? Such pretty words for this nightmare! And now you’ve forced my hand, brought me here. Are you pleased with yourself?”

  The light is luminous on her skin, the dark loops of her hair unbound. Her cheeks are stirred alive already, as if all of her has been longing for this hot sky and fragrant air. If Seath is the shadowed moon, then she’s the bright sun, and I try to imagine them as children. I wonder if they played together, laughed together. Where did it all go from there? How did they end up in such opposite skies?

  “Don’t I deserve an answer?” she repeats.

  Lies.

  I want to lie, too, to make us even, but there’s no time. “You betrayed your own heart,” I tell her, emotion rising. “You left this world behind and never glanced back. Now look at it. Look at what you let happen.”

  Her eyes narrow. She stalks towards me. “How many ways must you defy me?” she demands, ignoring my words entirely. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done in coming here? Putting yourself in danger? You’re asking me to ruin myself for you, and I will. Stars, my darling, I will. I’ll fall on my own sword to see you safe. But fight to protect the greed of men? To destroy the innocent along with the guilty? No! I don’t raise my gun any longer.”

  She’s practically confessed her past to me now.

  My gun.

  I glare at her. “I’m not talking about the greed of kings, Mother. I’m talking about the Rummhazi people—your people. All of the ones left to suffer beneath boots because you kept yourself safe in the North. Because you refused to stand up to your own brother.”

  There’s nothing on her face now, no emotion.

  She simply stares.

  “You lied to me,” I accuse, tears threatening. “To Reni. To Etania. Even to Father.”

  “And would you lie to me?” she rejoins.

  “No.”

  “Then you didn’t see that boy here? The Lieutenant?”

  “I did,” I reply defiantly. “And I know the damn truth. I know who he is, everything between you and the General, and still I shared my bed with him.”

  It didn’t quite happen in that order, and I hardly know anything about her and Dakar. But I don’t care. I simply want her to feel true betrayal, to know the depth of my rebellion, and her hand raises. It trembles, as if she’ll slap the very words from my lips. But she pulls me into an embrace instead, speaking softly in a language I don’t know, and I’m afraid of everything—afraid of who she is and who I am. Afraid of this darkness in me that I never asked for. Now I know why I killed Lark. Why no matter how badly I try to do good, I still end up feeling this fierce desire to wound her and Athan, to wound everyone deeper and further than they’ve wounded me.

  This blood in me is wicked.

  “How could you do this to me?” she asks into my hair.

  “I’m not ashamed,” I whisper in reply, because that alone is true. Her dark history is hers, not mine, never. “But I am angry, Mother. I’m so angry I think I might hate his very heartbeat. I hate him more than I’ve ever imagined hating anyone in this world.”

  The hurt gasps to life again, remembering his tender hands on me. His perfect kiss. I realize how easy it is to suddenly despise something so wonderful, how complicated hatred is after living only a few hours with it.

  A wound left to sour.

  Confusing and maddening.

  “No,” Mother says eventually, still holding me. “You have no bones of hatred in you. Not like I once did.”

  Her words make me cry. At last. Weeks of unshed grief and hot tears trail my cheeks, long buried inside, stifled by necessity. I want her to be a safe place. I want her to make sense of me. I don’t want to be angry and fearful, wielding my scars like a weapon. I don’t want to be like them. All I’ve ever wanted is to be better, to do better, and I thought Athan wanted the same.

  I thought we were more.

  “I’ve never wanted you to walk the same path as me,” she says quietly. “I thought I could protect you from it. But now I see the truth—you’ll never learn until you’ve been there yourself. Until you come out the other side, fighting for all you’re worth, and yet people still die. Still the world spins on and no one cares that you’ve been utterly spent, that your heart is dead within you. You fight and you destroy and it gives you nothing but regret in return.” She pushes back, facing me fully. Jewels hang from her ears and dangle round her neck and glimmer in her eyes—tears. “And then you’ll see, my star, that all you have left is love. All you can do is fight for the precious ones closest to you. That’s all that matters in the end. The only thing worth going to a grave for.”

  I almost nod, for her
sake.

  But I don’t.

  Because that’s not the only thing that matters—it simply isn’t.

  “Where’s Havis?” I ask instead, wiping the wet from my cheeks, because surely he’ll know what to do. How to keep all the fists from flying at once, Seath and the Safire and everyone else, while we figure out what’s supposed to come next.

  But Mother’s smile is an empty one. “Havis is gone, Aurelia. When I said leave, I meant leave, and he must disappear now or face the General’s gun. It’s only you and I here—and we are alone.”

  42

  ATHAN

  Rahian’s Palace

  The fancy palace is radiant in the muggy evening, laughter-infused, but it feels more like forcing someone to smile while your boot is on their neck. Officially, Father’s calling the victory gala a “reconciliation reception.” A chance to prove that with Rahian removed, peace and normalcy is indeed possible for Resya. The elite of Madelan have returned in the days since the truce, restoring some nobility to this city on its knees, and they appear relieved the worst is over. They like the profitable idea of reconciliation.

  They have no clue what that will look like once my father starts rooting in every corner of this kingdom for Nahir sympathizers. They don’t know what measures he’ll take to purge this new realm he controls. Two months ago, our victory would have been good for the whole South—Seath and my father kicking out the last remnants of royalty, and all these nations one step closer to true independence.

  But Seath has reneged.

  And now my father is angry.

  Resya will be the first to suffer that development, and I wrestle down the itching dread inside me, because I know exactly how dangerous General Dakar is when betrayed. Everyone had better cooperate—and keep it that way. And if the Nahir are wise, they’ll have already gotten the hell out of Resya and run back for Thurn. The ones who are stupid enough to actually stay behind … Well, I can’t say they won’t have it coming.

  “Looking for someone?” Cyar asks as we enter the ballroom, his voice far from impressed.

  I’m already trying to scope out Ali. We’re both in full uniform, embellished with badges, buttons. They even gave us caps this time, which is either a suggestion of imminent promotion or just to make sure we’re all sufficiently intimidating to everyone present.

  His tone annoys me. “So what if I am?”

  “You need to stop, Athan. You’re damn lucky Garrick covered for you, because if anyone finds out where you were, you’re going to—”

  “I don’t need your lectures,” I snap, feeling a headache coming on.

  Garrick wouldn’t have had to cover for me if Cyar hadn’t told him the truth.

  “No, you do need them,” he pushes back. “You live in your head and barrel-roll through reality, just barely managing to hold the two in check. I’m not going to let you do this to yourself—or to her.”

  “We spent the night together.”

  It comes out the way my confessions with Cyar usually do. All at once, bracing for impact, and his face is at first shocked, then horrified beneath the glittering chandeliers.

  “Damn it, Athan,” he breathes.

  “What?”

  “She doesn’t even know who you are!”

  Trust Cyar to skip the interesting parts and get straight to the shame. “She knows me better than most people,” I protest. “Excluding yourself, of course.”

  “Damn you,” he repeats, sharper. “You’re a selfish bastard. Just like your brother.”

  That wounds. And he knows it.

  “You sound jealous, Hajari,” I retaliate.

  “You’re going to make it about that?”

  “Not like you’ve done it.”

  “Because I want something to look forward to when this is over.”

  “Really?” I laugh. “Then you’ll die like this. Those are the odds, stacked quite firmly against you.”

  It’s the quickest way to victory. A firing of both cannons, and his anger dies, raw hurt on his face. I immediately want to grab the words back. Did I actually just use his honour against him like a weapon? It’s the way he wants to live, and he’s never forced me to do the same. He’s only pointing out the ugly can of worms that I’m too much of a selfish ass to deal with. Ali should have at least known who she was kissing.

  I hate this.

  We’re saying things we’d never have said before this stupid war.

  “Maybe I will die like this,” he says eventually, “but I’ll have no regrets. Minah and I have been friends since we were kids, and we know each other inside and out. All those summers at home. We have a life together. What do you have? I mean, really have? Two weeks in Etania? Five days here? Ali doesn’t even know your name. Not even your name, Athan.”

  His speech breaches the grief inside me.

  His own deadly salvo that disintegrates my resolve.

  “And what would you do?” I beg. “If your father was trying to kill Minah’s mother? What then? What the hell would you do?”

  “I wouldn’t let it get to this.”

  “Then tell me what you’d do! I’ll do whatever you say. You know I would.”

  It’s the best apology I can give him. It’s the truth. But before he can reply, there’s a fresh stir in the room, a hush settling and violins fading. At the top of the grand staircase, a queen of the North stands—draped in bronze and red, her pearls abandoned for ruby and sapphire, her black hair studded with gold. A miniature stands beside her. The perfect reflection of Resyan resilience.

  Sinora and Ali walk towards my father, side by side.

  “I don’t have an answer,” Cyar admits finally.

  I don’t blame him. There aren’t any good answers, not for this impossible knot of a thing that’s my life. I simply have to do better. I have to make this right.

  I begin angling closer to Ali, determined to figure out my next steps on the way, and Cyar retreats to the table of food, where Trigg’s already shoving down cocktails. No one cares about me as I push through the crowd. I’m only another Safire uniform in this strange mix, and their eyes are on the Northern royalty who have come to speak on Resya’s behalf. Unfortunately, the Northerners hardly look Northern, and Father smiles at the sight, like Sinora’s dressed herself up in a white flag of surrender.

  They exchange their charming, deceptive pleasantries, as if Sinora’s happy to be here and Father’s grateful to see her, circling barbed discussions of who will occupy Resya and how the balance of power will progress with the defeated Resyan forces.

  “It’s very well done, General,” she finishes with a false smile. “You have yourself a base in Thurn, and now an entire Southern kingdom. Do the men of the North applaud your march? Are they well pleased with your remarkable rise?”

  If she’s suggesting they aren’t, she’s bolder than I expect.

  “I’m changing the world,” Father replies simply, offering his arm. She takes it. A wolf and si’yah cat courting for show. “Everyone will reap the rewards.”

  I don’t know why, but I push myself right in front of them.

  I need to make sure Ali sees me.

  Father’s glare is subtle, but Sinora’s lips finally upturn. She takes in my full uniform. The new cap on my head. “Ah, a captain now, little fox?”

  Before I can answer, an icier voice intervenes on my behalf. “No,” Ali says, at Sinora’s side. “Only a lieutenant.”

  Her words are a cold insult, then she looks away like I’m not worth anyone’s time with that humble rank. Father’s glance at me is an order to get the hell out of the way. I obey, and they move on, Ali following, forgetting me behind.

  I don’t know what to do.

  I trail them, weaving through the guests, determined for this to end once and for all. I’m going to tell Ali the truth. I try to catch her eye again as Sinora speaks with the beaten Resyan generals, but Ali doesn’t see. Or she pretends not to. The generals perk up at the attention, suddenly looking less like sun-withered gr
ass. They speak in Resyan, a beautiful sound, and Ali’s done up in a wonderful gown of clinging silk, an expanse of her back visible, precious skin because it’s all her.

  God, I want to try last night again.

  I’d be better now.

  Someone tugs at my arm, vanquishing those humiliating thoughts. I find a girl behind me with a curious smile and black curls. Her dress is simple, probably a maid, but her amber-eyed gaze seems oddly familiar—some distant memory of a memory.

  From Thurn?

  I try to place it as she nods her chin in Ali’s direction. “You?” she asks me in thickly accented Landori. “Princess?”

  The question is muddled. I’m not sure what she’s suggesting, but she’s connected my heartsick stares to Ali. “I need to speak with her,” I say in slow Landori, hoping the girl can catch enough of the words to follow my meaning. “Can you get the Princess?”

  I mime a few actions, and the girl studies me, trying to understand. Then something clicks through the gulf of language. She puts her hand on my arm, nodding solemnly.

  “Thank you,” I say.

  She disappears into the crowd, the same way Sinora and Father went, and I can only wait, listening to the swells of conversation.

  Eventually, the girl reappears with Ali in tow.

  Ali immediately looks betrayed.

  It was definitely a bad idea to send a maid who can’t speak Landori. I’m torn by frustration and guilt, and Ali looks like she might slice me open with her clawlike gaze. She’s clearly upset for some reason. How do I even begin this already miserable conversation?

  The girl smiles at us. “The two of you have a seat,” she says in polite, flawless Landori, gesturing at a nearby table. “I won’t intrude.”

  I stare at her. “You speak—?”

  But she’s already gone again, smirking at me like I’m the best game she’s played all night, and Ali’s still glaring. Helpless and aware I’ve just been duped by a maid for no reason, I offer Ali the chair and she takes it with stiff formality. She won’t meet my eye. She studies the flames dancing in the candelabras and I pull off my gloves, rubbing my fingers, then my head.