He doesn’t give us a glance. Too busy whispering a trail of kisses across his girl’s arm. “It’s so cold in Karkev,” he says, lips against her skin. “I’m never warm, not like now. I think I’ll have to take you back with me.”
She giggles. “Whatever you wish, Commander.”
He plunks his cap on her head.
We sit at the table and wait for him to acknowledge us. The meals are served. Eventually, he does. “Littlest brother of mine!” That’s me. “Have a drink—or three!”
“No, just one for him,” Mother says, words unsteady. “Don’t be a poor influence.”
“Mother knows best.” Arrin raises his glass.
Shameless, he turns and gives his brunette a full kiss on the mouth.
“Must you do this at the table?” Mother asks sharply.
“You invited me to sit with you,” he replies, coming up for air.
“Yes, I invited you. Not your friend.”
The girl’s smile disappears. No woman wants to be on the bad side of Lady Dakar.
Kalt silently creates a fortress of vegetables on his plate. Garrick fiddles with the cuff of his uniform, blending into the background. The brunette’s the only one who doesn’t know what to make of it and her red lips press together nervously, cherry red even in the low lights.
“Are you from Valon?” I ask, since someone needs to try.
“Yes.” She brightens. “And you study at the Air Academy?”
So Arrin does talk about me now and again. Or maybe she just recognizes the uniform. Probably that. “One month left to go.”
“You’re very young to be a pilot,” she replies, genuinely sweet, as Leannya said she was. “You must be nervous.” Then she adds, “And you look so very much like your mother.”
“Not really,” I say, acknowledging the first statement, then stop, because it sounds like I’m denying the second. Which is ridiculous. No one could see me next to Mother and not know we’re the same blood and bone. Same fair hair, grey eyes, fine features. Not to mention, a good three inches shorter than both Arrin and Kalt. She used to tell me I’d catch up, but that became wishful thinking about this time last year when I was still barely brushing six feet. I always try to fudge it on physical reports. Who can tell the difference between five-nine and six anyway?
Arrin grins. “Ah, my little brother’s brilliant. He’ll be an ace, flying in the skies so high above the rest of us.” Always such cheerful sarcasm with him. “Not long now until he earns his wings, then it’s off to the war with me and we’ll see how brave he really is.” He tries to top up my glass and I move it out of his reach. “Come on, clever brother. A drink to celebrate your talent.”
“Only if he makes Top Flight,” Garrick says, not sounding very hopeful of my odds. “Seventh place is a lot of ground to make up.”
“Seventh place?” Arrin repeats.
“Yes,” Garrick continues casually. “Major Torhan says he has no instinct in the air.”
I’d like to remove that pleasant, fake smile from his lips. “You have no right to discuss my scores, Captain.”
Garrick shrugs. “It’s only your family. And besides, Top Flight isn’t everything. Transport pilots are vital too.”
Rather disingenuous considering he currently holds the highest record at the Academy and is also wearing two new medals from the front.
Arrin’s still studying me, calculating suspicion in his gaze. The kind that wins him battles. “Athan’s not a damn transport pilot. With a mind like his, he could outfly any plane in the sky.”
“Outthink or outfly?” Garrick asks. “Two different things.”
Yes, it would feel damn good to beat his score and not even try. I imagine some other world where I actually want to make Top Flight, where I’m on fire for the frontlines, and the first thing I do is steal Garrick Carr’s glorious star from his swaggering, cocky hands.
It’s a nice fantasy.
Arrin turns from me to Garrick. “Well, I suppose you’d know, wouldn’t you?” His smile reappears and he addresses the table. “This is a hero of the war, everyone—a hero! You heard about the victory this winter at Ersili, yes?”
We each nod, me the most. Anything to keep Arrin distracted from whatever direction he was headed.
“Captain Carr here,” he gestures at Garrick and then nudges his girl, encouraging an interested smile from her, “shot down a hundred planes on his own. It was incredible. I saw the entire thing.”
“You might have added some extra zeros on there,” Garrick says, far from self-effacing.
“That’s not the story you tell at home, Captain.”
“In that case, I believe it was a hundred planes plus a bunker.”
“And eight tanks!”
Arrin and Garrick are the only two who laugh, because apparently war is funny.
“And how many of your own squadron did you lose, Captain?” Mother asks.
The laughter dies, and Garrick blinks. Who brings the dead to a dinner party? Only my mother.
“Well,” Garrick begins. “I … it was Ersili we’re talking about? That was a daytime assault and I think—”
“You have lost men, haven’t you?” Mother presses. She places a protective hand on mine.
Garrick glances to Arrin, then back. “Yes.”
Her hand tightens, hot against my skin. “I don’t trust those airplanes. Imagine what it must be like to fall from the sky in one, nothing to do but pray the whole way, flames and the rest. Imagine the terror.”
“Yes, imagine it,” Arrin agrees, an edge to his voice again. “Imagine your little favourite in danger. Here he is, finally old enough to join the rest of us, and there’s not a thing you can do about it.”
I try to slide my hand from beneath hers.
She grips my arm instead, pleading. “Arrin, it’s your brother you speak of. He’s only seventeen. How could you—”
“You’re right. He’s so young, isn’t he?” Arrin shoots me a poisonous look. “Tell me, Mother, is that how old I was when I started fighting? Kalt, you’d know. Was I this old? Enlighten everyone.”
My other brother looks up from his plate. “I know you’re old enough to recognize when it’s time to stop.”
“Old enough to know when to stop? Me?” Arrin dissolves into laughter, looking at his girl. “Sweetheart, am I old enough?” She’s moved as far across his lap as she can get without touching Garrick. Arrin points his chin at me. “What about Athan over there? Is he old enough for this? Would you make a man out of him? Perhaps you could tonight, if you have the time?”
Both Mother and the girl gasp.
This really is going down on record as one of Arrin’s greatest nights. If only Cyar were here to witness the unraveling. Or better yet, Father. That would be breathtaking.
Arrin raises his hands. “What? I was kidding. It’s a joke.” He looks around the table at each of us, like we’re all slow-witted. He helps himself to the blueberry cakes being served. “I’m sure everything will be fine and Athan will stay perfect as he is now.”
Mother ticks her fingernails against the wine glass. “Are you done?”
“I believe I am.” He lights up a cigarette, the sour smell turning my stomach. His gaze meets mine, predatory again, seizing on whatever he can find. “You don’t approve of this?”
“It’s not good for you,” I say.
“Not good for me?”
“No.”
He blows out a strand of smoke. “I had no clue. What would I do without you, littlest brother?”
I stick my fork into the cake and ignore him. I’m not going where he leads.
But that doesn’t stop him. “Don’t worry, Athan. You’ll get your vices too. You know that, don’t you, Mother? He’ll be like me. One tour on the frontlines and he’ll come back entirely bent out of shape. Drinking, smoking, doing whatever else we rotten boys do. Imagine that. Your favourite brought down to earth with the rest of us.”
Mother hurls her fist against the table. “Even if he were all those things and more, he’d still turn out a better man than you’ll ever hope to be!”
Someone sucks in a breath. Possibly Kalt. Or maybe it was me.