The words flinch across Arrin’s face like a physical blow. For a moment, for one solitary sliver of a moment, I almost feel sorry for him. He’s always been a mess. But then he grins. “I think that’s the drink talking, Mother.”
She springs from the table, pale and furious, and her glass spills. Before any of us can react, she’s gone. Off across the low-lit room and through the gaping doorway. The guests around pretend not to notice, heads down, carrying on with conversations, though of course they’re watching.
Arrin stares at the red wine stain on the tablecloth. “I think it’s time we hid the bottles from her, especially when I’m around.”
The two-day girlfriend on his lap looks to me for help.
Me?
It’s at this moment, uncanny timing, that Father chooses to enter the hall, Admiral Malek and Colonel Evertal following in his wake. They’re his closest advisers, comrades since the beginning. Malek’s dark brown skin is accented by a granite uniform decorated in medals, his face wielding its usual detached gaze. His son is a captain in the Air Force—a captain I’d give anything to fly with, in that fantasy world where I actually make Top Flight. Captain Malek is everything my brothers are not. Evertal, at Father’s left, wears the same crisp uniform as the men, her blonde hair twisted back tight, pulling at harsh lines around her eyes. Arrin is the closest thing she has to a son.
Those in their way move aside, eyes following raptly.
Arrin quickly puts out the cigarette and pushes the girl from his lap. Garrick’s wise enough to suddenly be needed elsewhere in the room. By the time Father arrives at our table, we three sons have stood up respectfully, but Arrin teeters against his chair.
Father wastes no time. “Where’s your mother?”
Silence.
Evertal slinks to Father’s side. She practically raised Arrin in the revolution, when Mother was hiding in terror far behind the frontlines—or so Kalt told me once—and she gives him an unyielding look now. No mercy. Affection is weakness, especially for a woman who holds a rank like hers.
It’s Kalt who finally speaks. “There was a disagreement, sir. Mother left.”
“Disagreement?”
“Between Athan and Arrin.”
Damn it, I’d like to ram my elbow into stupid, self-serving Kalt. Dragging me into this. But he won’t mention Mother’s drinking. Father doesn’t like talking about it, a secret we’re all obligated to keep.
And apparently Father’s satisfied enough with Kalt’s answer. He won’t take the time to find Mother and learn the truth. They don’t even share the same room anymore. The only thing Father’s ever done in her honour was make the chamomile, her favourite flower, our national flower. He thinks that counts for something.
Father turns to the brunette, and she stares up at him wide-eyed. He smiles, greeting her, and if he knows she’s just one of Arrin’s many lady friends, that he won’t be seeing her past tonight, he doesn’t let on.
Evertal, of course, doesn’t smile. She just asks Arrin about some matter in Karkev and he gives a succinct report. Subdued.
I glance over my shoulder at the table where Cyar sits. He notices and sends a questioning look. I shrug. Only the usual.
I turn back and find Father watching me, expression nebulous. That’s unnerving. Kalt carries on with something about the Impressive and its sea trial, not noticing—or pretending not to notice—that his helpful words fall on half an ear.
I finish my single glass of wine.
Father’s gaze drifts back to Kalt.
Another glance over my shoulder at Cyar. Now he’s motioning for the door, quite the temptation.
“You want to leave with Hajari?” Father asks, cutting Kalt off mid-sentence.
I swing around. “If that’s all right, sir.”
“You’re not needed here.” He studies Cyar. “It’s a good thing you have a loyal friend like that. I’m not sure you’d even know where you were going without him.” He smiles vaguely, the kind that has something dark beneath the surface.
Play along. That’s all I can do. “No, sir.”
This is permission to leave and I’m taking it.
* * *
Cyar and I escape with a hijacked bottle of brandy. We borrow one of Father’s motorcars and drive it through the narrow streets of Valon like wild idiots, giving an old man on foot a scare. Yes, it’s a bit reckless, but Arrin’s right about one thing—we all have our vices. I’m used to my plane, to flying in smooth arcs and loops, and every bump on the road is a disappointment. I hate the heavy feeling of earth.
We pull up beside the old wall that once protected the city. It’s no longer very impressive, remnants left to bleach and crack, but it commands a nice view of Valon, perched on a rise from which you can see for miles. The rocky green plains of northern Savient stretch to the east, forested along the edges. The vague glimmer of sea hangs in the west.
We crawl up the shortest section, still a steep climb, then walk along the top. It’s a fifty-foot drop, but I let one of my boots hang off the edge. Up high is where I’m free. Then we lean against the crumbling stone with our brandy and get drunk. Blissful oblivion.
Cyar grips his crumpled poem between shaky hands, trying to read it with a straight face. Something about “eternal” and “sunflower” and “smile.”
God, he’s a hopeless romantic.
At ten o’clock, fireworks explode above the city, all exciting sounds and swirls. Spectacular colours like a dawn sky on fire. Burning, brightening, here and there and everywhere.
Eleven o’clock.
We’re on the grass, laughing about nothing.
“You compared her to a sunflower? Really?”
“It’s a metaphor, Athan. She’s like my own little flower.”
“I got that part.”
“Shining in the sun of Rahmet!”
“Now it makes perfect sense.”
He lets out a wistful sigh. “You’re just jealous. You’ve never even kissed a girl.”
Midnight.
The show’s long over and the drink begins to fade. Thoughts steady as city lights waver on the horizon. Cyar sits, legs dangling over the ledge. The moments pass, quiet, and then he says, “Do you know I wouldn’t be here without you?”
“Mm.” I’m trying to get the last drops out of the bottle.
“I never told you, but they made me take a second exam my first day at the Academy. I guess they didn’t think a kid from Rahmet could’ve scored so high on the entrance tests, and they were right. I knew the numbers, the math. But the Savien words … I thought they’d send me home.”
“They didn’t.”
He stares at the cityscape, pensive. “No, because Torhan said ‘Put him in room 36. That’ll help.’ Your room, Athan, because I needed all the help I could get, from the one student who was bound to be the best. They told me who you were and warned me not to say anything stupid or I’d be shot at dawn. That’s why I cried the first night. I thought I’d never be good enough.” He faces me again. “And when that teacher called on me, and I didn’t even know what a nautical mile was, you were sketching the fox—”
“Yeah, I was there.”
He holds out a hand. “Wait a minute, this is important. It was a fox, and right there, beside the fox, you wrote the numbers I needed to answer the question. You looked at me and gave permission, and that’s when I knew you’d be my friend. You rescued me when it gave you nothing in return.” He pauses. “I’d never have made it this far without you, Athan.”
Because you’re the only brother I have, I want to say, and I’d give my life for you.
“And now we’re going to make Top Flight. Go wherever they send us next. We’ll be the best and I’ll tell the story to my children one day, about how I served with the General’s own son.” His face is inspiring in the darkness. Flickering lights play across his soft features, his black hair merging with shadows. Honesty woven like loyalty in his gaze.
I try a smile and a nod.
I can’t speak the lie tonight.
* * *
Cyar drives us home later, since I’m still adrift in a sweet haze. We go around back, trying to sneak through the rear gates, and run right into Arrin, Garrick, and the rest of their club of drunken heroes.