I nod quickly. They’re a mirror of the words Havis spoke, and I understand now. Rumours in the night can steal everything, and my mother already walks a fine line between worlds. This rumour of her brother dealing with Seath—even innocently, years ago—could ruin her if placed in the wrong hands. The sort of crime that might cost our kingdom everything.
Long ago, I watched a newsreel of a Landorian traitor being executed before the Royal League, before all the representatives of the Northern kingdoms. An officer accused of aiding their enemies in Thurn. They read the verdict, put the noose round his neck, and then the film ended. Reni said it was an honourable death, but I can still see the man’s panicked face. The reality of impending death, before a thousand cold eyes, and it still haunts my midnight thoughts. He was only a common soldier.
What would they do to a traitorous queen?
“These are two quite different things,” Mother continues, seeming to sense my fear, “but only one matters. Paying off Seath? That can be done. The South is not so fickle as your Northern textbooks would have you believe. But protecting your brother from a lie against our throne? That is a more dangerous game. I know he longs for a happy kingdom, but I won’t allow the dissenters in our square to gain influence. I have seen what these ideas can rouse, and I will use my fist. I will frighten them with the General’s alliance. Anything to make sure they understand the order of things, and your brother’s right to rule is never questioned.”
“But what if they—”
“There is nothing to fear,” she says firmly. “Everything will be made right.”
She’s as confident as if she were dealing with a pebble in her shoe, as if she had already reached down to flick it away, and something shifts inside me. Something important. Like the sun rising above the mountains, beginning as a shiver of light, then changing to a glow, and then appearing in bright brilliance, this mysterious thing suddenly makes sense. Of course she wishes to welcome General Dakar. Of course she wishes to show the North he can be brought into alliance. He has a chance of saving the South. He could ruin the Nahir and therefore Uncle’s lingering debt, rescue the world from madness and remind Etania what the strength of this new age looks like.
His victory is our victory.
A man who creates peace from chaos.
And Mother knows this. She’s always had a plan in motion, always, even in spite of the ire of Lord Jerig and Uncle Tanek and Reni. The world looks darkly different now. Filled with necessary secrets. Stories upon stories that never appear on paper or in ink.
Is this what Reni thinks about late at night? Does he wonder about the things he can’t see?
Can I even keep a secret like this from him?
But I must, because Mother’s right. He’d never stop running. If he knew our father was murdered for a lie, he’d fight his way into the very past to make things right, rousing a long-dead rumour, breathing new life into something dangerous in his efforts for justice.
“Perhaps you could let Reni give a speech,” I suggest, trying to help his cause, the least I can do while she’s listening so closely. “The ones protesting in the square don’t know any better, but perhaps there’s a middle ground to be reached? A way he could appeal to them to trust you?”
She cocks her head, studying my face and the mouth that spoke the words. A long moment passes, then she says, “If life has taught me one thing it is this—never negotiate with your enemy. Stay one step ahead instead. Now, you write that in your books and put it in ink, my dear heart. We women must always have our secrets.”
III
LOYALTY
Leannya,
I’m writing in the hope of this reaching you before you head to Brisal for summer classes. Can you send me an address once you’re there? I’ll keep it close.
As you might have heard, I managed to get myself into Top Flight after all—even took first place and smashed the record set by that ass Garrick Carr (don’t tell Arrin I called him that, but you know it’s accurate). Everyone’s thrilled about my success—meaning everyone in a rank above me, Torhan and the rest—since it seems they were betting on me all along, but I feel suspiciously like a new thing for them to play with. That’s unsettling, given what they can now order me to do. But the actual flying on test day? I wish you could have seen it! It had nothing to do with any of them—just the familiar raw adrenaline, the energy shivering through the metal and into my skin, light glinting on glass and wings in bright flashes, an infinite and endless sky, high high high above the madness.
All of that joy has made me an official Lieutenant, in line for my own squadron. (Cyar got second place, an officer pinned with wings, but I’m still the superior rank. I hope this means he has to pack my bags if I ask.)
Since I won’t be seeing you when I’m briefly home in Valon, here’s my official hurrah for Arrin. I’m sure winning the war in Karkev has humbled him entirely, given that his name is now the one on everyone’s lips, all those fireworks and such every night in his glorious honour. Is he even sleeping at home? (Don’t answer that. Yes, you’re supposed to be watching him, but let’s not expect too much.) I’m grateful our oldest brother has managed to win the war, and now he’ll win the next one (in theory), and if I’m lucky it will be before I ever get the orders to join in.
Oh, I forgot. I already have orders. Father’s taking me with him to Landore—so much for sitting it out. Something about wooing a king into letting us put a base in one of their colonies … Does that sound suspicious to you? I’m optimistic still.
Either way, I promise to write from wherever they (he) send me next. I’m praying to train under Captain Malek in the 4th. Wish me luck on that front. You know how great the captain is!
With all my affection,
Athan
11
ATHAN
Norvenne, Landore
I’ve never seen anything like it.
A vast harbour glimmers before us, teeming with ships from every kingdom in the North, the busy seaways of the Black Sea converging and rallying at the steps of the world’s greatest empire. Merchant vessels and passenger liners break through waves, colourful flags snapping in the wind, and two battle cruisers of the Imperial Navy of Landore prowl among them, monstrous. Beyond the water’s edge, domed buildings of white-stone spread as far as the eye can see. Each one looks elaborate and frivolous, and lounging on the highest hill, overseeing its grand domain, is the vainly glorious royal palace.
Our Safire contingent is picked up by motorcar from the airfield outside the city, escorted onto the long, wide avenues of Norvenne. Father’s been here before. So has Arrin. But Cyar and I stare out the windows, entirely overwhelmed by the beauty and opulence. No scars of battle anywhere. Not a single pock-marked wall. It’s a place that doesn’t remember war, and couples stroll beneath linden trees, laughing as they toss coins for musicians and fountains.
The radiant centre of the Northern world. An empire of seven hundred years.
It’s making Valon seem rather rustic.
Garrick spends most of the trip reading a briefing in his lap, but even his mouth hangs slightly open when we pass between the towering pillars of the palace gates. They’re inlaid with jewels and solid gold.
Real jewels and gold—on a damn gate!
Acres of buildings open up before us. Gardens with fancy sculptures and glassy lakes. A vast central courtyard is hemmed in by aureate walls and rows upon rows of windows, while an elegant statue of their long-ago ancestor, Prince Efan, perched astride a stallion sits in the centre.
“Why doesn’t your family have a place like this?” Cyar jokes, turning circles as we walk for the huge entrance.
“We have the Impressive,” I reply.