He turns on his heel, sprinting for the airbase, certainly glad to have a sudden and tangible mission. I chase after him, eyes to the sky. The plane attempts an even higher loop, fighting the strong mountain wind, wings trembling. It’s nearly terrifying. I half expect the little plane to come to pieces.
A man in Etanian uniform rushes over when we reach the tarmac. “Forgive me, Your Highness. I wasn’t aware of this.” He waves down the runway to where three young men stand in the shade, including Slick. “I’ll deal with it right away.”
Recognition darkens Reni’s face. “No, Captain. I’ll deal with this myself.”
Now the mission has taken a very personal turn, and I have to hurry to keep up with Reni’s ever-lengthening stride. But my eyes are still stuck to the display above. The three boys also peer at the sky, unaware of our approach. One’s in Safire uniform.
“What is happening here?” Reni demands imperiously when we arrive.
All three whirl to face him.
Slick swallows, going pale as a daisy petal. “The Safire wished to test one of our aeroplanes, Your Highness.”
Reni looks incredulous. “That’s a Safire pilot up there?”
No one answers, so the Safire boy nods. It’s the young one with black hair. He seems embarrassed.
“They made us do it,” Slick insists, “and we were afraid to say no.”
“Made you?” Reni repeats.
“You know how they are, Your Highness.”
This earns him a resentful glance from the Safire boy.
“Regardless,” Reni says, “I’d expect better resolve and loyalty from one of Her Majesty’s pilots.”
Slick flushes, and the plane hurtles past, performing an upside-down roll.
We all stare.
“This doesn’t look safe,” Reni announces.
The Safire boy shades his eyes from the sun. “Don’t worry. He’s very good. But today there’s a lot of—how do you call it in Landori? Wind from the side?”
“Crosswind,” the other Etanian pilot supplies.
“Yes, crosswind.” A smile splits the boy’s face.
Reni brushes him aside. “Bring that plane down now,” he orders.
For a moment, the foreign boy appears confused, since we’re nowhere near the airbase and have no way to communicate with the reckless pilot above. But Reni just scowls further and the boy does the only thing he can—he jogs onto the runway, flapping his arms at the sky. It takes a few moments, no indication that he’s successful, before the plane circles lower and waggles its wings in response. It’s caught on strong gusts, bucking from side to side. A mad show from any angle. But despite the fight, it lands on the runway without a jolt, gentle and smooth, and the Etanian pilots glance at each other, evidently impressed. Brakes hiss as it screeches down the tarmac. The nose swings round when it comes to an abrupt halt not far off, oil dripping down the wheels and propeller whirring. The three pilots go to meet the daredevil.
I snatch my brother’s arm. “Don’t be too harsh, Reni. The plane is still in one piece.”
He glowers in disgust.
This is it, then. The first battle of the visit and I can’t even call for support. Who’s going to come? The ground crew?
I simply watch, helpless, as the propeller silences, and the glass cockpit slides open. The fair-haired boy from the hall stretches out, wearing a triumphant smile and a pair of flying goggles, his hair even more a mess now. He doesn’t notice us standing in the shadow of the elms. “How was that for a show?” he calls to the pilots, words tinged with the Savien accent.
They say nothing, as if they weren’t at all impressed only moments before, and the other Safire boy motions in our direction.
The one in the plane turns. His sunlit smile fades. He hops down from the wing, pulling off the goggles, then lopes over to us, hair all askew.
“Your Highness,” he says, giving a short bow to Reni. There’s a streak of black oil on his cheek. “How are—”
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” my brother asks.
The pilot glances over his shoulder. “Flying, I think.”
“Yes, I can see that. Do I look stupid to you?”
The blond boy stares. “No,” he says, though he really shouldn’t have hesitated.
“Then give me an honest answer.”
“I was comparing your airplanes to ours.”
Reni crosses his arms. “Comparing? To test maneuverability, I assume? Airspeed and thrust?”
The Safire boy smiles. “I didn’t know you were a pilot.”
“I’m not.”
“It sounds like you are.”
“No, it sounds like you’re spying.”
The boy begins to laugh, but it dies on his lips when Reni takes a step closer. The boy puts his hands in the air.
“Our aeroplanes aren’t to be used for your amusement,” Reni says. “You Safire think you can run around the world and do what you like, but not here.”
“Please forgive me, Your Highness. I wasn’t trying to cause trouble.” He sounds honest enough.
Reni waves him off. “Save your excuses for the Royal League when you and your General are tried for war crimes.”
The boy frowns at that, Reni stepping round him for the other pilots, and then he gives me a shrug, hands still raised. I’m not sure what it means. If he’s embarrassed or apologetic or uncaring. “I haven’t been in the sky for weeks,” he says after a moment, as if the whole thing can be redeemed with this reasoning. “And your pilots said it would be fine.”
“It’s not fine,” I say.
“I see that now, Princess. But I only wanted to fly.”
Again, he uses that informal address on me, as if only Reni deserves a proper title. It’s exactly what Havis does.
I face the other way, partly annoyed, partly not wanting to be swayed by the honesty in his gaze.
“I’ll be reporting your leniency to the Queen this evening,” Reni informs the Etanians, relishing the traumatized look on Slick’s face. “I doubt she’ll be very pleased to hear of this.” Then he walks back and tugs at my arm. “Let’s go,” he says, giving Slick, then the Safire, a last stern glare.
The blond boy sighs, rubbing the oil splotch from his cheek. He looks rather defeated standing there—long Safire hair tousled with sweat, hand gripping his flying goggles, all of him made more romantic by the pretty aeroplane and sunset mountains beyond.
But since he’s now set the precedent for foreign spies in our aeroplanes, I suppose he’ll have to deal with the inevitable consequences.
I shrug at his last hopeful glance, more a plea, then follow my brother back for the palace.
* * *
In the evening, Mother holds a music recital to welcome our guests. The old palace theatre, with its mahogany walls and carved stage, brims with the upper class of Hathene, everyone eager to observe the Safire from a comfortable and close proximity. They sit in their velvet seats, talking behind hands and stealing glances at the General and the Queen, then hush when the draping curtains are drawn back.
Instrumentalists perform first, a duet between violin and viola, followed by a troupe of dancers in traditional dress. After that is Violet, ready to share her beautiful voice. She glides to the front of the stage in yet another alluring gown. This one covers up more, thankfully, but the lace along the arms is still thin and delicate. A mauve ribbon sparkles in her auburn curls, and in her hands she holds an entire fan of peacock feathers.
I hope to the stars Havis isn’t in any way responsible.
As everyone sighs along at just the right notes, her voice pure crystal, the kind that belongs crooning on the wireless, Reni sits next to me, mesmerized. Perhaps he didn’t notice what happened on the steps with Cock, a fact which makes me feel guilty, like I should warn him or protect him from the truth. But then I remember Liberty and I feel less charitable.