“Yes. Which is another reason why you can’t let them execute me. I’ve made a solemn promise to Cyar—Officer Hajari, I mean—that I’ll only die in flames and at his side. It would be a waste to hang here, for an offense I didn’t intend.”
Amusement continues to slip between his words, that subtle certainty like he’s watching me from another world, set apart and pleased with his story. I’d like to dislike him for it. But he’s not so distant as the others in Safire uniform, closer and not much older than me. Seventeen, he said. And at least I haven’t seen him holding a filthy cigarette.
“I’ll see what I can do, Lieutenant.”
I resume my march down the garden path, because this is where our conversation should end, but there’s a clip of boots on the stone behind me.
Heathwyn’s voice chirps in my head. “Divert with a smile.”
I turn again, doing just that. “Yes, Lieutenant?”
He appears perplexed. “Was I dismissed?”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t say anything.”
“Did I need to?”
He steps back, returning my smile of diversion. “Sorry. I’m accustomed to more direct orders.”
“You’re dismissed, Lieutenant.”
He nods and gives a salute, then turns and walks back in the opposite direction, straight for the woods.
“Please don’t get lost,” I call without thinking. “I’ve done it myself, and it isn’t fun wandering in circles for hours.”
He spins and walks backwards. “I have a compass.”
“Even so, you shouldn’t go far.” I raise the flower in my hand. “And this is bad luck.”
“Bad luck?”
“Yes, to pick our orchids.”
“For you or for me?”
“Oh…” No one’s ever explained the logistics of it to me. It’s superstition. “I’m not sure.”
He’s ahead of me, though, already grinning. “Then let’s pray we each get half of the bad luck. An even share of it.”
I toss the flower into the nearest fountain. “No, I think I’d rather pray that you get all of it, Lieutenant, as I’m the innocent one in this. Which is too bad. You’ll be needing good luck for your next dogfight.”
The Safire boy laughs, a bright sound.
I hear myself laugh, too, then quickly stop before anyone sees.
* * *
A flustered and urgent Heathwyn greets me at my room. She says I’ve been summoned for lunch with Mother and Havis, and where have I been? And why am I covered in dust? And now I just need to go and make up some excuse. I hurry regretfully for Mother’s parlour. Lunch with the newly returned Havis certainly isn’t my first choice of things, but in the interest of pleasing Mother during this critical week, I’ll do it.
When I arrive, however, I’m surprised to find Uncle with her as well. The three of them are sitting round a table set with china and lace, ladling from a bowl that smells like tomatoes and cinnamon.
“Aurelia,” Mother says. “Where have you been?”
“Grooming Ivory,” I reply, going to her side. “Reni won’t be joining us?”
She pours steaming water into her cup. “He’s reviewing agendas with Lord Marcin.”
How on earth did Reni talk himself into that one? “You’d better not let him bring up Karkev. His opinions on that won’t be appreciated by anyone Safire.”
“He knows his boundaries,” Mother says.
“Does he?” I venture, and I think it’s a legitimate question after the Chase.
“He knows his boundaries,” Mother repeats, sharper, “and you know yours.”
Havis sips his soup silently, playing uninterested in the conversation, and I’m about to ask if Violet’s feathers came from him when Uncle says, “You should avoid affairs you’ve no experience with, Aurelia.”
I turn to him, annoyed. “I never said I agreed with Reni. In fact, I even met one of the Safire today, and I’m thinking to invite him to sit at our table this evening. It would look good for the court to see us welcoming them as friends.”
“You’re inviting the General to our table, then?” Uncle asks dubiously. His eyes look extra birdlike through his spectacles.
“No, but I would if you thought he might accept.”
“Please do.”
“I would!”
Mother raises a hand between us. “Tell me, Aurelia, who exactly are you inviting?”
It seems I’m now stuck. I said it mostly to silence Uncle, but they’re all watching me, awaiting an explanation. Havis butters a slice of bread. “It’s like you said at the Chase, Mother. Sometimes inviting the enemy to your table can smooth things over.”
“The Safire aren’t our enemy,” she points out.
“No, but Reni believes he caught one of them spying on our aeroplanes yesterday. He made a horrible deal out of it, and may have offended them. We should make amends before word of it gets to the General.”
Havis looks up.
Mother frowns. “Spying on our aeroplanes?”
“Not really, Mother. He only wanted to fly. He’s a pilot, and a very good one.”
“I’m sure it was spying,” Uncle mutters.
“It wasn’t,” I insist.
“It wasn’t,” Mother agrees, giving Uncle a pointed glance. “And Reni was aggressive with him?”
“You know Reni. You’d think the Safire pilot tried to start a war.”
Mother clucks her tongue.
“Did he speak with you alone?” Uncle presses. “Did you get a name?”
I divert the first question with an impressive smile. “Lieutenant Erelis.”
“God in heaven,” Havis coughs into his soup.
“Lieutenant Erelis.” Mother draws out his last name, thoughtful, then looks again to Uncle. “I’ve no issue bringing an officer to my table. Aurelia’s right. It would give the right impression to the court, and General Dakar.”
Uncle throws his napkin to the table. “It’s a pointless gesture. A low-ranking officer means nothing to anyone. And not only that, he’s a spy. There’s only one reason one of them would try to talk their way into our aeroplanes.”
“You weren’t there,” I say, “and it’s best to avoid affairs you’ve no experience with.”
Perfect silence envelops the table. Uncle’s cheeks turn a fierce shade of pink, and no one moves. Then a sound escapes Mother. Her lips twitch, widening. Soon she’s laughing enough tears sparkle in her eyes.
Uncle and Havis sit staring at her.
“Thank you,” Mother says to me, chuckling over the words. “I needed that.”
“Then I should invite the Lieutenant?” The full implication of this is suddenly dawning on me.
“Please,” she says.
Neither Uncle nor Havis looks so happy about it, and I wonder what I’ve done. Certainly the Lieutenant won’t accept such an offer. He’ll say no. He must. Reni will hate the idea, and Havis will slink his way to my side. Instead of doing good, it will do the opposite, and the entire thing will be terrible, from beginning to end, with me trapped right in the middle of it.
“I suppose I’ll invite him, then, Mother.”
“Splendid,” she replies. “I look forward to seeing him up close.”
I hope to all the stars he says no.
17
ATHAN
“Do you think she’d poison my wine?”
I ask Cyar the question in Savien as we stand at the edge of the bustling, golden reception. The ballroom around us vibrates with voices and violins, the air stinking of perfume and fresh-cut flowers wound around large pillars. Above us are bright facades of mountain scenes and elk, chandeliers twinkling like obnoxious stars. Food and wine glistening. Sinora’s elaborate production of fake generosity.
“In front of everyone?” Cyar asks, eyeing the lengthy table of appetizers. “All these foreign visitors?”
I shrug. “She killed my mother in broad daylight.”
“I don’t think she’d waste the poison on you.”
I’m about to question that, but he’s already investigating what’s on offer, a plate in hand and a pleased look on his face. If there’s one thing we learned from Norvenne, it’s that royals serve good food. I pretend to study it as well, but my survey leads my eyes away from the table and onto the Princess, speaking with her brother. She’s small in the swirl of courtiers and dignitaries. A glimmer in the unfamiliar crowd.