“That bad?” Cyar asks.
“Garrick certainly didn’t do me any favours.”
“But you ended up waltzing with a princess.”
I rub some more, then raise my head and look at him. “Do you know what she was doing this morning, Cyar? Rescuing a bird.”
He stares at me. “A bird?”
“Yes.”
“And?”
How do I explain this thing that makes no sense?
“And so I’m not going to drag her into this mess. It’s better to let her stay out of it, right? I’ll keep working on the Prince. He’s stupid enough he’ll admit things without even realizing it. But I’m not going to talk with her anymore. That’s it. No more. Don’t let me do it.”
“I won’t.”
“That’s an order, Hajari.”
“Yes, sir.”
There. I feel better saying it out loud.
I take off the restricting gloves finally, the scent of jasmine coming with them, and lean back in my seat. The music continues to play, laughter drifting, the fancy room strange and dreamlike. I’ve done everything Father wanted. I have one of Sinora’s children speaking with me, willing to get closer, and she might actually see me as a person, not a uniform. Someone to trust.
But it doesn’t feel like success.
“I would have been completely on my own at that table if not for her,” I say, more to myself.
“At least you weren’t poisoned with the wine,” Cyar replies.
18
AURELIA
The morning after my dance with the Safire pilot, Heathwyn’s less than pleased. She says such intimacy doesn’t look proper in front of the court and he should be politely discouraged away. I try to explain that I’m only doing my small part in diplomacy, since it’s not as if I’ll be invited to any formal negotiations, and Heathwyn replies that the negotiations are behind closed doors, for good reason, and the footmen will be far more interested in gossiping about the things they can actually see in broad daylight—like royals flirting with young men of no standing.
“Do you want all of Etania to hear whispers of their princess charming an upstart?”
“He’s not an upstart,” I reply. “He simply can’t dance.”
And then I have to bite back a little smile when I think of the Lieutenant fumbling over his own feet with such helpless charm. It’s not fair that a no-name officer should be so interesting. He’s like a half-finished painting, and I want to see how it ends.
Trying to be productive for the exams, I take my history book and settle myself on a wrought-iron bench hidden beneath the trees, just in view of the hangar. I won’t go out of my way to find him. But sitting here, studying, might at least offer a glimpse of him or a chance to wave hello. I can’t dance with him and then ignore him completely. That would be rude. I might even offend him, and I won’t be responsible for such a hitch in Safire-Etanian relations.
I read a few pages, about the Wars of Discontent a hundred years ago, about my own great-grandfather who helped usher peace in the Heights, then peek over the top.
No sign of anyone Safire.
It’s not until I’ve made it another six pages, through the peace treaties and reconciliations that kept our region of the North civil for subsequent generations, that Lieutenant Erelis and his friend appear. They’re both dressed casual, still in grey-tone attire but now short-sleeved and relaxed. It’s reassuring. He seemed very different in the impressive uniform last night, more imposing, but now he’s a boy again, and he glances my way.
I busy myself with treaties. I won’t encourage anything.
An hour goes by—an entire endless hour—and they remain by the hangar doors. They don’t look like they’re doing much. Two Etanian pilots approach for a short conversation, there’s some poking round one of the planes, then it’s quiet again. Still he won’t come. He glances at me, then talks with his friend, gradually becoming more animated, and then they both look at me. The Lieutenant shrugs and walks across the grass.
I hide my victory behind the book. When he arrives, I pretend to be surprised. “Yes?”
“Are you spying on us, Princess?”
“I believe that’s your job. I’m studying for an exam.”
“Oh? Well, never mind, then.” His hair looks a bright beautiful colour in the sun.
“Never mind what, Lieutenant?”
“Nothing. You need to study.”
“Tell me.”
He nods at the hangar. “I was going to let you look at our planes, since you were so interested in a demonstration. But I can see you’re very dedicated to your studies and I won’t interrupt.”
I shut the book. “I’m not dedicated enough to pass up an offer like that, Lieutenant.”
“Please,” he says after a moment. “Just call me Athan.” Then he smiles, the kind of smile that ruins any lingering objections.
I apologize to Heathwyn in my head and stand, tossing the book behind.
We walk for the wide metal doors, side by side. The other pilot is waiting for us, his expression like that of someone who’s just learned he was accidentally right. He glances at Athan, perhaps waiting for an explanation, but when none comes he extends a cautious hand to me. “I’m Cyar,” he says, then withdraws it awkwardly. “Sorry. I suppose princesses don’t shake hands.”
I reach out my hand. “It’s a pleasure, Cyar.”
He accepts the offer, relieved, his eyes warm. They’re as dark as mine. It makes him feel familiar and safe for some reason, an unexpected connection.
Turning, I step into the cool of the hangar, drinking in the beautiful aeroplanes resting on the concrete floor. I touch the grey steel, the smooth lengths and sharp edges, then trace the symbol on the flank—a faded moon and stars crossed with swords, words written round it.
“That’s the Captain’s squadron symbol,” Athan explains. “Moonstrike.”
“And this?” I point at the words.
“First into the fray. His squadron motto.”
I test out the Savien sounds on my tongue, studying the gleaming wings closer. “He’s very good at telling his stories.”
“Which your friend quite likes,” Athan observes, “but not your brother.”
His bold speculation halts me a moment, but then again, this seems to be the trend with the Safire. “She has a lot of confidence,” I admit. “So perhaps she’s a good match for your captain.” I turn. “And where is your aeroplane? In Savient?”
He shifts. “No. I don’t actually have one of these yet.”
“Yes, you do,” I say, catching him with a smile.
“I do?”
“You can’t shoot down three without your own.”
He looks to the ceiling briefly. “Can I confess another thing, Princess?”
“Yes?”
“I might have made that up. The three planes, possibly four.”
I blink, stunned, and turn to Cyar, who’s now busily occupied with his boots.
“You mean you’ve never been to war?” I ask.
Athan looks sheepish. “Well, not yet. But I will. And I’m sure I’ll get at least three.”
“Why on earth would you make that up?”
“So you’d talk to me,” he says with fervor. “You’re a princess. I had to make myself interesting somehow or else you’d never bother to notice me.”
Stars! The explanation is heartfelt enough that it begins to feel unfair questioning him. How does he manage that?
I cross my arms. “Well done, Lieutenant. Now you’re not only boring, you’re also a liar.”
He holds up a hand. “But I did get top score when I graduated. That part was true.”
“By cheating, I’m sure.”
Cyar chuckles, and Athan’s shoulders drop. “Are you going to dismiss me from your presence now?” Athan asks me. It’s the same sad expression from when I killed his swan, which makes me think he isn’t taking this seriously.
“I’m considering it,” I say regally. “I don’t like dishonest people. And I’m sure Cyar could show me the planes well enough on his own, couldn’t you?”
Cyar glances between us. “Yes. Maybe. Well, I think…”
“Perfect. Which one do we—”
“All right, let’s be honest,” Athan interjects. “Ask me anything. No more stories, now that we’re friends. Anything.”
“You have a lot of nerve, Lieutenant.”