“I’ve learned from the best.” There’s a feather of a smile on his face.
“I’d like to hear about Savient,” I say. “What makes it special, how you’ve come this far from nothing, and why you think you can make things right in the South.”
The smile on his face grows. “That, Princess, I can do.”
And he does. They both do, in fact. We sit on the grass outside the hangar, hidden from palace sight, Cyar passing round candies from Norvenne while they share their history with me. They swap the tale easily back and forth, the pieces of their story connecting, overlapping, and I try to picture a world where someone could find electricity and running water a fascination. But Athan does. As a child, he had neither. And Cyar thought it was normal for abandoned bodies to simply show up, mutilated, in the morning rubbish pile on the street. It’s unfathomable. That these three rival lands, each ruled by vicious men, abandoned by everyone else in the North, could slowly unite beneath the General’s Safire flag and choose peace is almost mythic.
But the General did it. He gave them something larger and grander to believe in.
“Then if peace hadn’t come,” I say, thinking aloud, “you two would be enemies now. You might have had to shoot your best friend and you’d never even know it.”
“He could be my possible fourth plane,” Athan agrees.
“Although with his sense of direction,” Cyar says, “he’d never make it home after.”
Athan fires a candy at Cyar, who tries to dodge but it hits him squarely on the chest, and Athan smirks. “See? This is why he was second place in our testing. Not quite quick enough to be the best.”
“Think what you’d like, Erelis, but you’d better not land on the wrong runway in Thurn. The Nahir would like your neck.”
“More than yours, I’ll bet.”
They both laugh like that’s a funny thing, but my stomach turns. It’s easy to forget what they’re trained for, where they’re headed, when lounging here with palms against summer grass. “What’s it like in your capital city?” I ask, trying to reclaim the conversation. “Does it look like Hathene?”
“I don’t know,” Athan says. “I grew up in the countryside on a farm. I’ve never been to Valon.”
“You’re a farm boy?” I laugh.
“Is that funny?”
“I don’t know. I’ve never met a farmer before.”
“Good God, Princess.” He glances to Cyar. “Can you believe this?”
“No, I can’t,” Cyar replies, “but please tell her more about your farm.”
“I have a better idea.” Athan jumps to his feet and points at me. “Let’s get you in a plane. Isn’t that how I lured you here?”
“You lured me here to see them,” I clarify, “not to get in one.”
But he’s already gone, excited by the new idea, so I trail after him into the hangar. Two Etanian mechanics are working in the corner, and certainly they’ll watch what we do with interest.
“Won’t you get in trouble?” I ask, hanging on to his arm, like that might stop us both.
“No.” There never seems to be any hesitation with him.
“But the General—”
“The General’s in negotiations with your mother. I doubt he has time to worry about whether or not a princess is sitting in one of our planes. Unless you plan on flying it, of course. Because I’ve learned the hard way that might come off badly.”
He gives that resistance-ruining grin again, and the next thing I know I’m climbing onto the wing. I take his offered hand, this time feeling his warm skin free of gloves, and step gingerly into the open cockpit. Both of them climb up after me, leaning against either edge to point out the switches for landing lights and oxygen supply, the elaborate system of instruments that indicate everything from altitude to fuel temperature. It’s dizzying.
Cyar taps the control panel. “It’s easy to lose track of the horizon when performing fast maneuvers. Good pilots trust their instruments as much as their instinct.”
I peer round the narrow space, at the endless buttons and knobs and numbers. “But how do you remember it all when someone’s shooting at you?”
“I’ll let you know when I find out.” Cyar gives a little shrug. It’s an endearing reaction, like he didn’t know what to do with himself and so his shoulders went up of their own accord.
“Why aren’t you a lieutenant as well?” I ask curiously.
“Me? I’m not the sort to order others around.”
“But you’re an officer.”
“Yes, but Lieutenant Erelis was good enough to get promoted right away. A future captain. You have to be quite extraordinary for that honour.”
Athan makes a face, propped on the other wing. “The honour of being first into battle, you mean.”
Cyar salutes him glibly.
They lecture some more about aeroplane things that make little sense—pitch and yaw and something-magnetos—and then the tale circles back to Savient, and how Athan would like me to sign a letter for his sister so he can prove he met a real princess, and Cyar talks about how he joined the Safire army so his family could show their loyalty to the new nation, and how he had to travel on a train for three days, all by himself at age eleven, to reach the Air Academy. I look between the two of them, and suddenly feel very small.
They’ve lived an entire life already.
“Flattering the Safire with more of your compliments, Ali?” a scornful voice interrupts.
We turn in surprise.
Reni prowls towards the plane, frowning.
“I was learning how to fly, in fact,” I say, gesturing at the cockpit. “It’s more complex than it looks.”
“And I’m sure you’ve also been enjoying their luminous tales of heroic victories. I hope they didn’t forget to mention the innocent people murdered by its bullets.”
Athan’s on the wing closest to Reni. “I’m sorry?”
“Don’t deny it, Lieutenant. Many questionable things took place in Karkev, things your General is now trying to hide.”
Athan drops down onto the floor. “I wasn’t there, Your Highness. Can you enlighten me with your own personal experience on the matter?”
Reni grimaces. “On second thought, you keep quiet. I don’t trust a word that comes out of your mouth as it is.”
“That’s not—”
“I said keep quiet.”
“No,” I object from the plane. “Keep talking, Lieutenant. You say what you’d like.”
Athan glances between us. “Two royal commands at once. Who’s the higher rank?”
“Me,” Reni snaps.
“Oh.” Athan steps back and gives me an apologetic look.
I pin my brother with a glare, hoping he’ll take the hint to quit before he makes a fool of us, but he doesn’t. “Ali, the Safire forces committed crimes in Karkev that are sickening. I’ve tried to keep these dark things from you, but evidently you need to know before you start waving this fox flag yourself.” I roll my eyes at that. He ignores it. “The General himself accepted the surrender of a town only to send these very aeroplanes after the people he promised to make peace with. A land may be filled with criminals, but it doesn’t mean the honourable way of fighting can be forgotten.”
“Wait,” Athan says. “None of that’s true. Those are lies spread by the Karkevite rebels.”
“Is that so?”
“Yes. Did you read it in the papers?”
Reni pauses. “Well, no. But I have reliable sources.”
“Here in Etania? Halfway across the world?” Athan gives a skeptical look, then glances at me. “I promise it isn’t true.”
Reni narrows his eyes. “Were you there, Lieutenant?”
“No.”
“Then your opinion counts for little.”
“But my brother served in the campaign, and I can assure you he never said anything about murdering anyone.”
Reni stalks closer. “Your brother was in Karkev?”
“He was … involved, yes.”
“Then he’s complicit in the crimes carried out. He’s a blind fool who follows without question.”