“See what a lover he is?” Baron jokes, but there’s admiration in his voice.
Merlant smiles. His gaze drifts around the table, stopping on me. I’m sure he knows who I am. Wick must have told him. But his stare is different from most. There’s no scrutiny, no expectation. The blue eyes are faintly curious. He gives Baron the mug back. “Try not to drive our new friends away.” Then he offers a respectful nod to the Safire pilots.
Just as quietly as he came, he goes back through the door. I ignore protocol and follow after him. Bold, perhaps, but it’s what I’ve learned. Outside, it’s still warm in the darkness, and he’s stopped at the top of the wooden stoop, as if waiting for me. The two of us stand beneath the ghostly compound lights.
“You do look like trouble, Headache,” he says, gesturing at my eye. There’s still a faint mark there.
I debate lying, but figure the truth is absurd enough to sound like a lie. “A prince gave me that. You know how they are.”
He chuckles, lighting a cigarette and passing it to me. I wave it away. We’re facing southwest, inland, and there’s a hazy smattering of lights on the horizon. The limits of Havenspur and then darkness.
“Your name’s Efan,” I observe. “Like the famous prince?”
“The very one. My father’s quite a proud monarchist.”
“Then please don’t hold it against me, because mine is quite the opposite.” It’s a test, a hesitant one, to see what he’ll say, but he only smiles, eyes still focused ahead. Reassured, I continue. “Tell me, Captain. What are we up against down here? No one seems eager to lay it out for us.”
“We’d rather not frighten you fresh from the ship.”
“I’ve already built this up in my head to be miserable. You might as well tell me how it is.”
He turns. “Why these questions now? Your squadron will be briefed in the morning.”
“Because I want to hear the things you won’t tell them.”
The statement’s presumptuous. Arrogant, even. But again, it’s what I’ve learned, so I wait, and he considers me a moment before nodding. He sweeps a hand towards the darkness. Brass lion cuff links glint on his wrists. “Out there is them. In here is us. That’s how it’s always been, and perhaps how it always will be. But we won’t give up Thurn. It belongs to us.”
“If it’s that simple, Captain, then Hady should be back in your hands. The Nahir are armed, but surely not enough to keep the Imperial Navy at bay? One siege and it would be over.”
“Isn’t that the question?” He gives a grim smile. “Let me tell you my story first, Lieutenant. Four years ago, our squadron was deployed here to support ground patrols—reconnaissance, flyovers, that sort of thing. The occasional rebel pilots we encountered were easy victories for us. Miserable aircraft, poorly trained. The Nahir didn’t have any support. The South is divided, you see. The nations around Thurn are isolationists. Keep to their own interests.” He flicks the cigarette. “But things have changed as of late. We’ve been attacked by planes with no colours on the wings, and they’ve downed some of ours. The squadron nearest Hady captured a pilot alive last week. Didn’t speak a word of Thurnian.”
I frown. “Where was he from?”
“Who knows? Wouldn’t admit a damn thing, only spoke in Landori when he was … well, when he was pressed for answers.”
Neither of us speaks. “Where do you believe he was from, Captain?”
I know I’m pushing too far, but I’m afraid I already know the answer.
“With such splendid aircraft and skill?” He swallows, cigarette forgotten. “There’s only one place here that can even begin to rival us, Lieutenant. The one place that has shared in our wealth and our history.”
Resya.
He doesn’t say it aloud, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. The one kingdom here with the resources to wage real war. A solid infrastructure, a functioning air force. A king with Northern blood, who swears he’d never aid Seath, who claims to be on our side … And then I remember that Sinora is Resyan, and I feel a deep chill in the heat.
This whole thing might be far bigger than even I thought.
“You ask why we’re waiting,” Merlant says eventually, “and the truth is, I don’t know. I think only your father can answer that. If you find out…”
I manage a grin. “I sure as hell won’t be the one he tells.”
Merlant laughs. “Not easy being youngest, is it?”
“Better than eldest.”
Somewhere out in the barren hills, an eerie cry echoes, high-pitched, then lowering to a haunting trill. I take a step towards the door.
“Si’yah cats,” Merlant explains. “You’ll get used to the sound.”
“They don’t attack, do they?”
“Not if you’re pure of heart.”
I give a questioning look.
“It’s local tradition,” he says, amused. “But I carry a gun.”
“I think I will too.”
“Wise.” He smiles. “Good night, Lieutenant.”
“Good night, Captain.”
Merlant goes down the wooden steps, then stops at the bottom. “I’ve heard you can fly, Lieutenant.”
“With no one shooting at me, yes.”
“Well, I’m sure you’ll do fine. It’s a simple trick—always know where your enemy is and always be quicker than him. I’m sure you’ve learned that well enough in your life.”
His words are what I need. Quiet and certain.
We share a final smile before he saunters into the heated dark, and I decide I might just have found someone worth following.
27
AURELIA
Hathene, Etania
The first moment I can, I seek out Lark Gazhirem and catch him alone.
I have a perfect opportunity now, since Reni and Uncle have left for a diplomatic tour of our neighbouring kingdoms, the sort of thing Reni has dreamt of for years but has never been allowed. Mother always felt it was unnecessary. A waste of precious petrol when the Heights have lived in harmony ever since my great-grandfather’s treaty. But with this spring of protests, and the General conducting his own profitable tour, Reni convinced the council to put it to a vote. A gracious way of doing it, Uncle said. Something Boreas Isendare would have done.
Opinion was split evenly, until Lord Jerig voted in favour—and asked if he could come along.
Now, they’re off for a month on their mission round the Heights, and though Lark’s presence clearly needles Mother—and puts the young ladies of court into a curious flutter—he is family, and she won’t go against her deeply ingrained sense of Resyan hospitality, even offering the customary kiss on his cheek each time she sees him—all of which means he won’t be banished anytime soon.
With Reni doing his part to make us look entirely Northern, I seize this chance to investigate our new cousin and find out exactly what he knows. If Lark holds the possibility of peace, real peace, when Athan’s already bound for Thurn, then I have to explore it or else I’ll never forgive myself.
I find Lark hiding in the parlour of his guest room, a map spread on the table before him, a bottle of Etanian wine open and mostly consumed. He’s wearing his usual white buttoned shirt. It’s open casually at the neck, the way a student of the university might dress. He has the clever ability to look very refined and intelligent and earthy.
He stands when I enter.
“Cousin,” he greets, forgoing formality.
I shake off irritation, determined to play my role well. Yes, there’s a sullen arrogance to him, a restlessness, but he’s also now my blood, and that’s rather fascinating. It must count for something.
“Tell me about your proposal,” I say, conveying as much diplomacy as I can. “I want to understand it and how it might bring peace.”
He raises his brow, fingers twirling a pen. His face isn’t unappealing—it’s actually rather handsome and slender, catlike, like Mother’s. “You?”
“Of course.”
The dark brow rises higher. I think he sees me as a princess with no thoughts in her head, the same way Athan believed I spend my days getting servants to paint my picture, and it irritates me further.