Nothing, anywhere, that speaks of it.
“He’s been lying to me.” I can barely speak, I’m so frightened and angry. “He said it was quiet and boring, only some drills and practice fighting. But it’s a lie. I saw the speech given to the League. I saw more than I ever wish to see, and it’s all—”
I choke on the words I can’t say, a place she can’t follow.
“Aurelia…”
I blink back tears. “I deserved the truth!”
“Yes, but what if it isn’t his to give? For heaven’s sake, he’s a soldier! They can’t write these things down. It’s a surprise to all of us, not only you.”
Her pragmatic observation stills my rage, slightly, but I’m not yet ready to surrender. She sits on the edge of the bed, stacking a few scattered papers. “I’m sure he didn’t wish to frighten you. He’s kindhearted, isn’t he? He must be or else I know you wouldn’t have adored him so quickly.” She picks up one of his drawings, studying. “These are quite exquisite, aren’t they?”
My head drops into my hands, aching with the weight of everything. With the knowledge that my Safire lieutenant wears a uniform that might conceal darkness and he doesn’t even know it. How can he? With the bright optimism he holds?
“You told me the war was young and didn’t yet know what it wanted,” I accuse Heathwyn quietly. “What if it’s already decided?”
“Nothing is ever decided.”
“Don’t lie to me. Please don’t.”
She sets down the page and looks at me for a long moment. She’s never looked at me like this, like she’s already regretting her words. “I do worry about what will come,” she admits. “I don’t know what goes on behind secret doors, the discussions in high places, and I never will. But I see those mighty ships with nowhere certain to sail, all those guns waiting to be fired, and I think that’s a lot of power to leave restless beneath men’s fingers.”
“But what if someone could make them see a better way?”
“Then pray it comes swiftly.”
It’s the first time she’s ever given me such stark words. She kisses me on the head, without apology, then walks for the door, leaving me alone.
I sit and stare at the letters. I finger one, then another, then the next. Wrinkled paper and familiar cursive words. I sit there and realize he’s very far away, and now that will never change. He’ll go to war with the rest—a dark war, where children are taken along with the guilty—and perhaps he’ll die in a place not like here, buried in a deep grave, forgotten, and we’ll never know what might have been. I’ll be asked to smile every day like there’s nothing the matter. I’ll be asked to go on and marry some other person, but I’ll still remember this darkness and these photographs. I’ll remember the days of early summer, when he was near me, full of life, laughter on his lips and living in a hopeful world.
No one will care that he’s dead, that his warm skin has been turned to dust and his laughter’s no more. No one else will give a damn about how very lonely it is to be trapped under the earth in a place far from home, to be buried forever beneath the banner of a cause you never even wanted.
No one will care about any of this, because he’s small and forgettable.
But I will.
32
ATHAN
Havenspur, Thurn
The number of sorties we fly increases each week. Sometimes near Hady, sometimes over the distant villages of Thurn. We linger above the supply routes the rebel planes like to prey on, and while we wait, the Landorian pilots take potshots at sheds and empty vehicles, laughter echoing over the radio.
“Here’s what you get for Hady,” Spider says, and Baron follows close behind. Bullet holes appear from eight blazing machine guns. Twisted metal and clouds of dust rising.
I hang back.
This doesn’t feel right.
Gallop’s the first pilot shot down by the rebels. His green-winged plane spirals towards the Black in flames, then dissolves into a shower of metal and sea, disappearing beneath the waves. He’s lucky. He escaped in time to deploy his parachute, later retrieved by a friendly cruiser.
“Damn them,” he curses back at base, covered in dried salt water, life vest limp around his shoulders. “That was my favourite plane.”
Baron grins. “Poor girl couldn’t have saved you from that last move you made. Lazy ass.”
If there’s any fear, nobody shows it.
That’s one down for us, at least ten for the other side. Garrick leads the tally with three credited victories, then two each for Ollie, Greycap, and Spider. I’ve managed third place, thanks to my chase the first time up, but Cyar remains cautious. Nothing knocked down for him.
Though Garrick’s taken me back as his wingman, I still watch Merlant from the corner of my eye. Always the same—gaining altitude, then down out of the blinding sun like a devil. They never see him coming. But he’s also a gentleman. He wounds instead of securing victories, and when we come across a rebel plane with its engine already on fire, he orders us to pass it by. “Not a fair fight,” he says, and that’s that.
I’m sure he could overtake Garrick’s record if he wanted. If he felt like making a point.
He never does.
* * *
The morning after the reel of Arrin’s speech arrives, it’s the talk of the base. Everyone has an opinion on the prospect of this new war, and whether or not General Dakar’s son has made legitimate accusations. The debate continues around our breakfast table.
“I always knew there was something funny with Resya,” Greycap says, nodding as if he’s in on the secret. “They’ve never caused trouble, but they’ve certainly never helped us much either. And you have to admit the pilots we’ve been facing have some skill. They’re getting help from somewhere.”
Spider points his fork. “Or that goddamn Safire commander’s trying to start a war, and we don’t need it. God knows one mess is enough.”
“But you have to admit he has some guts,” Greycap persists, “calling all those politicians cowards. I liked that bit. No one appreciates what we do down here.”
“Guts or not, the General’s son is a fool.” Spider glances to the nearby Safire table. “No offense.”
Garrick, Ollie, and Sailor frown, looking ever so discreetly at me.
They’d better quit that.
I swallow what’s left of my coffee in a single gulp and stand from the table. I’m done with it.
A breeze greets me outside, flags rippling a lazy rhythm. The black runway heats in silence, and I take a deep breath of the fresh air. Then another. I’m not angry with Arrin because he’s trying to start a war and insulting every Northern politician in the process. No, I’m furious because he went so far as to use Mother, to wield her death as a chess piece in his gamble. He should have ignored the baited suggestion. Moved on. But of course he couldn’t resist the opportunity to go from cavalier young lion to noble avenger of injustice. And then that only reminds me he’s still plotting away about Etania, whispering ideas in Father’s ear.…
He’s too good at turning a spark into a forest fire. All I want is Ali safe, and I feel helplessly far away.
The door creaks open behind me and Ollie slides around it. “Never mind those Landorians,” he says. “They’re nervous about change. You know we all think it was a brilliant speech.”
“Was it?” I ask, and his smile disappears.
He tries again, voice lower. “Your brother spoke the truth, and they don’t want to hear it. In time, they’ll see it’s the right move. We can’t let allies of the Nahir go unpunished and—”
A loud, clanging bell interrupts. It echoes from the ops hut urgently. For half a second, we both look at each other, confused.
Then recognition snaps at our heels and we take off at a wild run for the flight line.
The bell. They’ve spotted rebel planes. They’re here, attacking us.
Us!