“Join the club.”
He looks tired. His normally pressed uniform jacket is tossed across the bed, and the collar of his shirt has at least three buttons undone. That’s a lot for the brother who prides himself on looking the part.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” Folco says, no hint of hesitation.
He disappears out the door, and I slump into the seat opposite Kalt, ship creaking from side to side.
“What spurred you to make the effort, little brother?”
No words come. A sense of shame rises unexpectedly. We’re not the type of family that stops by for sentimental reasons, but that’s why I’m here, and I don’t know how to say it. “I’m not … I was…”
He sets down his pen, waiting.
Oh hell, I’m desperate to tell someone. Anyone. I’ll do it.
I tell him how Merlant and I came out of the sun, how we trapped the rebel plane, how I chased him and got him in my sights, then came from below and shot him to the sea in flames. I killed him, I say. I burned him to death at 3,500 feet and now there’s nothing left, nothing at all, not even a body for his mother to bury. And I did it.
Kalt listens, his fingers laced together, resting on his elbows. “You did what you had to, Athan. There’s nothing to blame yourself for.”
“I took someone out of existence.”
“No, you eliminated a threat. A threat to you and your friends. You’re thinking about this wrong.”
“It’s not easy to think any other way.” I struggle for the words. “I’ve … I’ve never done it with my own hand. It’s never been me.”
“Neither have I.”
Kalt says it almost in passing, and I nearly tell him not to lie to make me feel better. But I realize he’s telling the truth. He hasn’t. He serves on a ship with hundreds of men, prowling the sea, playing games of cat and mouse, and even the times he’s been in battle, in Karkev, he’s always been at the bridge, watching, strategizing, while sailors on the gunnery turrets pull the triggers. It will always be that way for him—death coming as shells fall miles away across the water, never right before his eyes. Never a dogfight, two people locked in a blistering moment with only one allowed to come out alive on the other side.
I look at him and realize, for the first time, I’ve been somewhere he hasn’t.
His eyes are on the papers before him. “Do you remember the last battle before Valon was won, when I made you hide under Father’s desk?”
The question catches me off guard. Of course I remember. I was seven and it was the most terrifying night of my short life. I knew that whenever Father and Malek began to bark orders, it meant gunfire and explosions would quickly follow. I was used to hiding and covering my ears to it. But that night was different. It happened too fast, too close to our base, and I wound up curled beneath Father’s desk, eyes shut, certain the sky would fall on top of me if I opened them for even a breath.
“I said I’d watch the door,” Kalt continues. “I told you that Arrin was guarding down the hall.”
“Yes.”
“I lied.” His green eyes flick to mine. “Arrin wasn’t down the hall. He was fighting. We were surrounded, and Father had no choice but to arm everyone he could.”
I stare at him. “Arrin was thirteen.”
“It was the first time he killed.”
Nausea spikes again, rolling against my stomach. I lean forward in the chair to lessen it.
“I couldn’t have done what he did, Athan. Not at that age. I asked him later how it was, and he said it wasn’t so bad. He simply remembered that the other man had chosen to hold a gun, and it wasn’t by accident, so how could he feel bad? Both of them knew why they were there. It made a lot of sense, and that’s how I look at all of this. We’re each here by choice, so why feel guilty? They want to fight, and we meet their challenge.”
His explanation seems simple, rational, but something doesn’t connect in me. “And Arrin has turned out just wonderful for it.”
Kalt doesn’t contest that. He only sighs. “I won’t make excuses for him. He lives by his own rules, but it’s always been that way. You know Father once tried to marry him into some wealthy Rahmeti family? To finalize the unification in a way they’d appreciate down there, or so he said. But Arrin just refused. Ran off and got some other girl pregnant and then slept with one of Father’s officer’s wives, a woman twice his age. Be glad you missed that one. It wasn’t pretty. So believe me, I see what an idiot he can be. It has nothing to do with war. It has to do with him, and he suffers the consequences.”
I’m not sure I believe that Arrin has ever suffered any consequences, but Kalt leans forward. “The point is, you make the choice for yourself. No matter how high you fly in the sky, Athan, no matter how you pretend otherwise, you were born with our name and you can’t outrun it. Away doesn’t exist, and you need to accept that. Then you’ll be able to do what you should. As I do.”
“At least it sounds like I’m getting another war to learn from.” Can’t hide the bitter humour in my voice.
“Yes. But surely you expected that.”
I don’t know if I did. Maybe there’s always been a piece of me holding out hope that one day Father would decide he’s had enough and that would be the end. I’ve done a very good job of not thinking about reality. I’ve spent years inventing a fiction in my head that sounds much better. But now I’ve killed someone, and there’s nothing pretend about that.
Kalt’s still watching me. “He’ll never ask you to do more than you can. He asked Arrin to fight because he knew Arrin could do it. And he was right.” He pauses. “You’ll figure a way through it.”
We sit in silence a few moments, the Pursuit creaking in her side-to-side sway. Kalt starts writing again. “I need to take care of these reports.”
I don’t move.
“You can stay here tonight if you want.”
The offer’s generous, coming from him, but I shake my head. “I should head back.” I move for the door, then stop. “Thank you, Kalt.”
He nods without looking up.
To Her Royal Highness (Princess of Royal Commands):
I’m your obedient servant. But as it turns out, there are no glasses of wine here. Wine is too fancy for an airbase full of men and so I’ve wound up instead with one bottle of watery ale. I drank the entire thing in a single go, now I’m sitting before a piece of paper. I might regret this in the morning (I will), but I’m going to seal the letter up tight when I finish. I’ve told Cyar to hide it, then mail it. I won’t give myself a chance to think. He says all men become poets in love and war (though I really can’t say here if one of those is true yet).
So what is it like to fly? It’s like this.
You march out into the dawning day and nerves rattle around inside. Of course there are nerves. This isn’t the safe sky you trained in. This is anyone’s sky. It’s always dark at first, thick with clouds from the sea, before the sun burns them away. Your friends laugh as they lace up their boots, your ground crew gives you the rundown, you feel happy to be alive. No one’s going to die. Not today.
There’s your plane, waiting faithfully. She’s beautiful as ever. Up you go, settle in, the cockpit shut tight. It feels awfully tiny at that moment. Please, God, don’t let this be my coffin. The rigger gives you a thumbs-up, saluting. Always smiling. “Go on,” he says. “We’ve done our work and now it’s up to you. You’re on your own.”
There’s a bit of fear at this part. You have to commit.
But you go, of course, and then the runway’s stretched out before you like a shadow. Follow the flare path as you throttle back. They flash by and up you go into the unknown, into anyone’s sky. Steady now, watch the pitch.
3,000 feet.