God, that took long enough.
Inside HQ, he motions me down a hall to the back offices, the place Merlant and Garrick usually go for their private briefings. It’s hushed there, away from the busy main room filled with maps and typewriters and phone calls. The sound of pilots and personnel fades. Wick points to a closed door, wordless, before returning the way we came.
I take a breath and step inside.
Father’s seated at the desk. Early evening light filters through narrow windows. He glances up and gives a small smile. “Look at you. Hardly recognizable with all that sun on your face.” He gestures to the seat across from him.
I sit.
He continues to scan whatever it is he’s reading. “A moment.”
“Yes, sir.”
It’s been seven weeks and five long hours. What’s one more moment? I wait quietly, analyzing my boots, while Father reads, signs, repeats.
Clock ticking.
“You’ve done well here,” he comments. “Captain Merlant’s impressed.”
“I downed two planes, sir.”
He nods, still reading. “Very good.”
Silence again. Ticking. Flies buzz behind the window blinds.
Eventually, he finishes and sits back in his seat. “Did you see your brother’s speech?”
I nod. “It was something else.”
“Indeed. Windom helped him with it, so he can’t claim full credit.”
“I’m guessing it wasn’t Windom’s idea to grin and call them all cowards?”
“No, but he did hope to provoke a reaction. Arrin may have taken it to the edge, as he often does, but the insult woke them up. They know they’re guilty of what he said.”
“And whose idea was it to bring up Mother?” I can’t hide my distaste.
Father pauses. “It earned us sympathy from the skeptics. Windom got Arrin in the right frame of mind this summer—never an easy task. I’m sure Arrin learned some humility.” And that’s the end of the discussion about Mother, conversation diverted easily around it.
No choice but to follow. “Arrin wasn’t excited about working with Windom. Said it was his own personal hell.”
“No doubt.”
“Why?”
“The problem, as always with Arrin, is a girl.” I give a questioning look, but he ignores it. “And Kalt? Did you see him with that Carr boy?”
I forgot about Father’s sudden switches. They’re like mental flick-rolls. I never know what’s next. And the intense question in his gaze, bordering on aversion, suddenly illuminates the whole “reporting” thing.
“No, sir,” I say quickly. “I only visited him once.” Which is true. I just don’t mention that they were together, in his cabin, Kalt half-dressed.
I steel myself for Father’s inspection. I feel like I can hear the blood in my ears as he looks. Then he tilts his head and sits back in the chair, no evidence of whether or not my half truth worked. “I’m returning to Etania next week. I need to ensure Sinora knows the position she’s now in—and Resya. I’ve decided an air demonstration would be a nice reminder of our power. And I did promise one for the Princess. It’s very generous of me to indulge the request of a sweet girl, for her birthday.”
Something like excitement spikes inside me cautiously.
“And I can’t do that without you,” he adds, like it needs to be explained. “I want to know how the winds are blowing.”
Yes, it’s excitement now. Undeniable. There’s a protest inside me somewhere, that noble part of me that feels whatever I’ve done so far is enough of a betrayal, and anything more only amounts to the kind of sin that can’t ever be forgiven. But the protest doesn’t come. I want to see her again, more than I want to think about whatever comes after.
“Yes, sir.” She’ll be thrilled to see me, that’s certain at least.
“See what you can find out about Resya, what Sinora’s been up to this summer.”
She’ll smile at me with that secret smile that says everything and nothing, then disappears, making me try harder, making me desperate to win it back again. Instead of the dreamlike vision she’s become, she’ll be real and welcoming and brighter than the nightmare of 3,500 feet.
“Arrin’s coming too.”
I snap back. “Arrin?”
He gives me a wry look. “I think you just went pale, even with the new colour on your face.”
I stare at him. This was inevitable, but it still sucks the heat from my skin. Too soon, too soon. A shadow on my wings, waiting for me to maneuver. “Why is he coming?”
“That isn’t your concern. You have one job, and only one job, and you’re doing well at it. Still writing letters?”
I nod, scrambling for an opening. Something to put myself in the middle of this. With her. Not just in my damn airplane, which will be useless against whatever Arrin’s planning.
“There’s a birthday masquerade, Father. She invited me.”
He looks unimpressed. “A masquerade?”
“Yes. You know, with masks.”
“I know what a damn masquerade is. How is this helpful?”
A very good question, but I hold his stare. “I’m sure you and Arrin will be busy with other … priorities, and I think I make a good decoy. A distraction. Because I doubt Sinora’s very fond of me at the moment. If you needed a distraction, I mean.”
I’m stabbing in the dark, hoping to hit on something that makes sense for his secret mission, and interest flickers on his face. “A distraction?” He nods slowly. “That could be helpful.”
“I should go?”
He glares at me. “No, you should stop talking. Your mouth irritates me more than Arrin’s sometimes. At least he’s honest.”
“I was trying to help, sir.” It sounds convincing enough, a touch hurt even.
He says nothing to that, leaning back in his chair again, cracking his knuckles, and doesn’t speak for a long stretch. The flies continue to buzz behind the slatted blinds. Crawling, falling, flying in little bursts.
“Two planes down?” he finally asks.
I nod.
“All on your own?”
I nod again.
Silence.
“All right,” he says, “you’ll go.”
I glance up. “I will?”
“For God’s sake, is this a question now?”
I shake my head quickly. “No, sir.”
“Bring me something useful. Make this worth it.”
“Yes, sir.” I pause, then give a guilty smile. “But I might need a mask.”
He looks at me with what’s nearly a shred of humour. “Son, you need a lot more than that at this point.”
IX
A THOUSAND DAYS
35
AURELIA
Hathene, Etania
The morning of my birthday, I wake to a palace on edge.
The halls around me quiver with nervous voices and twitching hands, faces vainly trying to give me a bright smile, though they never break the hushed mask of uncertainty.
Down in Hathene, the protesters have gathered again, far beyond their usual numbers. They’ve swelled out of the square, trickling into side streets and luring more to their cause. We can hear them from Mother’s drawing room above the palace entrance. With the windows open, there’s a faint noise on the balmy breeze. Distant, yet palpable. Shouts and chants that won’t be silenced, along with the purr of our aeroplanes patrolling the sky.
Alone, Mother and I stand at the windows. I keep waiting for the faint sound to die down. Hoping.
“My star, this has nothing to do with your birthday,” Mother assures me, arm round my shoulders, “and everything to do with the General.”
This makes sense, of course. We can’t hear the protesters’ words from this distance, but the Safire will soon arrive, returning with the fresh controversy of new ambition in Resya, and certainly these crowds are as angry as when they threatened my Royal Chase this spring. They still despise the Safire and their bloody boots in our kingdom. But this time, I can see both sides, both worlds, and it’s not as simple as they imagine. I want to run before them and say, “I’m on your side, I swear it. I’m trying to bring peace in the best way I can!”
Instead, I have to stand here and simply listen, wrapped in a pastel-blue dress with ribbons and suffocating lace. I feel as tiny as the pearl pins in my hair.