I don’t commit myself yet. Ignoring his earnest glance, I focus on the map as if it really is of sudden and great concern. Red lines cover the beige shadows of continents, the tiny shape of Etania buried in mountains, surrounded by our neighbouring kingdoms which make up the western Heights, and all of us in turn dwarfed by the oldest Northern empire—Landore. Across the continent are the eastern nations of the North, new and young and violent, demanding to be treated as equals despite their lack of royal rule. Savient dominates the landscape, having swallowed three into one.
And far beneath the Black Sea is the Southern continent, Resya abandoned at the edge. My readings for the university exams say it was the chaos of the South which once worked to our advantage. There were too many groups, each at odds. They say the people of the South don’t have a shared history as we in the North do. Mother disagrees, of course, saying there was once a university there—I can’t remember where—which was the most advanced in all the world, founded by a Southern queen no less, which seems too much like myth since there aren’t even any monarchies in the South. Instead, the possibly dead Seath is uniting many under his Nahir cause, the uprising greater than it has been in over fifty years. Landore is on the cusp of losing control of its territory, Thurn—along with the precious natural resources and any chance of peace.
Truly, how can anyone say what the best path forward is?
“And what does Havis want now?” Reni asks, slicing the silence with his disdain.
Mother says nothing. We turn, as if we haven’t been waiting for her to speak the past minutes. As if we aren’t both desperate to know what requests a shifting man like Havis would bring from Resya.
When she remains silent, Reni tosses a newspaper onto the table before her. The headline sits ugly in black ink.
NAHIR AMBUSH LANDORIAN ROYAL 6TH REGIMENT, EAST OF RESYAN BORDER
“I don’t live in a fantasy, Mother,” Reni says, “and I see the cards on the table. We can’t have anything to do with your homeland, no matter what Havis says. Not when it fails to take decisive action against the insurrection.”
She looks at his face, and then mine, certainly seeing the anger in him and the regret in me. She knows I’m on his side in this. But the familiar strength of a challenge brightens her dark eyes. “And what if this ‘insurrection’ is in fact a great revolution? A necessary change to right the injustice of the past? What then, my son?”
Her implication hangs starkly, uncomfortable. Reni has no answer. If she could—if it wouldn’t stain Reni and me forever—she’d stand before the entire North and say this is all a fiction, that the broadcasts lie, that the Nahir are not the absolute reflection of her people, and that one day, soon, the South will rule itself again in honour, free of Northern influence.
She’d say that—but then she’d have every royal against us.
She closes her eyes briefly, and when she speaks again, she speaks in lilting, soft Resyan. “I desire more trust from the both of you. The two of you are my very heart. Truly, your blood of two worlds is a strength, a great power, though it may not seem so yet.”
Reni says nothing. He likes to pretend he can’t speak her tongue, as if he’s Etanian through and through.
But I reply quickly, in kind. “I believe you, Mother. I do.”
Reni throws me a frustrated glance, betrayed, but I can’t bear to say any other. On quiet evenings when her door is closed, Mother sits with me and talks in Resyan, only the two of us, and she’ll remember how the capital city there glows hot in the evening light, colours of ginger and caramel. How the nights are so peaceful you can hear your own heart beat and thoughts turn. How the lingering heat can be tasted on the tongue, warm and citrus-sweet.
In those secret moments we share, I ache for her. Resyan operas playing on the gramophone, our mint tea steaming with lemon rind. I try to believe her stories, but they feel like a fiction, like ghosts of a place that no longer exists.
I know her loneliness.
But she waits, staring at Reni.
Reni shakes his head, his earnest gaze becoming all Father—quiet, firm, diplomatic. He speaks Etanian. “Listen, Mother. I see the new wealth to be gained from Savient and know why you’ve pursued this alliance. I know how depleted our mountains are better than anyone. Savien petrol might benefit our kingdom. But that doesn’t change the truth—General Dakar is out for his own gain, in the North and in the South. And I’m to trust you as you invite him here? Welcome him with open arms even as our people protest? No, Mother. True power is a unified kingdom, and not even you can deny that.”
The silence between us aches.
I see the regret on Mother’s face. I know she hates to be at odds with Reni, can see how it bruises her heart. And yet her fire is as strong as his, and her stare is both fierce and gentle. It covers us both. “Someday, my children, you will see that to serve the ones you love, you must be bold in action.” She looks back to Reni. “But for now, you are not yet twenty. And until that day you take the crown, I am still Queen—and you will remember it.”
5
ATHAN DAKAR
Valon, Savient
I arrive to the Victory Week gala dressed in my full uniform—starched jacket, stiff grey wool, and spotless boots. A good half hour was spent ironing out creases and shining leather, since that’s my job, not the maid’s. Father says there’s no reason another person should do what you have the time and ability to do yourself. And though Savient might not have a real court, and Father might hold most royal customs in disdain, he can still throw a damn good party. Anything to win new allies and reward loyal friends, and we three sons are the polished reflection of him. He expects an impressive appearance.
But I still made sure to run a hand through my combed hair, messing it up just enough a bit falls over my forehead.
Rebellion—or something like it.
The large room before me whirls beneath dimmed chandeliers, revelers marching about, laughing, teetering on the edge of tipsy. Voices surge above the music, lit by brandy and whisky and everything else bitter and strong. All of it’s barely contained by the mahogany walls and heavy, angled curtains. Our home looks too brooding and efficient for this sort of thing, but tonight no one cares. It’s ten years of Savient. Ten years of glory. A reckless sort of pride because the world is suddenly ours to take.
I resist the urge to wave a white flag and run out again.
As I press through the crowd, predictable discussions spin about the war in neighbouring Karkev. Men in suits boast over their sons in uniform, the latest promotions and honours, he’d with a hundred ideas about why a war against a pack of isolated Northern criminals has dragged on for two years and how he’d end it. Colonels and captains give me approving pats on the shoulder, too many to keep track of.
“Looking forward to seeing you at the front,” one says.
“Ready to shoot a few down,” I reply, like there’s no better pastime than war.
The wives sigh over my uniform and tell me I’m now as handsome as my brother. Which one? Doesn’t matter. On and on, none of the conversations lasting more than a minute or two.
I sweep the room and spot Cyar seated near the back. He and a few pilots have secured a table in the corner, hiding as it were. I’m going to make a break for it.
Kalt clears his throat next to me.
Where the hell did he come from?
He nods towards Mother and Arrin, seated in what looks to be an awkward stalemate. Mother’s pouring a glass of wine—drunk, judging by the level of concentration required—while Arrin flirts with a pretty brunette on his lap. A new girlfriend, according to Leannya. As of two days ago. Next to him is the red-haired Garrick Carr, his loyal ass of a friend. This evening’s off to a galloping start.
Kalt’s eyes narrow on me, an order not to abandon him at the brink of conflict. No sign of Father anywhere.
We head for the table.
When we arrive, Mother offers me a radiant smile doused in wine. Kalt gets a formal nod. Garrick grunts a welcome that’s neither friendly nor cold. He’s a pilot, Captain of the Moonstrike squadron, but far from an ally. He spends too much time with Arrin and treats me like any other kid brother.
And Arrin?