I kissed her.
Admittedly, it was far more enjoyable than an inverted dive out of crosshairs. Everything after that was a dogfight in itself, waiting to see what opportunity would appear, looking for weaknesses, openings, and now it’s led me here.
3,000 feet.
That’s how long it takes for Father to forbid me to fly my own plane, passing it off to some other bootlicker pilot like it isn’t even mine, then speak in muttered tones with Arrin, with his men. How long it takes him to work his way towards me, hiding alone in the back of the wobbling plane. The wings break above the lingering smoke, through the turbulent evening clouds, and a midnight sky stretches endless outside the windows.
I want my fighter. I want to leap into that dark sea of stars.
Instead, I’m cornered by Father behind a metal partition, in the cargo area. He seizes the neck of my uniform, his cold voice snarling, “You goddamn traitor. You idiot boy.”
And then in his fury, his fist goes up with my name on it, and I say, “I saved you, Father!”
I’m shaking, but it might just be the plane.
The fist halts, and he stares at me, black as the night outside.
“Aurelia would have given those photographs to her brother. I swear it, he was ready to take the crown tonight. He hates us. He wouldn’t hesitate to bring that crime and whatever else he could find before the League. Karkev. Beraya. He wouldn’t stop until the entire North despised us the way he does. He wouldn’t stop until he discovered the truth about your alliance with Seath. We’d have to fight Landore. All their allies.” My voice breaks. “We can’t win against them, Father. You know that. We can’t.”
He’s still staring at me, at my desperate mouth, but I know I’m right. He’s spent too long trying to earn the respect of the North. Every step has been a strategic move in the direction of true power. Not the kind that threatens those kings. The kind that’s welcomed. Power that Landore and the other royals envy.
But if they turn against us right now, it’s over.
If we go back to being the rustic commoners with too much blood on our hands, they’ll grow suspicious, renege on everything gained.
And those small photographs would launch the case against us.
But Father doesn’t acknowledge any of it, only yanks the sidearm from his hip. It’s glaring and angry in the low lights. A dark flare of terror. Everything disappears from my chest. I’m only fear and bones.
“You can’t fire that in here,” I say, my voice sounding panicked, unfamiliar.
The plane wobbles sharply.
“No?” he asks, steadying the weapon. “You think I can’t fire my pistol in this airplane? You think it’s a risk?” He cocks it at my chest. “It’s only a risk, boy, if the bullet doesn’t find a body first. It needs the right target. The flesh to absorb the blow and silence the shot.”
I hover like a ghost before the barrel.
He pushes it an inch closer. “I have my target, Lieutenant. I have Resya. It will take the fall and light my triumph. And if you ever disobey me again, you can forget being a captain. You can forget the squadron. You’ll be at my side every minute of every day and Hajari will be at the front of our first wave into Resya. Without you.”
He lets the gun loom on me a moment longer, the awareness of it burning my chest. A phantom pressure of heat. He won’t forgive me a second time. I’ve wasted my promise, the promise that once made him believe I’d be the best. Then he abandons me in the tiny, vibrating metal space at the back of his plane, and I slide down to my knees, lungs wrestling for breath. I’m alone. Burned up in his star. I’m too afraid to move, desperate for him to have shown me otherwise. I don’t want Sinora Lehzar to be right. I want him to be who he was on the floor of the study months ago, tamed by drink. Seeing me.
Knowing me.
I shut my exhausted eyes. In the darkness, twin weapons flicker coldly—Father’s pistol and the one that was wielded by Ali’s cousin. Two guns hot for war. Two barrels that don’t flinch. I think of Sinora’s warning for Father, about the secrets she holds. Her infinite shadow. Have we only woken the cat, this woman with endless ties to the South? How do I tell him that? How could I convince him? Would he even care anymore?
I can’t think of anything.
I’m too damn tired to jump again.
* * *
The airbase outside Norvenne greets us with startled questions. The news from Etania consumes everyone, and Father has to explain a dozen times what happened there, the unexpected coup, the accusation of murder, and I’ve seen at least three Landorian officials quickly look at whatever map is nearest them, searching for Hathene, confused. It’s not a place anyone thinks about much. Buried in those mountains.
Two days later, the League denies Father his war.
“A sovereign kingdom must not be dealt with in bloodshed,” they declare in writing, “and furthermore, there must be firmer evidence to convict His Majesty King Rahian of dealing with Seath of the Nahir.”
I expect to find Father and Arrin furious. Their carefully measured plot isn’t enough to convict a king. It’s the truth that’s always lingered over this, ever since Mother’s death and revenge was brewed against Sinora.
In the North, nothing trumps a crown. That royal blood of Prince Efan.
But when I find Arrin with Kalt in one of the airbase lounges, Arrin’s half-dressed, a bottle happily in one hand. Father’s disappeared to meet with Windom, and here’s my brother reveling like the world’s suddenly been handed to him on a silver platter.
Kalt just watches him, a cigarette in one weary hand.
I ask Arrin what the hell he’s doing.
“Celebrating,” he explains, lifting the bottle. “Time for another war!”
“You failed, Arrin. Try again.”
“Failed?” He laughs, glancing at Kalt. “God, our little brother is the best. At times brilliant, at times so far behind I’m not sure he’ll ever catch up.”
Kalt sucks on his cigarette, like it’s giving him strength. “Athan, we’re still going to war with Resya. Please tell me you knew this.”
I realize I didn’t.
I stand there, mad at myself for actually thinking the League’s verdict mattered. Of course we’re still going to war. The Nahir are on our side, and when we invade—and win—Rahian will look guilty as sin and all the proof of his dark dealings will be at our fingertips, courtesy of Seath.
We’ll be the heroes of the North.
The ones who exposed Resya as traitorous—and brought the kingdom to account.
I hate that I ever believed there was a chance for peace, for home. That I believed Sinora did this and what other truth could there be?
This silent, shrewd war.
My father’s war.
“Get yourself ready, Lieutenant.” Arrin smirks. “Resya won’t be Havenspur.”
I snatch the bottle from his hand. “This isn’t a game.”
He looks up, sour. “Now, Lieutenant. I’d have had Mother’s murderer if not for you. You’re the one playing games.”
“You were ready to shoot an innocent girl to make your point!”
“At least I have loyalty,” Arrin snaps.
I’m numb with fury. Exhausted still. But my anger is alive.
He scowls through his drunken fog. He tries to get the bottle back, but I move it out of reach, and he looks up at me with dog eyes. “What the hell do you think of me?”
Kalt sucks on his cigarette again. Smoke stinking the room.
“For all your apparent virtue,” Arrin observes, “I happen to know Leannya has hardly heard a word from you this summer. It’s a good thing I made sure to send her the letters I promised, since you were too busy betraying us all.”
One of the great mysteries in life will always be how he manages to stay this sharp even when drunk. Practice, maybe. “I didn’t betray you,” I get out through my teeth. “I saved you.”
Ali’s the one I’ve betrayed with every word, every breath.