“Ah, but when the sun sets on the red rocks?” Cyar brushes Ivory’s forelock to the side. “Everything turns to gold. The only thing more beautiful is my girl.”
That earns him my romantic sigh.
Athan nudges my shoulder. “He even writes poetry.”
Cyar grins. “Only when I’m drunk.”
“Little sunflower, shining in the light—”
“Shut up, Erelis.”
I laugh and drag Athan closer to Ivory again. I like the excuse to touch him. “See? She won’t hurt you, I promise.”
He rests a hand on her back. “Good enough?”
“No. You have to pat her neck.”
He obliges awkwardly, uncertain, and Cyar leaves us in the stall alone. I step closer to Athan. The air shimmers with dust, smelling like mud and hay and that special scent unique to horses. It’s everything I love. Hesitantly, I rest my hand on his, helping him settle into a more certain rhythm.
“She’s soft,” he admits quietly.
“She is,” I say.
His skin feels warm beneath mine, and even though I know I can let go, let him do this on his own, I don’t. His hands are gentle. Like he’s touching a baby bird. I think of them operating one of those beautiful aeroplanes, through the reaches of sky I’ll never see, and it seems breathtaking in its beauty. Something godlike that shouldn’t exist. I remember the way his hands felt around my waist when we danced, warm and weakening. If only he’d touch me again. I want to savour it more completely. His hands choosing me, for a moment, above anything else.
Hands that will kill or be killed in a place far from here.
I pull myself from him.
“Are you all right?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say, rubbing my arms. “Shall we see the other horses?”
He nods, looking a bit confused, disappointed even, and we step into the alley, latching Ivory’s door.
Cyar’s halted at another stall down the way. He looks sad, staring through the iron bars, and I know whose stall it is.
Liberty.
Cyar’s hand grips the bars. “What happened to him?”
“He was injured in a race,” I say. “They hose the leg down every day but it’s still swelling. He’s stopped eating.” I can’t hide my grief.
“Bring him out,” Cyar says. It’s the closest thing to an order I’ve heard from him yet.
But I do it, and Liberty stumbles into the alley, favouring the injury. Cyar drops down, feeling the swollen tendons, careful and quick. “Do you have rosemary oil?”
“I’m sure we do.”
“Your groom should put that directly on the leg. It will ease the pain.” He considers a moment, still on one knee. “There’s a flower we have at home, it’s called jurica. I don’t know what it would be called here. It grows near rivers. Has a red spiked top.”
“A spiked top…” I try to think of everything I’ve seen out in the woods. “Like a star with a yellow middle?”
“Yes. Exactly.”
“I’ve seen that.” A bit of excitement rises. “Can it help?”
“It can bring back the appetite,” Cyar says, standing quickly. “Show me where you think it is.”
I nod and thrust Liberty’s lead at Athan. “Hold him. We’ll be back!”
Athan stares at us, then at Liberty’s giant head, then back at us. “Hang on, I don’t—”
Cyar and I are already running down the alleyway and out into the warm sun.
We gallop for the river, diving into the wet grass along the ditches, finding ourselves ankle-deep in mud. My shoe nearly comes off, and despite Liberty’s miserable state, we can’t help but laugh. I really didn’t ever expect to be mucking through the river with a Safire soldier. What would Heathwyn think? But I spot the desired plant first, raising it triumphantly.
“Water-willow,” I say.
“Jurica,” Cyar corrects, and we both grin.
When we burst back into the shade of the stable, I dissolve into laughter all over again. Cyar, too. There’s Athan, cornered by Liberty’s huge, curious frame at the back of the alley. Athan has the lead by the absolute farthest end, entirely useless, hands raised. “It’s attacking me!” he exclaims.
“He’ll never survive Thurn,” Cyar says to me.
“Please take care of him,” I reply.
Then we go smiling into the grain room together and mix a paste with the jurica plant, and I hope to the stars the people of Rahmet have discovered the miracle to save my brother’s horse.
ATHAN
With each passing day, my mission loses its relevance at a remarkable pace. Aurelia reveals no fatal secrets about her mother, not even when I try to press her about the protests I’ve caught rumour of. She navigates around the issue quickly, and the only secrets she hints at are the ones that have meaning for me alone—half-hidden looks and little smiles. Tempting things. When Father asks me what I did for a week, I’m not going to have any kind of answer he’ll appreciate hearing.
“I mostly thought about kissing her” won’t go over well.
That would only put me in league with Arrin.
But now we’re sitting here, wet with river water, basking in the sun, and I just don’t care. The Prince showed up right as we launched our narrow rowboats into the river. He was trying a new strategy. Smiling and acting cheerful. Clever, because Aurelia adores him for it. She thinks he’s coming around. He even opted to row with Cyar, leaving Aurelia with me, and the whole thing quickly became a race—with three boys, it was inevitable. We would have won, too, if Aurelia hadn’t put her paddle into a half-submerged tree. She scrambled, using far too much force, yanking, and then we were sidelong into the rough current. Capsized in a moment.
Cyar, the traitor, paddled on with the Prince, both caught up in the competition of it.
We chose the sunny shore.
“I think you’ve lost your best friend,” Aurelia says as they disappear from sight, stretching herself out on the grass. She’s clearly pleased to have her brother playing with the Safire.
“Or perhaps you’ve just lost an heir to the throne.”
“Is that a threat, Lieutenant?” She doesn’t sound a bit suspicious, which proves how wrongly I’ve tangled this up. Or rightly. I can’t tell.
“You know, you look pretty even half-drowned,” I offer, trying distraction.
She smiles and shrugs, hands plucking dandelions, as if I’m saying something inconsequential. She does that well. One little turn of her cheek and whatever I’ve said becomes nothing. It wouldn’t bother me so much if I weren’t trying.
But I am.
She leans over and rubs a dandelion against my bare arm, leaving a yellow mark behind.
“What was that for?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She does it again, hand brushing my skin. “Come on, show me how you think under pressure, pilot boy,” she teases.
I pretend not to care, as if I’m not bothered enough to move, but all I can think about is her touch. Her dark eyes are brighter in the light, like dark honey.
A large drop of rain lands on her cheek, and she wrinkles her nose in an endearing way, glancing at the sky. “Stars, what’s this?”
“I believe in Landori those are called clouds.”
“Ah, you’re quite brilliant, Athan.”
“Thank you, Ali.”
A sudden smile lights her face, drops falling around us faster. “You used my nickname.”
It’s a surprise for me, too.
She stands, motioning me to my feet, and I do as she asks. Helpless. “Dance with me, Lieutenant,” she says, her left hand taking mine, her right on my shoulder. “Dance with me in the rain and we’ll see what you remember.” I almost protest, but she’s already against me. Her half-dried hair tickles my arm, her bare skin against mine. My heart pounds wilder than it ever has. Temptation burning. Just one moment. One moment like this, all alone on the rainy shore, the mountains right there, so close I could touch them.
Her so close, to t
ouch.
To kiss.
“I kissed her, Father,” I imagine myself saying.
I imagine her in my arms and everything else burning around us and then I push her from me, terrified, like she’s something that might shatter between my hands. The Prince and Cyar have appeared again, paddling their craft closer, and her brother’s fury is a siren at the edge of my vision. “We need to untie our boat, Ali.”
“We have a moment,” she says, hurt evident. Something fragile I have power over.
“This will only get worse.”
The rain falls harder, proving my point, and she lets her hands drop from me. Her disappointment hammers at my resolve.
“Perhaps later,” I say, even though it’s a promise I shouldn’t make.
“Perhaps.”
She’s already walking for the river.
23
AURELIA
The afternoon the General and my mother are to return, Athan and I are alone together. We wander the halls, buying time, even though he’s said three times now that he really must go ready his things to leave. I can’t bring myself to agree to it. He eventually just invites me to join him while he packs.
The small guest room has a single window overlooking the woods. Cyar’s bed has been neatly made, his bag already gone. Athan tells a laughing monologue as he folds and sorts, some tale about Cyar and a snake and a pool, but I’m adrift. I’m caught between two currents of certainty—one, that I’ll never be able to forgive myself if I let him go thinking I don’t care, and the other, that this evening he’ll be gone and no matter how we pretend, we’ll likely never see each other again.
What’s the point in speaking my thoughts if they can’t become anything?
“You have to picture this, Ali—a giant snake loose in a pool while mothers run in fear. Cyar may seem like the mature one now, but he was a little tyrant back in the day. Says his mother was relieved to ship him to the Academy to be straightened out.” His laughter stops. “You don’t find this as funny as I do?”
“It’s very funny.” I’m tired of stories about Cyar.
Silence stretches a long moment, then he tosses something at me. “Here.”
I catch it between my palms, startled to interest. A coin from Savient. One side bears the familiar fox in swords, the other a ship with banners.
“Save it, Ali. When you visit, we’ll go to Valon and spend a night there, maybe drink too much. Bring out the rebel in you.”
“And what would your girlfriend think of that?” I ask.
I need the truth. I’m sure she’s there, some girl who knows what he knows, who lived through the bullets and the revolution and who understands the strange things that make him tick.
His smile fades. “Girlfriend?”
“Yes. I assume you have one. Like Cyar.”
He stares at me, then shakes his head. “I don’t.”
“No?” Relief warms.
“I’ve spent five years at an academy full of men. We had two female pilots, but they graduated ahead of me. There’s a reason I can’t dance.” He pauses. “Besides, I don’t think it matters much anyway. I’m going to war and I’ll probably die, so then what?”
“Don’t say things like that,” I whisper.
He shifts, perhaps embarrassed. “I suppose I’ve never been very good at this,” he admits.
“Would you come to my birthday masquerade?”
Regret softens his discomfort. “I’m not sure you know what you’re asking.”
“It’s one night, Athan. You have leave, don’t you?”
“Not to come halfway around the world.”
“I promise it would be worth it.” It’s silly even to my own ears. I’m asking for the impossible, but I’m desperate for him to pretend along with me, to pretend he’d try for me.
With a sigh, he motions for the coin. “Let’s do this your way. We’ll let fate decide.” I hand it over and he makes a fist, resting the coin on his index finger. “If it’s a fox, I come.”
I nod.
He flicks it and it spins into the air, then lands on his outstretched palm, results swiftly shielded by his left hand. “What do you think it is?”
“A fox,” I say with certainty.
Instead of revealing the coin, he tosses it back at me without warning. I’m not quick enough and it falls to the floor, spinning on wood. “Why did you do that? Now we’ll never know!”
“Sometimes it’s better not knowing.” He looks at me, grey eyes rueful. “I’d prefer to dream.”
Stars, I’m so frustrated by the distance soon between us, the distance even here and now. It’s all new and frightening. “Then it’s a good thing you don’t believe in fate. You’ll have to make it happen, won’t you?” I move closer. “We should practice our dance, Lieutenant. The one we didn’t have time for at the river.”
“Here?” He starts to look round the room, but he’s quickly drawn back to me, my face.
“Yes. You said later. It’s later, isn’t it?”
“Let me check my watch.”
I grab his hand before he can tease his way out of this, placing it on my waist. “Dance with me.”
“Anything to see you smile,” he says, the humour in his voice lessened, replaced by a gaze that makes me hot from head to toe.
I’m so close now, and he doesn’t back away, nor does he come near. He stares like he’s forgotten how to breathe. It’s easier than I expected. There’s nothing to distract him from me, and as we dance, I can’t keep track of the steps. He’s no longer the strange and distant boy from the dinner twelve days ago. Now his touch is meaningful, because it belongs to him, Athan Erelis, and desire for something I can’t explain sparks wild inside.
“Please come,” I say into his ear. “Ask the General for special permission.”
His shoulders shift beneath my hands. “I’ll write you.”
It’s a middle ground, the only thing he can offer, and I accept it gratefully, clinging to his warmth and the sensation of him here and now, on the earth, with me, far from the clouds above. His breath against my forehead. I look up, at his lips, his perfect lips, and I know they’re meant for me. A taste I long for. He leans down. His warm mouth almost to mine.
A tall shadow appears at the open doorway.
Stars!
We jump away from each other.
It’s General Dakar, Admiral Malek behind him, and both appear stunned. New heat surges across my cheeks.
The silence is terrifying.
The General cocks his head. “What social graces indeed, Lieutenant.”
Athan doesn’t speak, eyes on the floor.
This is all my fault and guilt pulses beneath the mortification. “Your tour went well, General?” I’m grasping for an escape.
“Yes. Your mother was a most beneficial ally. I’m appreciative of her efforts. Likewise, your willingness to be such a … generous host.”
The Admiral appears faintly amused behind him.
The General turns to Athan. “Gather your things, Lieutenant. You’re late as it is.”
“Yes, sir.” He grabs his bags and heads out the door, no farewell offered in my direction. Not even a glance.
It hurts.
“You must forgive our sudden departure, Princess,” the General says. “There are new and pressing matters in Thurn, and we simply can’t afford to stay longer. This has been a happy visit for us all, but the South doesn’t wait on such things.” He tilts his cap to me. “Thank you, again.”
He and the Admiral turn down the hall, and I’m left alone—so terribly alone—in the empty room with its solitary view of the woods.
* * *
There’s a golden glow behind the western mountains as the Safire planes are fueled, the placid evening interrupted by urgent shouts and propellers spinning. Men smoke last cigarettes before a long flight. Within the palace, heated words whisper of a new uprising, panicked fears about the Southern troubles that only seem to be getting worse, a storm that hasn’t been thi
s dangerous for half a century.
Seath of the Nahir—the man who came back from the dead.
I watch from the window, afraid to go outside to the wide steps with Mother and Reni and the other courtiers gathered. That would make this real, inescapable. There’s no last chance to give a proper goodbye to Athan, or Cyar. Gone, like cool water drying from my skin on a bright day, disappearing. As if they’d never come.
Engines stammer to a start and catch in the breeze.
Is he looking for me out there? Is he searching for my face beside Mother?
The thought of him hoping, and not finding, spurs me from the window. I hurry down the hall with desperation rising, out onto the steps, afraid I’ve missed my chance.
Far below on the tarmac, the General gives Mother a final nod while he stands near his impressive aeroplane.
I search the grey figures. There he is, illuminated by the western glow. Athan. His face is turned to the steps, waiting, and our eyes meet from a distance. He waves quickly. Even from here I can read the regret. Then he turns and retreats into the large plane, gone.
Gone.
The planes rise up into the burnt-ember sky, dark against light, towards the mountains, and I watch until they’ve disappeared, until I’m sure my sorrow will wrench my heart inside out.
I turn for the doors, and stop.
Havis stands in the entrance, leaning casually. A young man with sun-burnished skin waits beside him.
“Goodbyes are difficult, aren’t they?” Havis says. There’s a cigar in his hand.
I bury my grief and step round them without a word.
V
BLOOD TIES
24
ATHAN
Norvenne, Landore
Rebellion.
Revolt.
The words are thrown around the airplane as we fly for Norvenne. A failed uprising in the Thurnian city of Beraya, and the Nahir hung three Landorian officials just as they did in Hady. Then they burned a Safire flag on the city wall. It’s a taunt that won’t be ignored, and anger is palpable in the cramped air of 20,000 feet.
Dark of the West (Glass Alliance) Page 23
