Dark of the West (Glass Alliance)

“Do you know why I can get away with what I do?” Arrin presses. “It’s not because I play a fool. It’s not because I do what I want. It’s because when I’m on the frontlines, I’m everything he expects me to be. I’m brilliant. And he needs me. That’s the only thing he’ll negotiate with. The only card that wins.”

“You’re carrying the tradition,” he continues, “and you had it coming. Don’t look at me like that—you did. Trying to flunk out of the squadrons without Father noticing. Are you an idiot?”

“Better than your brand of it.”

“Father’s rather furious with you,” Arrin observes.

“I hadn’t noticed,” I reply.

Anger’s still hot inside me. I’m certain it was Arrin who told Father about my seventh-place standing. Arrin who would have made a deal of it and suggested that maybe I wasn’t trying entirely hard enough, whispering my treason.

He shrugs after a moment. “I’m sure it was the same speech we’ve all heard. How he didn’t sacrifice everything to have such a lousy, useless, rotten son. Am I right?” There’s a trace of humour in his voice.

“Maybe,” I say, annoyed he’s right.

Kalt gets his little wisp of a smile, the one that’s silently pleased with the outcome of events. Now he’s the only son to be seen with Father. They climb into the car and it’s Leannya who pauses at the door. She looks divided, no doubt regretting any decision that takes her away from Arrin, tiny gold shadow that she is. But she offers us an embarrassed wave, an innocent betrayal, then slides in beside Kalt.

Father waves a hand, wearied of her. “I don’t need this. If you wish to stay, fine. Athan will stay with you.”

I step back from the car. An indirect order.

“No, let me,” Arrin says out of nowhere.

Father turns with a frown. “You?”

Arrin nods.

There’s a moment of silence, Father deliberating, and we all wait for the inevitable dismissal of Arrin’s request. If anyone should be on that podium, it’s the decorated eldest son with his medals. Not to mention, Mother and Arrin left alone together would probably end in anarchy.

But Father relents. “All right. Athan will stay too.”

“Sapphie, you know it means a lot to have you at my side.”

“Tomorrow is for us, isn’t it?”

They’re the words of our father, the thing he’d say when long meetings kept him away from us, when he had only time to pat our heads and promise us better the next day.

I long to tell him what I’ve read. The dark words that threaten to tie our own mother to Seath. Seath of the Nahir! Leader of the Southern uprising and the last person a Queen of the North can be associated with. It must be him—how many Southern men go by that one name alone? But I can’t tell Reni. Though he carries the blood of kings, though he’s the one who will take the throne and continue our line into another generation, he is also my brother, and I know him too well. This letter would spark him to reckless action, and I can’t be responsible for dividing our family even further.

What sort of daughter rummages through her mother’s vanity?

What sort of daughter rummages through her Queen’s vanity?

Well, I suppose I do, and I have no choice.

A shade of impatience worms into Havis’s gaze. “You’re a pleasant girl, Princess, but still a child. You can smile pretty and delight these gentlemen, but what do you know of the Safire? The General?” He drains his red wine. “Having him here will be a good lesson for you. You’ll find there’s little to admire about a man in uniform.”

“You know nothing about what I admire,” I retort coldly.