Wright stopped at the third door from the left. A plaque readCaptain Estyn.
“They haven’t changed the name yet,” Wright explained.
The heavy scent of cigars and whiskey slammed into Zane as he stepped into the office. Screens covered the walls. Piles of paperwork towered on a mahogany desk, where a heavily-scarred man with a cigar in his mouth slouched over a holopad. He looked as out of place as the mahogany.
“This is the man the Duchissa hired, Captain Vale.”
The grizzled guard looked up from his paperwork and lowered his cigar. “Oh, Wells. Good to see you. Please, have a seat. Let me pour you a glass.”
Zane sank into a plump blue chair. Vale slid a glass of amber-colored iskai across the desk, pouring a second for Wright.
“You look like your grandfather,” Vale said, taking a sip of iskai.
Zane fought the urge to roll his eyes. Other than his hair and height, which were from the Wells side, all his features were Mom’s.
“You knew him?”
Vale took another puff of his cigar. “Of course I knew your grandfather. We served together. Now there was a man I’d never cross. The old man was the only one who never shied away from speaking his mind, to hell with the consequences. I once saw him get into a screaming match with the Major Governor.”
Zane took a sip of the smooth, smoky iskai. Mom had spoken of Roth, the Throne Maker, with a mixture of grudging respect and unease: a fearless general, a brilliant diplomat, an unparalleled genius, but also a man who turned on his own sister, who was so ruthless in his fight for Calida’s crown that Madeleine had killed herself rather than face him. A man like that was someone to keep at arm’s reach.
Still, it didn’t surprise him that Grandfather was the type to mouth off to Roth. He’d been tempted to earlier, when Roth started going onabout how close he was to their family. Bullshit. If Roth had ever cared about them, he would’ve given Avington back.
Zane’s fingers tightened on the iskai glass.
The guards were staring at him.
“Sounds like him,” he said. He didn’t really know much about Grandfather, only what he’d heard from Mom’s stories, and she’d only known him for a few cycles.
“His loss was a tragedy.” Vale lowered his cigar again. Smoke drizzled from the end. “As interim Captain, it’s my responsibility to assess the loyalty of new recruits. Let’s get it out in the open, Wells. You lost a lot because of the royal family.”
“If Calida was in charge, I wouldn’t be sitting here.”
“DuchissaCalida,” Vale chided. “Yet you’ll serve the new Duchissa.”
Zane spun his glass, watching the amber liquid slosh around the ice cube. “Hannover and I have come to an understanding. I won’t turn on her.”
Vale stared at a weathered gold band on his ring finger. “You’re not the only one who lost everything in that wretched war. That greasy Etovian devil wiped my city off the face of the planet. Got my wife and child, too.”
Zane gaped at him. Losing his wife was bad enough, but his child… If that had been his family, he wouldn’t be sitting in this plushy chair. He’d be sitting on a metal slab with wires stuck to his head, convicted of assassination. If that failed, he’d be dead at the bastard’s feet.
“My point is,” Vale said, “I know loss can change a person.”
“You don’t need to worry, Captain. Hannover knows I’m not going to betray her.” Zane took another sip of iskai. This was good stuff. Better than some of the alcohol on theChimaera. “If her father killed your family, how do you serve her?”
Vale took another puff of his cigar. He blew the smoke out, sending noxious gray plumes towards Zane. “I served her aunt, and her great-grandmother before her. It’s my duty.”
“I wish we had an actual Dalian on the throne, though,” Wright muttered.
“HannoverisDalian.”
Wright looked taken aback. Even Vale appeared mildly surprised.
Zane couldn’t believe he’d said it.
But now that the words were out, steely conviction made him straighten up, giving them each a look that dared them to argue. After hearing Hannover’s sister whisper that she should’ve died, and seeing Hannover’s unflinching reaction, suggesting she was more Etovian than Dalian was beyond stupid.
“Indeed she is.” Vale lowered his cigar. “Besides, Wright, consider the alternative. Would you rather have an Etovian princess parading around our palace?”
