“How was it this time?” Alden Whitemorrow asked excitedly as William stepped off the wing of the experimental shard.
Around them, the Jellyfish’s flight crew had also swarmed forward, ropes and dollies ready to tow the ugly machine back into the carrier’s hangar for post-flight checks.
“I’m still getting a bit of control stiffening when I get up to full speed,” William replied, as he pulled up his goggles. “The new rear mounted stabilizers definitely help though.”
“Told you they would,” the other man said happily. “Honestly, I still don’t know why you didn’t add them in the first draft?”
Because on the original design they would have melted, William thought. Fortunately, this new variant of the shard doesn’t have that issue.
Instead of saying that though, he just shrugged. Which his future father-in-law took in the spirit he intended it as he glanced back at the retreating machine.
“Though if you’re still having trouble in spite of that change, well, I’ve got some ideas, but I don’t know how much more we can do.”
William sighed and nodded. The duel was tomorrow. At this point it was probably better not to make any sweeping alterations that might change its flight performance anymore than they already had.
“Something to look into after the match,” he said. “I doubt I’ll actually need to get up to the kind of speed where the stiffening becomes a factor tomorrow.”
At least, not while manoeuvring at the same time.
“No, probably not.” Alden chuckled, the sound perhaps a little manic. “I’ll get her back below and make sure our bird is ready for tomorrow.”
William nodded and watched as the older man strode off toward the deck elevator where the shard was getting ready to be lowered down into the Jellyfish’s internal hangars.
Ideally, they’d have been doing this final stage of testing on solid ground instead of on a warship – even one as well stocked as the Jellyfish – but with secrecy being such a big factor in their coming fight, they’d spent the last three days of testing hovering at the border between the Summerfield’s personal demesne and that of his betrothed.
There wasn’t so much as an outhouse for three miles from where they were, which hopefully meant the only witnesses to their test flights had been squirrels and trees.
Three days, he thought. Four to build it. Three for testing – and updates.
Honestly, that was an incredibly impressive turnaround time to build an entirely new ‘prototype’ craft – even with magic shortcutting the process. And yet he wished they had more time to test and tweak. Sure, he might have cheated by using the original blueprints for the craft that were in his head, but the machine they now had deviated from those blueprints substantially.
And so much the better, he thought, because I wouldn’t have been comfortable even standing next to the original design – let alone flying it.
However, even if the changes they’d made were for the better and the new craft was a substantial upgrade over the original, there was no denying that even small changes in an aircraft could massively change its flight performance. And they had not made small changes.
He glanced out at the slowly setting sun and wondered if it would be worth calling Alden back for one final test flight. He dismissed the idea though as he watched two other shards land.
There’d be more time for testing the as of yet unnamed prototype before they moved into full production. For the moment, he was familiar enough with its altered flight performance that he wasn’t unduly worried about tomorrow.
He watched as the twins climbed out of their own shards – conventional fighters they’d borrowed from their family rather than the Basilisk – and walked over to him, pulling off their own goggles as they did.
He definitely didn’t smirk at the many wax splotches splattered across the two machines – that a member of the Jellyfish’s flight crew was even now hurrying to clean off prior to taking the two craft below deck.
“That thing is bullshit!” Clarice spat the moment she was in speaking range.
William just grinned at the normally more taciturn twin’s irritation. “That’s the idea.”
While he would handily admit that he’d not exactly always stood by the mantra, he was a firm believer in the idea that a man should never go into any kind of fight in which the outcome was even slightly in doubt.
To that end, their new shard was certainly ‘bullshit’.
“I agree,” Marcille muttered. “Which is why it’s doubly bullshit you’re the one who gets to fly it tomorrow instead of one of us. We’re not exactly traditionalists or anything, but people are going to talk if we let a man fly for us.”
Yes, they’d already made that argument. And he’d already shot it down. Quite literally. The Jellyfish had brought along its full complement – now swapped out for conventional shards rather than Corsairs as well as Royal Naval pilots sworn to secrecy – for some ‘large scale’ tests of the new machine.
“Anyone who tries to shame you with that line of argument I more than welcome to meet me in the skies,” he said. “Because I more than think I’ve proven that I’m the best pilot we have for it.”
Every member of the Whitemorrow family had demanded to take a turn in the prototype since it became flyable three days ago. And he’d not dared refuse – even if his focus had been in getting in as much personal flight time as possible in preparation for the match.
Alas, given the looks on their faces after that first flight… well, refusing might well have caused them to start divorce proceedings… before they’d even had the wedding.
It was endearing in a way. The girls loved shards as much as their father, if not more. And they loved this one too - though not quite enough to outfly him in it. In those ‘large scale’ tests, he’d been the one to rack up the most kills by far.
Though to be fair, he had mostly managed that by cheating outrageously. This past week he had spent at least six hours each night practicing in his dreamspace on the original design.
Not that they needed to know that.
Yet, he thought with just a hint of nervousness.
The day where he needed to rip that particular band-aid off was fast approaching.
“Heh, I suppose that would be satisfying to see,” Marcille admitted, before getting serious. “I assume you’ve not changed your mind about the plan for the day?”
At her words, William glanced over to where a third shard had landed – this one in the familiar colors of his old house.
House Ashfield.
And this time he felt far less amusement at all the wax-markings covering it. Especially those stitched across the cockpit.
…He’d not been the one to put them there.
“You saw what happened when we tried to work together,” he said with equal seriousness. “The flight performances of the two craft are too different. It doesn’t work – and there’s no way we can whip up another prototype in time for the duel.”
They’d barely gotten this one ready.
He shook his head. “Even if we did have a second prototype, we all know that we can’t risk me being knocked out before her.”
He watched as his aunt Karla climbed out of the craft, the woman giving him a jaunty wave before she turned to talk to one of the flight crew.
His stomach sank. “At least this way we get some use out of her.”
The duel rules they’d agreed to specified one shard per house. And there was no doubt Apple River and Plumgarden would be teaming up to take down him and his aunt before they sought to turn on each other.
So his aunt would be going in first to try and… soften the opposing shards up before he did. Which would ensure she went down first and didn’t accidentally hand the duchy over to Olivia by ‘outliving’ him if he happened to get shot down.
It had been made explicitly clear that wouldn’t end well for anyone. As far as Yelena was concerned, even a Plumgarden or Apple River victory was preferable.
All of which would be fine by him – if they weren’t using live rounds tomorrow.
The switch from airships to shards was ostensibly to save resources for the war effort – but in certain things tradition would not be denied. So, live ammunition.
Fortunately, the contest wasn’t explicitly to the death, merely to touchdown, but with shards trading live fire, deaths were far from unlikely.
Hence my mixed feelings about sending my favorite aunt up as essentially a sacrificial pawn, he thought.
He’d always like Karla. She was the fun aunt. The vivacious fighter jock of the family. The one who tended to find more amusement than frustration in his acting out.
And now there was a good chance she was going to die.
And she didn’t even seem upset about it. Just laughing like she always did. Honestly, he got the feeling she viewed the whole situation as some kind of… penance for plotting treason.
…She’d never been as ‘into’ the plan as his mother and other aunts. She was a simple woman, and words like treason likely rubbed her the wrong way.
So, she was offering herself up as sacrifice. And he hated it.
It’s a lot easier to talk about making sacrifices when it doesn’t affect you, isn’t it? When it’s other people’s families suffering?
It was something he’d been ruminating on. In ways he never had before.
And the traps he’d set in Redwater County. At the time he’d barely thought about them. It had been… natural to hurt the enemy. No matter the cost. Reflex almost.
Now the memory felt… disconcerting. As was the fact that he’d… not even really thought about it until now.
Perhaps I should speak to Marline, he thought.
“If you’re sure?” Clarice said, jolting out of his introspection.
“I am,” he lied.
“That still leaves the question of you though,” Marcille said.
“Me?”
“You’ve never killed before,” the older twin said with some finality. “Not personally. It’s… not like the stories. Are you sure you won’t hesitate?”
William looked offended. “I’ve killed before. I commanded the Jellyfish during the attack on the capital.”
He’d been the mastermind behind the retreat and likely murdered at least three airships crews and a dozen shard pilots. And that was ignoring what his traps had likely already done.
“Yes, but it’s different when you’re doing it personally,” Clarice pointed out, backing up her sister. “I just want you to be sure you’re ready for that and you won’t… hesitate.”
Given the way they both shifted, he was suddenly reminded that both twins had killed for the first time that night over the capital. And once more he was reminded that he’d… barely given it a thought.
“I can do it,” he said slowly. “I promise.”
Both women glanced between themselves, before nodding slowly.
“Alright, if you’re sure…” Marcille said.
“Just… if things are going bad, remember that you can bail out?” Clarice added.
William twitched. Of all the things he’d expected her to say today, that most certainly hadn’t been one of them.
“Bail out? Isn’t our whole, you know, marriage predicated on me landing you that title?”
Things had been complicated a bit without him having access to the Jellyfish for the fight, but it was still true that said agreement was the entire basis for their relationship. Their marriage was a business arrangement – even if they were slowly trying to turn it into something more.
The twins scoffed. “Idiot. Even if you don’t take the title for us… that’s, well, not exactly fine, but still better than you getting yourself killed.”
He couldn’t believe what he was hearing. Quite literally. “Please don’t tell me you’ve fallen in love with me or some nonsense like that?”
He knew that was a pretty awful thing to say – but it was true! They’d barely spent any time together! Hell, the last week had been most of it.
Fortunately for his sanity, Clarice laughed. “No. You’re hot and we like you, but we’re not lovestruck maidens or anything like that.”
That… that made him feel a lot better actually. A lot less skeevy. Hell, that kind of level headedness was the whole reason he felt comfortable being in a relationship at all.
If it was… transactional, he felt less like he was taking advantage of the pair.
Which, yes, not an ideal basis for a relationship, but still better than what it otherwise could be.
Marcille shook her head. “No, we’re saying this because even if you don’t grab us the title for the Summerfield Duchy, it’s abundantly clear to anyone with a brain that you’re going to be a big name. The Jellyfish. The Corsairs. The explosives.”
The other twin nodded. “Dad would also never get over it if you died before you could implement those trains you were talking about before.”
That… that made a lot of sense actually. “Right, well, I’ll try to avoid dying then.”
“Good,” the twins chuckled – and he flushed a little as they leaned down to give him a kiss on each cheek.
It was a fairly innocent thing all told, but it was the first act of physical affection initiated between any of them.
…He didn’t count the kiss he’d laid on Marcille when he’d been trying to convince her to fly out the Basilisk. That had been pure calculation and he’d barely thought about it.
This though? To his surprise, he found he… didn’t hate it. Even if George twisted uncomfortably in his gut.
“Now, shall we head below deck before dad starts trying to add stuff to your shard?” Marcille giggled.
Yes, that was probably a good idea.
-------------------------------
Nearly a week after the ‘assassination’ and the command centre they’d set up in the former Blicland Royal Academy was still thick with tension. And Tala was sick of it. Ostensibly they were here to decide on what to do now that the princess was dead – and with it the legitimacy of their coup.
Instead, it had once more swung back to the same thing it inevitably did:
Both sides blaming the other.
“We wouldn’t even be in this situation if your ‘guards’ had done a proper sweep!” Her mother roared across the table at the duchess of New Haven.
Faline’s eyes flashed. “My guards? Your marines were the ones who declared the palace ‘secure’ after the initial sweep! It seems to me that your people couldn’t find their own cunts with a stool leg and a flashlight. I warned you there were still traps across the city – and you let her wander into the throne room!? Didn’t you find it at all odd that our mortal enemy would leave behind the symbol of her rule? Like bait?”
“Warned me?” Elanor laughed bitterly. “As I recall, your words were ‘let her do as she likes’. Well how did that work out for us!?”
“Well perhaps I wouldn’t have been so eager to give her free reign if we weren’t so busy trying to fight rebels at every corner because you have your people riling up the populace by looting everything down the bedrock! I might have had a few more spare guards to sweep for traps!”
“My people, that’s rich coming from a woman stealing every ship in the harbor!”
On and on it went – serving as a firm reminder of why the two houses had traditionally been rivals who served to keep each other in check.
And all Tala could do was watch from the back wall. Blaming each other when, from where she stood, there was exactly one person to blame.
William, she thought.
He had planted that bomb. She knew it in her bones. The same mind that had designed the Corsairs, the Kraken Slayer, and that impossible explosion over the capital had also definitely been the one to leave a final ‘fuck you’ on the throne for anyone foolish enough to sit on it.
It would be just like him.
And once more, she found that conversation linking back to the other point of contention between the two.
Faline jabbed a finger at the map. “We push south tomorrow. No pause. We hit Summerfield before they can consolidate.”
“Without a royal heir?” Elanor hissed. “The southern houses will fight us to the last if we look like common rebels, not restorers of the true line. At which point either the Solites or the Lunites roll over us.”
“So, what? We sit here until the end of time!?”
“No, we loop back. Secure the keeps we skipped over on the way here. Secure their resources. And figure out how to solve this… princess issue while doing something productive otherwise.
“Something productive would be winning this war! Not skulking about! No matter the cost,” Faline argued.
And on and on it went.
Tala’s jaw tightened until it ached. Nothing was decided. The two duchesses kept circling the same accusations, the same dead-end plans.
And somewhere south, William Redwater was probably laughing.
She said nothing. But in her mind she kept repeating the same four words like a curse.
This is his fault.
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