SPOTLIGHT: Dark of the West by Joanna Hathaway @torteen @hathawayjojo
Dark of the West
by Joanna Hathaway
First in a series, this new series brings a breathtaking YA fantasy debut.
Continue below to get the synopsis and read an excerpt from the book.
Publisher: Tor Teen
Publish Date: February 5, 2019
Hardocver
480 Pages
Series: Glass Alliance #1
Genres: YA, Fantasy
Aurelia Isendare is a princess of a small kingdom in the North, raised in privilege but shielded from politics as her brother prepares to step up to the throne. Halfway around the world, Athan Dakar, the youngest son of a ruthless general, is a fighter pilot longing for a life away from the front lines. When Athan’s mother is shot and killed, his father is convinced it’s the work of his old rival, the Queen of Etania—Aurelia’s mother. Determined to avenge his wife’s murder, he devises a plot to overthrow the Queen, a plot which sends Athan undercover to Etania to gain intel from her children.
Athan’s mission becomes complicated when he finds himself falling for the girl he’s been tasked with spying upon. Aurelia feels the same attraction, all the while desperately seeking to stop the war threatening to break between the Southern territory and the old Northern kingdoms that control it—a war in which Athan’s father is determined to play a role. As diplomatic ties manage to just barely hold, the two teens struggle to remain loyal to their families and each other as they learn that war is not as black and white as they’ve been raised to believe.
Excerpt:
A tremor of
anticipation wakes me before dawn. The eastern mountains have only just begun
to glow, bringing with it the Safire arrival, and I sit in my bay window,
silent, sketching the familiar view with lazy strokes of charcoal against blank
paper. I feel mostly calm. Ready. But my stomach still feels like a knot, and I
sing to myself in Resyan, distracting my nerves best I can.
“I am a mountain,” I whisper,
“a song you remember.”
Invariably, my sketch changes
to Liberty. The leafy branches become his mane and his eyes have hawks in them,
wings spread. The poor stallion is still trapped in his stall, injured leg
wrapped and splinted, and subtle despair tinges the groom’s reports. They’re
leaving the decision up to Reni, the very worst idea. Reni won’t even speak of
it. He pretends it never happened, refusing to visit the stables, and now the
General is coming and everyone will forget suffering Liberty altogether.
I shade hard enough my pencil
splinters.
Yesterday evening, Heathwyn
lectured me on the protocol of this visit, rattling off the things to remember
while a maid carefully manicured my nails, another one softening my hands with
lavender-scented oil.
“All discussion with our
visitors will be conducted in Landori, and you’re always to be pleasant and welcoming,
no matter the attitude your brother adopts. And you be sure to offer the
General the greatest respect. No commentary on Karkev or Thurn or anything
contentious. Divert the conversation with a smile if you must, because your
smile will be your greatest credit to this visit.”
I made sure to smile extra
wide at that, and she clucked her tongue.
“Please, Aurelia, remember
you will be watched every moment and your words and actions will reflect
entirely on your mother. Reflect well, is that understood?”
She doesn’t know how well I
understand that, how the weight of this visit feels like an entire secret world
on my shoulders, one that no one else sees, and I promise to smile, smile,
smile. Now, the morning sun shines fully and I strain my ears to listen for the
sound of aeroplanes in the sky.
A slight impatience pricks
inside.
Heathwyn arrives with warm
bread and marmalade in hand, a nervous set to her lips, and I pick at the
breakfast while she and another maidservant fuss with me—braiding my hair and pinning
flowers, dabbing red on my lips and buttoning me into a sea-blue gown with
ivory pearls—but in the end, it turns out well.
“The Safire won’t know where
to look first,” Heathwyn says, studying me in the mirror, pleased. “You or your
mother.”
“I’m sure it will be Violet’s
breasts,” I reply with a grin.
Heathwyn clucks her tongue
yet again, but Heathwyn hasn’t seen Violet’s chosen gown for today. I have, and
so has Reni, and it certainly leaves only the most critical things to the
imagination.
“Aurelia, such comments
won’t—”
Her rebuttal is cut off by a
growl that rattles the very window panes. It’s a fierce sound, echoing harshly
off the mountains, passing close overhead. I rush for the window and press my
face to the glass, trying to peer up, and Heathwyn tells me to stop because
I’ll rub the pink off my cheeks. But there they are! Two Safire fighter planes
circling low, flashing brilliant silver in the morning sun. They’re all sharp
angles and grey metal compared to the smooth curves of our green Etanian
planes, their ferocious noise carrying, surrounding us, seeming to grow with
each moment like there are at least ten more hidden out of sight. One loops
higher, playful in the morning sky. Black swords wink from the underside of the
wings as he spins. Easy and graceful, like a falcon, before diving low again
and rejoining his friend. Together, they arc towards the western airfield.
“Stars,” Reni says, appearing
suddenly behind me. I step back, giving him space to look as well.
“They’re
moving at quite a speed, aren’t they?” He cranes his neck as they disappear
from sight.
“Have you ever seen anything
like it?” I ask.
“I have. It was at a circus,
and everyone was dressed in ridiculous colours and acting like fools.”
I swipe at his arm. “I hope
those aren’t your opening remarks to the General.” I notice, then, that nestled
against his elegant green coat is a ceremonial pistol. “And I hope you’re
planning to take that off.”
“It’s custom,” Reni replies.
“Father wore his to every diplomatic function.”
“But we’re insisting the
Safire remove theirs. It doesn’t look right if we refuse to do the same!”
Reni shrugs. “Dogs are
muzzled, not royalty.”
On that vain note, he marches
back for the hall, waving for me, and I say a quick, fervent prayer to my
father that Reni doesn’t begin a whole war in one day.
Outside, the west entrance of
the palace is bright with sun, its honey-coloured walls almost a glare. Etanian
and Safire flags dance in the thick mountain wind, displayed in hopeful unity,
and courtiers wait along the wide stone steps with chiffon skirts blowing,
music sparkling amid the excitement. All eyes are on the long runway before us.
Reni and I stand on either
side of Mother as she waits quietly, regally, at the top of the open-air steps
in a maroon gown trimmed with gold, her chin raised and my father’s crown
glimmering on her black hair. It’s a rare occasion for her to wear it. But
today it gleams, luminous as her, a glorious reminder to the kingdom that there
is nothing to fear and she rules in splendour. But there’s still a tiny tremor
nearly hidden. She fingers the lace detailing of her skirt, and I wish I could
squeeze her hand in reassurance.
On the tarmac, the two Safire
fighters have landed, silver pipes along their nose trailing exhaust. The wind
smells strongly of petrol and smoke. In the distant sky, a larger aeroplane
appears, wide-winged and imposing. We watch it lower, hitting the runway with a
high-pitched screech. It’s very large, propellers on either side, and the wings
rattle as it brakes, swaying side to side slightly. There’s a
fox-and-crossed-swords crest painted on the flank, and everyone lining the
steps ceases their chatter, tilting their heads, whispering now as if their
words might already be heard by the General himself.
One of the Safire pilots
leaps down from his now idle fighter. His red hair is a blaze in the sun. The
second pilot walks over, and they light up their cigarettes without even a
glance at the royal court waiting nearby. Etanian ground crew attempt to speak
to them, but they ignore it, striding for the large plane, trailing smoke like
their fighters.
Mother flicks her hand. The
royal guards on the tarmac come to attention.
Safire uniforms emerge from
the General’s plane as the metallic creature hisses in the sun, steel and
aluminum pieces settling. They march down the stairs, appearing confident, but
none of them look quite like General Dakar—at least, not as far as I know. I’ve
only ever seen a few distant photographs in the newspapers. It’s not until the
two Safire pilots stamp out their cigarettes and straighten that I think we
must be nearly to him. A man with dark skin appears at the top of the stairs.
His uniform’s richly medaled, his head swiveling round to take in the runway
and palace.
“Admiral Malek,” I hear one
lord say knowingly to a nearby friend.
Then the Admiral is down the
stairs and another tall, grey-clad shape looms in the door of the plane.
The General, at last.
He pauses there for a long,
weighted moment, surveying the world before him. His gaze moves from the line
of royal guards to the stone steps and then on up to Mother beneath the arched
facade. He smiles.
Descending the stairs, he
greets Lord Marcin and Lord Jerig with handshakes. They both put on a good
show, thank the stars, then Admiral Malek and the General walk across the
tarmac together, the General offering those he passes a formal, yet affable,
nod.
When they stride up the
palace steps, he’s still wearing his polite smile, and Mother returns it. It’s
her polished one that radiates certainty. The General drops into a short bow
before us. The rest of his Safire party, following behind, does the same.
“Your Majesty,” he says. “At
last we’ve arrived. We’re honoured to be your guests.”
Mother dips her chin in
respect. “You’re most welcome in Etania, General. The honour is ours.”
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