Revna felt her jaw go slack. The woman seemed familiar because her image had been on every newspaper and magazine cover; her words had been branded into the minds of thousands of young girls. Tamara Zima was the foremost aviator in the Union, practically the only aviator in the Union. She’d flown the very first Union plane to the war’s front lines, she’d crossed the Union in a twenty-hour flight, and she was on record as being the only person to have told every general on Isaak Vannin’s staff to go stuff himself.
Her hand was still outstretched. Revna wiped hers on her uniform and shook.
“You’ve pleased our Skarov troops,” Tamara said. Revna couldn’t help checking the door. “Believe it. They put on a stern face, but they were impressed. Otherwise they wouldn’t have called me. I heard about you, and I had to come down to see for myself.”
She was in league with them. As Tamara flipped through her file, Revna tucked her hands under her thighs and waited for the first question.
Tamara seemed to notice her unease. She leaned forward, crinkling her eyes in a smile much warmer than the one she’d given the Skarov. It was the kind of smile that made Revna want to smile back. But she didn’t. This was only another technique in the Union’s interrogation arsenal. “You can relax, Miss Roshena. No one’s here to arrest you. In fact, we’re quite interested in you.”
Revna didn’t answer. Of course they were here to arrest her. They were interested in her because they wanted to get as much out of her as they could, before breaking her irrevocably.
“You have something the Union desperately needs,” Tamara said.
That did give her pause. “Sorry?”
“What do you know of Elda aircraft?”
“They fly?” Revna guessed. Tamara raised an eyebrow, and Revna flushed. “I mean, they distort the Weave, and they use it to fly.”
Tamara tilted her head. “Mostly true. In fact, what they do is an elaborate version of what you did last night. Which is why we find you so interesting.”
So that was the game. “I’m not a spy.” The words came out sharper than they should have. The Union could accuse her of treason all it liked. They weren’t going to call her a turncoat, too.
Tamara took a deep breath. She scratched at the pages of Revna’s open file with a pen. “I think we’re coming at this from the wrong angle,” she said at last. “I want to help you.”
“Why?” Mama would have hissed at the impertinence of the question, but Revna was curious. When had the Union ever tried to help her?
“Because the Elda are winning this war from the air. If we want to fight them, we need air regiments of our own, and Weave pilots to help us. We need people who can do what you do. What we do,” Tamara corrected herself, meeting Revna’s eye.
“You use the Weave?” Revna said.
“How do you think I fly my own plane?”
She hadn’t thought about it. “But—you’re famous. Everyone knows you. And you’re Isaak Vannin’s—” She stopped just shy of saying lover. That was only rumor, anyway. “Good friend,” she finished.
“I learned to fly in Elda, before the war. And what I learned there convinced me that the Weave’s not as fragile as we think. Isaak Vannin believes that the risk is worth the reward, and he’s given me permission to recruit as I see fit.” She leaned forward. “I want you to help me save the North. Will you do it?”
Her eyes sparkled with promise. She seemed so certain, so sincere. All the same, resentment bit at Revna’s belly. Tamara Zima had broken a law that was hundreds of years old, and she had a Hero of the Union medal. Revna’s father had taken some unwanted scrap, and he’d pay for it the rest of his life.
Perhaps Tamara noticed her reluctance. She pressed on. “As a junior pilot, you’ll be paid twenty-three marks per month, with room and board and a bonus for every successful mission. And…” She drew out the and, tapping the file in front of her. “Only Protectors of the Union are allowed to serve, so your family will be regranted status. As long as you’re not discharged dishonorably… or convicted of treason.”
She’d added that last part a little too casually, like an afterthought. Revna didn’t care. The sound of her heart—the sound of her hope—could have drowned out the roar of a Dragon. “You can do that?”
“I’ve already put in the request. I’m really hoping you’ll say yes.” Tamara winked conspiratorially.
Revna had never imagined a life at the front. She’d never wanted one. She’d never wanted to work in the factories, or anywhere the Union could press down on her with its suffocating fingers. After all, it hadn’t wanted her, with her metal legs and traitor father. But… Protector of the Union. All this time she’d been a curse, and now Mama and Lyfa could get something back. They’d regain their status, be provided with firearms and an extra ration card and entry into the safe shelters for good Union citizens. As long as she fell in line, it was a status they could keep.
Of course, Tamara might have talked to the Skarov first. She could have arranged to terrify Revna so that her timely offer would be even more miraculous. Knowing one way or the other wouldn’t change Revna’s answer, though.
“What do you say?” Tamara pressed.
You know what I say. But she said it anyway.
4
FOR EVERY GIRL A PLACE
Intelgard was not the front. The nearest front was over the mountains to the south, close enough for planes to fly there, but far enough that the regiment could tear down the base and retreat if the Elda marched over the mountain range.
The front had been muddy, cold, terrifying. But her friends had been there, and she’d always known what to do. Here Linné felt helpless, and her new comrades dismayed her. The girl recruits disdained their breakfast, complained when they had to march to the field, complained when they had to march around the field, and one was stupid enough to ask Colonel Hesovec what time they’d be served lunch. The only thing they could all wrap their heads around was the firing range. Given that citizens were registered for mandatory firearms practice from the age of ten, they impressed no one. When Colonel Hesovec was forced to supervise them, his criticism rained like bullets. But he never gave them instruction. He was waiting around, Linné thought, for the first opportunity to remove them from his base.
The girls took it personally, of course, and they clamored for Zima. The name Tamara Zima rang in Linné’s ears from breakfast to dinner. Every girl wanted to see her, and Linné was no exception. She’d never met the woman her father called “Isaak’s harpy,” and she wanted to see the legend who controlled the Supreme Commander’s heart and wore an army uniform as a woman without consequence.
Linné had been the first girl to arrive at Intelgard. The base had consisted of one long building for the men to sleep in and another to eat in. She’d been refused when she reported to the construction crews, so while the rest of Intelgard rose up around her, she and two staring raw recruits had inventoried supply palanquin after supply palanquin. She’d slept under a blanket in Hesovec’s office until a separate barracks had been built—then she had that hall to herself, while the men crammed two to a bed. For three weeks all she’d heard was mumbled misses from the soldiers and inventory notes from the colonel. When the rest of her regiment arrived, she welcomed them with enthusiasm… for about five minutes.