“I’m sorry,” he announced. “Business.”
He smoothed down his clothes, composing himself. After three months together, the old man was still uncomfortable around Fiona.
Because he doesn’t want to be here, she thought blackly. Because he’d rather be working.
Her grandfather Rendor always kept a full schedule. He was over sixty now, yet he remained virile and quick. He was even handsome, Fiona supposed. Striking, like her mother. Fiona wasn’t like either of them. With a teenager’s awkward bones and her shocking red hair, she knew she would never become the beauty her mother had been. Nor would she be a genius like her grandfather.
The Governor let Jonathan pull out his chair, then smiled cordially at Lucie as she poured him a glass of wine. When he looked across the table at Fiona, he seemed ridiculously far away.
“You waited for me,” he said. “You needn’t have.”
“You’re the one who wants these dinners,” Fiona replied.
Her sharp reply drew a frown from her grandfather. “Family is important, Fiona. I make what time I can for you.”
Family was the one thing neither of them had anymore. Fiona was an only child, and Rendor’s wife had left him years ago.
Probably because he paid no attention to her, guessed Fiona.
Her mother had been an only child, too. She had told Fiona once that her grandfather had always been secretive and ambitious. He had even been a soldier once, one of the legendary Eldrin Knights, but Fiona found it hard to picture that. He was cold and distant, and his coldness had driven Fiona’s mother to marry the first man who ever showed her kindness—Fiona’s father. When the airship accident had taken them away, only Rendor was left to care for Fiona.
Jonathan and Lucie went to work serving the food—a fricassee of duck, a hodgepodge of vegetables, bread that had gone stone cold and goat cheese from the farms that clung to the side of the mountain. Lucie spooned small portions of everything into Fiona’s plate, even laying a napkin across her lap. Fiona watched as her grandfather tore hungrily into the food.
“So?” he said after a moment. “Tell me about your day.”
It was the same question he always asked, not even bothering to look up from his food.
“I took a walk,” said Fiona. “Down to the farms.”
“See anything interesting?”
Fiona shrugged. “Some animals.”
Rendor reached across the table for the bread, tearing off a great hunk and dipping it in his gravy. Fiona sighed, picking at her duck with her fork. Then, a wicked little idea popped into her brain.
“I heard that a dragonfly crashed today,” she said.
Her grandfather’s chewing slowed. “That’s right.” He motioned for Jonathan to serve him more duck.
“Is the pilot okay?”
“Some bruises,” said Rendor. “Nothing serious.”
“How many is that since we came here? Crashes, I mean. Three?”
“Bad wind,” said her grandfather. “That’s how it gets at the end of the day. The wind comes out of the Reach.”
“Oh.” Fiona pretended to be very interested. “The dragonflies don’t do so good here, huh? Is that why you’ve been so busy lately? Working out the kinks?”
All the pleasantness left the old man’s bearded face. “Kinks? There are no kinks in the dragonflies, Fiona. They’re precision machines. It takes a better pilot than most to fly them up here, that’s all.”
Rendor was famously proud of his inventions. His obsession for flight had led him to create the airships, the great, teardrop-shaped vessels that floated through the country-side. There were always airships in Calio, tethered at the aerodrome or making the trek back to Medona. But the dragonfly was his greatest achievement. Fiona had been six years old when the first one took flight.
“If it’s too high and windy here, why not move them away?” asked Fiona. “Build an aerodrome back in Medona, or maybe Capital City.”
“You know why, Fiona. Because of the Skylords.”
“But they crash here. People die when your ships crash.”
As soon as she’d said it, Fiona knew she’d gone too far. Her grandfather put down his fork and gazed at her across the table.
“You think I don’t care about that.”
“Grandfather, I—”
“No, you do. You think I don’t care when people die, that all I care about is my work. But my work is important, Fiona. You’re young. You have no idea how things really are or the dangers we face. What I do protects Calio, Fiona. It protects our whole world.”
Fiona felt her face growing hot. “I don’t see anything to be afraid of,” she said. She pointed out toward the Reach. “You know what that looks like to me? A lot of nothing. No one’s even seen a Skylord. Why should we be afraid of something we can’t see?”
Instead of answering her question, her grandfather returned to his meal. “Someday,” he said calmly, “mankind won’t have to be afraid of the Skylords. Someday we’ll have enough airships and dragonflies to defend ourselves from everything across the Reach.” He picked up his wine as if about to toast what he’d just said. “By the time you’re my age, Fiona, airships will be everywhere. They’ll replace the trains and all the horses and carts, too. Flying will be everyone’s gift. And it’ll be safe.” He took a sip of wine, then looked seriously at Fiona. “Do you blame me for what happened to your parents?”
Fiona sat very still in her chair. She was about to lie, then said, “Yes.”
Her grandfather picked up his fork and knife again. “Good. That’s out of the way, then.” He went back to eating. “In a few days there’ll be an important meeting here. There’ll be governors coming from the other provinces. I won’t be able to spend any time with you, Fiona.”
“Governors? Coming all the way out here? Why?”
“To talk about the Skylord problem,” said Rendor. “I’ll need you to stay out of the way, please.”
Fiona pushed her plate forward. “Can I be excused now?”
Rendor looked up, finally noticing she hadn’t eaten a bite. “Aren’t you hungry?”
“I’m going to a party tonight. I’ll eat there.”
“What party? Not for that boy Moth, I hope.”
“It’s his birthday,” Fiona explained. “I told him I’d be there.”
“He’s a cleaning boy, Fiona. I’m a Governor, for pity’s sake. You running around with him makes you look like a vagabond.”
“He’s my friend. I don’t have any other friends, Grandfather.”
Rendor’s expression grew thunderous. “That’s my fault too, is it?”
“There are no girls my age here! Nothing but boys and old men.”
“It’s a big city, Fiona. You’ll find other friends if you look harder.”
Fiona got out of her chair, letting her napkin fall to the floor. “What do you care what I do? You don’t want me here. I’m just a burden to you. You just said it yourself; I’m in the way.”
“That’s not what I meant. Sit down.”
“I don’t want to sit down,” said Fiona fiercely. “I don’t want to eat dinner with you anymore. Stop asking me how my day was, please. Stop pretending you care about me!”
Rendor put a hand up to his forehead. A pained expression came over his face. “Jonathan, some headache powder, please,” he said.
Jonathan bowed and left the dining room, eager to get away. His wife Lucie gazed down awkwardly at her feet.
“Go on, go to your party,” said the governor. “We’ll talk about this when my meeting is done.”
Fiona paused, stunned by his decision to let her go. She decided not to thank him and headed for the door. But before she could leave her grandfather called after her.