The Continent (The Continent #1)(79)

“Oh, of course,” I say, momentarily embarrassed by the fact that this had not occurred to me at all. “There was… there was a great shuddering, and shaking.”

“Of the fuselage?” she asks.

“Yes,” I say. “The plane shook terribly, and then smoke was visible from the forward panels—and the craft would drop in sudden shifts and bursts.” My throat goes dry in the recalling of it.

“Mmm,” Mrs. Pendergrast says. “And what was your perception of this malfunction?”

“My perception?”

She smiles. “What did you think had gone wrong, dear girl?”

“I…I don’t know,” I say. “Aaden…he said that there were systems in place to prevent failure of the aircraft. Redundancies—I believe that was the word he used. But things went terribly wrong, and…I don’t know. I don’t know what happened. I am not a mechanic.”

“Of course not,” she says, her smile at once bright and sympathetic. “Of course you cannot be expected to understand the technological failures of such complex machinery. We only wanted to know your observations, Miss Sun.”

“I’m afraid I cannot provide much more. I only know there was a shaking, and a drop in altitude, and then I saw the plane spiraling downward, once I was in the pod—a terrible, slow spiral, as it were, inconsistent, with great periods of gliding—until it crashed.”

“This,” the Chancellor says after a dreadfully long silence, “this is beyond anything I would have expected to hear. Vaela, I have no words.”

Mr. Lowe, at the far left, also struggles with a response. “What you have endured is unimaginable, and you have my most abiding compassion. How inconceivably terrible to watch the fate of those aboard the plane unfold!” He shakes his head. “But I am also deeply troubled—deeply troubled—by what you have brought to light in relation to the war on the Continent.”

“As are we all,” Mrs. Pendergrast says, a politician’s pity stamped on her face. “What a sad state of affairs it has all come to be. Three hundred and forty years they have raged against one another—to see it come to this, it’s an absolute tragedy.”

The finality of her tone creates a knot in my stomach. “The situation is dire, to be sure,” I say. “But it is not without hope.”

Mr. Chamberlain frowns, his pointed mustache angling downward like two thin spikes. “Did you not just say that the Aven’ei will surely be destroyed? That it is only a matter of time before it comes to pass?”

“Certainly it is hopeless if they are left on their own,” I say. “That is why we must intervene, and quickly.”

“Intervene?” the Chancellor says, looking genuinely perplexed. “Surely you are not serious.”

“I could not be more serious, sir. The only reason I returned to the Spire is to request your assistance.”

“Miss Sun,” Mrs. Pendergrast says crisply, “we have never intervened in the war between the Aven’ei and the Topi, and we shall not do so now. It is dreadful that this fate has befallen the Aven’ei, but—and please, forgive my bluntness—one cannot deny that they have brought it upon themselves.”

I clutch the edge of the table, stunned into temporary silence. “What…what a ghastly thing to say!”

She blinks in surprise and looks over at Mr. Chamberlain as though for support.

He nods, pats her hand, then turns to address me, fixing me with a rheumy stare. “Mrs. Pendergrast has only stated what the Chancellery knows to be a fact. It was the Aven’ei, Miss Sun, who began the war in the first place. In all your time on the Continent, did no one make this known?”

I sit rigid in the chair, the breath gone from my lungs. It cannot be.

“It is true,” the Chancellor says, nodding gravely. “When asked about the particulars of the quarrel, the Aven’ei were most forthcoming about their role in how it all began. It was down to territorial disputes, if I remember correctly. The Aven’ei once inhabited a much larger piece of the Continent, but even so, they weren’t satisfied. They pushed outward, the Topi fought back—bitterly so. And as we have seen, the might of such an enemy can grow into a fearsome thing with the passing of the years.”

I fight to regain my composure. “If that is so, must those who now live pay the price for the actions of their ancestors?”

Mr. Chamberlain smiles. “To pull the tail of the cat is to invite its claws. The Aven’ei alone unleashed the fury of the Topi; alone, they must keep the beast at bay.”

“But they cannot do so, can they?” Mr. Lowe says quietly. “It has all gone far beyond their control. They must have help, and how, in good conscience, can we leave them now to die?”

Mrs. Pendergrast is thunderstruck. “But what would you have us do, Oliver?”

Mr. Lowe turns to me. “Will they relocate?”

“To the Spire?” Mrs. Pendergrast says in a shrill voice, putting a hand to her breast. “Surely you must be joking!”

“It is a peaceful solution, Tara,” he replies.

She sniffs. “They are uncivilized.”

“They are not uncivilized,” I say frostily. “But in any case, they will not emigrate, even in the face of certain death.”