Page 19 of Fly to Fury (War of the Alliance #3)

“No, he’s dressing as an elf, and this one is supposed to dress as a human.” Pretty Face jabbed a finger at Merrik. “They’re the half-elves, half-humans of the squadron.”

“Ah.” The man nodded and continued his bustling.

“This is definitely your wig.” Merrik picked one up, the wig hidden by his body, before he turned and held it out to Fieran.

It was a nearly identical red to Fieran’s hair. But the wig’s hair was so long it would reach Fieran’s waist once he put it on, the strands flowing with a slight wave.

The sight was a punch to his chest in a way he didn’t want to admit. This wig was what Fieran’s hair would look like, if he ever stuck with growing his hair out long enough to have proper elf hair.

As a child, he’d once wanted long elf hair so that he could be just like his dacha. Before he’d realized just how annoying and not-elven his hair type was.

Perhaps Merrik knew all that because while his smile was joking, his eyes held something more.

Fieran took the wig, forcing a lighthearted grin. “Yep. This is definitely mine. ”

Across the room, Lt. Rothilion eyed the clothing. “When was the last time these were washed?”

The man didn’t stiffen as Fieran might have expected.

Instead, he spoke with an almost weary tone.

Perhaps Lt. Rothilion hadn’t been the first of the elves to comment on the sanitation of the clothing that day.

“My wife sees to it that the clothing is kept clean and in good condition. I inspect all the hats and wigs for lice after each use. Everything is sized and designed to put over the clothing you are already wearing.”

The curl remained on Lt. Rothilion’s mouth, but he plucked a set of human-style chain mail off the rack with a resigned sigh.

Fieran would have to commend Lije, Pretty Face, and Stickyfingers. This was an excellent idea.

Pip stood out of the way as Aylia just about attacked the clothing rack.

“I have always wondered what it would be like to wear one of those human dresses with the huge, swishing skirts. What about you?” Aylia shuffled through the rack, her smile bright, her eyes sparkling. “It looks like so much fun.”

“If a large skirt is what you’d like, what about this one?” The tall, well-built woman pulled another rack forward before she extricated a deep purple dress with an absolutely voluminous skirt. Gold edged both the collar and the bodice. “I believe this should be right for your height.”

“Excellent! Yes.” Aylia snatched the dress from the woman.

“And now for you…” The woman turned to Pip, a slight frown puckering her forehead.

“I don’t know if I’ll have an ything small enough.

We didn’t bring anything in children’s sizes when we set up our shop here in Fort Defense.

But we’ll come up with something. Even if it’s slightly long, you only need to walk from here to the photography room. ”

Pip suppressed a sigh. How many times had she been told she was child-sized when trying to purchase clothing? At least when she visited her muka’s family in the dwarven mountains, she was on the tall side.

The woman sorted through the clothing racks before she pulled out a deep emerald dress, this one also edged in golden embroidery. “This one would look stunning with your coloring. It will be long, but if we arrange it correctly for the photograph, it will simply make the skirt appear even larger.”

“Yes, Pip, that one is perfect for you.” Aylia had already wiggled the purple dress over her clothing. “Do you think you could braid my hair and pin it in a coil? I saw a photograph of a human woman with her hair in that style, and I’ve always wanted to try it.”

Pip nodded. “Of course.”

“This tiara matches the dress and would nestle in your hair nicely.” The woman passed the green dress to Pip before she retrieved a tiara from a drawer.

She held up a second tiara, this one with what looked like emeralds and diamonds, though they must have been just fake glass, and turned to Aylia.

“And this one would look lovely on you.”

Pip quickly wiggled into the dress, though she needed Aylia’s help to cinch the dress tightly enough.

The woman produced a few pins and set to work pinning the shoulders so that the neckline rested correctly instead of gaping and loose.

The dress would look funny from the back, but only the front mattered for the photograph.

After braiding Aylia’s hair, Pip decided to leave her hair down. Each of them nestled the sparkling tiaras in their hair, and then they were ready.

Aylia gripped her voluminous purple skirts and gave a twirl, accompanied by the rustling of layers of fabric. “This is so fun. So much fabric. So swishy. Elven skirts are always so smooth.”

Pip swished the fabric of her skirt back and forth since she didn’t dare twirl, given the excess of fabric and all the pins holding the dress in place. “It is.”

There was just something fun about getting all prettied up, even if it was a costume dress and a fake tiara. She might spend her days in grease-smeared coveralls while she wrenched on aeroplanes, but that didn’t mean she disliked fancy dresses.

A knock sounded on the door before the woman’s husband called, “Whenever you are ready.”

The woman gave a nod. “We will be out in a moment.” She shot Aylia, then Pip a smile. “It’s always good to give the men a moment to file into the room first. That way you can make a grand entrance.”

The woman knew her stuff, that was for sure.

After the tromping and clacking in the hallway outside of the door quieted, the woman opened the door and motioned to them.

Aylia swept out first, her head held high so that the tiara stayed in place.

Pip gathered handfuls of the voluminous green skirts. Even hiking the fabric up to her waist, there was so much that she was still in danger of tripping. She took short, mincing steps so that she didn’t catch the trailing skirts, and she felt like a bobbing cupcake.

With Aylia filling the hallway, Pip couldn’t see into the photography room until Aylia had entered and stepped aside.

As Pip popped out of the hallway into the large, front room, she took in the group assembling in front of the camera.

Her breath caught in her throat as her gaze locked on to Fieran.

He wore a wig of long, wavy red hair, the strands arranged to show the tips of his pointed ears.

Leaves of elven armor glinted while he carried twin swords.

With his hawkish nose, all it would have taken would have been some grime and gore for him to look like an ancient elven warrior king stepped from the pages of some long ago historical battle.

Fieran with long hair…she hadn’t thought she’d ever see it. And the sight squeezed her chest and fluttered in the pit of her stomach.

As if sensing her gaze, Fieran turned. His eyes widened, his mouth widening into an O. He stared at her as if he couldn’t tear his gaze away from her any more than she could look away from him.

“Let’s get you situated.” The woman gently nudged Pip.

Pip looked away from Fieran and shuffled across the room.

As she did, she finally took in the others.

Both Merrik and Lt. Rothilion had tied their hair back in neat old-fashioned human-style queues while the helmets they wore covered their ears.

They had opted for chain mail, bucklers, and a double-edged human-style sword for their weapons.

Despite Lt. Rothilion’s bad mood earlier about the whole ordeal, his face remained blank rather than sneering.

Her brother Mak wore layers of leather and hefted a huge, double-bladed ax that was likely heavy even as a wooden prop. With a helmet on his head, he appeared to be some kind of human barbarian from ages gone by. As her gaze met his, he gave her a grin.

Stickyfingers, Lije, and Pretty Face all wore elven armor, fake elf ears, and wigs.

Shorter than the others, Stickyfingers just couldn’t manage to look like an elf even in the costume.

Lije toted an elven bow and, smooth-shaven as he was, he pulled off more of the elven appearance.

Pretty Face likely would have made a decent impression of an elf, if not for his facial hair.

But it was Tiny who drew a smothered snort of laughter from her.

Tiny had somehow managed to tie a wig beneath his nose to form a trailing, dark brown beard that would have clashed with his white hair, if his hair hadn’t been hidden by the large, squarish helmet on his head.

He, too, toted a wooden ax, though this one had a more dwarven geometric design to it.

The fake armor also was the heavy, plate style that dwarven warriors had worn in ages gone by.

If not for his gray skin, Tiny might have passed for a dwarf, with his shorter height and beefy arms.

Pip plunked herself at the front of the group. She was always in the front for photographs.

The woman bustled as she arranged them. She spent some time on Pip’s skirts, making the extra fabric appear to be a natural puffiness to the dress rather than too much dress for too short of a person.

Once the man was satisfied with the composition, all of them held their pose, waiting the required time for the photograph to take.

Finally, the man straightened from under the camera’s hood. “All set.”

Fieran’s gusting sigh stirred Pip’s hair a moment before he leaned closer to her. “I’ve never seen you in a dress.”

“Well, no. I love pretty dresses as much as the next girl, but everyone knows ball gowns and grease don’t mix.

” Pip half-turned to him, finding his face far too close to hers.

The long strands of his wig flowed over his shoulders to his waist. Since it wasn’t his actual hair, she dared to reach out and run a strand through her fingers. “I’ve never seen you with long hair.”

“And you likely won’t see me with long hair again.” Fieran grimaced, though when he toyed with a section of the wig, something in his eyes was more wistful. “My hair doesn’t behave nearly as well as this wig when I attempt to grow it long.”

Whatever wistfulness he had, it vanished a moment later. Fieran straightened, dropping the strands of the wig and taking a step away from Pip. He pulled the wig off his head, holding it out. “Not that it matters. I don’t know how you all do it with long hair. It’s so hot on the back of the neck.”

“It is not as bad as you seem to think.” Merrik freed his long chestnut hair from the ties. “And it protects the back of my neck from sunburn.”

“That would be convenient.” Fieran heaved an exaggerated sigh, glanced at Pip, and pointed at his own face. “You haven’t seen me after I’ve been left too long in the sun. I burn red as a tomato and gain even more freckles.”

Pip nearly blurted out something about how she liked his freckles. Instead, she forced her mouth to curve into what she could only hope was a cheeky grin. “Never had that problem.”

Her light brown skin just grew darker in the sun, and she rarely burned.

“So lucky.” Fieran gave that exaggerated sigh again before he headed for the hallway.

Pip gathered the layers upon layers of skirts and minced after him.