Page 35 of Fly to Fury (War of the Alliance #3)

Fieran swept his aeroplane upward, lashing out with his magic at two more Mongavarian aeroplanes before they could chase down one of the remaining aeroplanes of Capt.

Kentworth’s squadron. These aeroplanes weren’t shielded, and his magic sliced through with such ease that he nearly took out one of Capt.

Kentworth’s remaining pilots before he reeled his magic back under control.

“Half-Breed Squadron reporting in.” Pretty Face’s voice crackled through the radio.

“Some of us, anyway.” Stickyfingers sounded somewhere between grim and cheerful.

“The rest are coming,” Lije added, a note of determination to his tone.

Three aeroplanes, their noses decorated with bright artwork, roared into the battle.

Fieran cast out with his magic, but there were too many other aeroplanes in the sky, both friend and foe. He couldn’t shield Pretty Face, Lije, and Stickyfingers. At least, not until they got close enough.

In the distance, the guns of the airships boomed as the two lines of airships clashed, erupting with fire and smoke.

Three more Mongavarian aeroplanes chased after one of Capt. Kentworth’s men, and Fieran swerved his aeroplane to overtake them. Below, the Mongavarian lines flashed by as his aeroplane carried him farther over the empire’s landscape.

Fieran pressed the trigger, and his machine gun bucked.

Then he heard it. Not the familiar tink of a bullet ricocheting off the metal reinforcing the propeller. But a crack .

For a moment, everything seemed fine. His propeller kept spinning. His aeroplane kept flying.

Then one of the three propeller blades spun away. Broken and unbalanced, the whole propeller sheered off and whipped backward, shredding through both the upper and lower left wing, taking out struts and shredding canvas. The wings didn’t instantly tear away, but it was only a matter of time.

“Fieran!” Merrik shouted over the radio, the agony in his voice matched by that in the voices of the others as they, too, yelled his name.

After taking his hand off the control column long enough to peel off his goggles so that the glass wouldn’t shatter into his eyes on an impact with the ground, Fieran braced himself in the cockpit as he fought to ease his aeroplane into a turn without putting more strain on the damaged wings.

His flyer was staying in the air by sheer momentum alone, just gliding rather than powered by the engine.

Slowly as a drunk turtle, his aeroplane turned until the nose faced the Wall and the far-off safety of the airfield.

Could he make it? Or would he be forced to put his aeroplane down behind enemy lines?

“How can I help? What can I do?” Merrik sounded more frantic than Fieran had ever heard.

His aeroplane drew level with Fieran’s, coming far too close.

He must be feathering the engine to slow his aeroplane to match Fieran’s slowing speed.

“Maybe I can grab your aeroplane with my magic. Like I did with Rothilion.”

“No, don’t! Stay back! I’d just drag you down too.” Fieran fought the rudder and stick, attempting some semblance of control over his dying flyer. With most of the lift coming from the undamaged wings, his aeroplane kept trying to flip .

With his aeroplane as crippled as it was, the left wings could give way at any moment. If they did so while Merrik’s aeroplane was attached to his, the wreckage of Fieran’s flyer might damage or destroy Merrik’s before Fieran could cut himself loose.

“Fieran?” Pip’s voice came on the radio. Wavering, as if she were on the verge of tears. “What’s happening?”

“Propeller broke. Damaged my left wings.” Fieran gritted his teeth as he wrestled to maintain control and tried to ease his aeroplane lower. Another section of the upper left wing broke off.

He wasn’t going to make it. The border was too far and his aeroplane too damaged. The wing likely wouldn’t even hold for a landing here on the Mongavarian side.

“Pip, listen to me.” Fieran eased his aeroplane another few feet lower.

“Yes?”

Perhaps this was the moment for something sweet and heartfelt. A goodbye that he could leave her with.

But he wasn’t going to die, so he didn’t have to say goodbye.

“Get my dacha. Tell him what’s happening.” Fieran flexed his fingers, wracking his brain for options. “If I have to put down in Mongavaria, he might have to come get me.”

And Dacha would do it too. If Fieran ended up in the hands of the Mongavarian Army, Dacha would destroy mountains and level armies to rescue him.

Maybe it wasn’t what Pip would want to hear, if this was the last thing he ever said to her. But he didn’t want her to listen to his death, if it came to that. He’d rather she and Dacha were together, if his end came.

“All right.” Pip’s voice strengthened, as if having a mission steadied her .

He waited a moment, but she didn’t speak again. Hopefully that meant she was gone and wouldn’t hear whatever came next.

Fieran glanced to the side where Merrik still held his aeroplane far too close. Close enough for Fieran to see the look in Merrik’s eyes. “Merrik, if I don’t make it, tell them—”

More of the wing tore away, disappearing. This aeroplane wasn’t going to stay in the sky much longer. There was no way he was going to land this thing on either side of the border.

He was dead. He was still breathing, his body unhurt, but he was going to die in the next few seconds.

Surely there was something he could do. He couldn’t die like this. He was a Laesornysh. He couldn’t die from something as simple as a propeller breaking.

Yet even a warrior with the magic of the ancient kings wasn’t invincible. The force of gravity didn’t care how famous his parents were.

“Fieran, I am going to grab your aeroplane. Now.” Merrik swerved his flyer to take up a station above Fieran’s.

It would never work. Fieran couldn’t let Merrik sacrifice himself in a vain attempt at a rescue.

“No! The wings are about to give way.” Fieran eased his aeroplane lower. Every foot closer to the ground was one less foot to fall.

“I am not letting you crash.” Tendrils of magic-laced roots reached down from Merrik’s aeroplane.

“Crashing is rather inevitable at this point.” Fieran sliced upward with his magic, sheering off the magic-grown roots. Time to attempt something crazy. “You need to get out of here. I’m about to cause a rather large explosion.”

“Going out in a blaze of magic is not an option!” Merrik sounded as if he was somewhere between shouting and gritting his teeth.

“Physics, Merrik, physics! Equal but opposite reaction!” Fieran gathered as much magic as he could in his chest. He’d lost his shield over Merrik’s aeroplane. Right now, there was just his aeroplane, his magic, and his one chance at surviving this.

Merrik spat a word Fieran had never heard him use before. “You will jelly your insides with an explosion like that.”

“Then I’ll have to shield myself.” Fieran worked a tendril of his magic into the engine compartment, finding the magical power cell.

Perfect. He could sense Dacha’s magic roiling inside.

The clash of magic would provide an even greater explosion than if he was working with only his magic.

“It’s my one chance. I don’t plan on dying today. But I’d rather not take you with me.”

What was left of the wings tore away, disappearing. The remaining right wings caught the air, whipping his aeroplane into the beginning of a downward spiral toward the unyielding ground from which there was no escape.

More shouting reverberated from the radio, but he could barely hear it over the roaring of his blood in his ears.

In the whirling tumult that had become the sky around him, he couldn’t tell if Merrik peeled off. Blackness crowded his vision, and he braced his body, fighting the forces that would drive him into unconsciousness. If he fell unconscious, he’d die.

Then again, it might be better to simply fall unconscious peacefully rather than experience this death all the way to its bitter end.

No. He wasn’t going to die. Not without a fight.

He’d get only one shot at this. If he blew up his aeroplane too early, he’d have too far to fall and he’d still die when he hit the ground. If he waited too late, there wouldn’t be enough time for the explosion to blow him backward and slow his downward momentum.

The ground rushed toward him. He counted one heartbeat. Then two. Would these be his last?

He should have spent actual time on that blasted If I Die letter when he’d joined the army instead of scribbling down a bunch of drivel.

Dacha. He should have hugged him that morning. Should have told him how proud he was to be his son.

Mama. He should have told her he loved her at least one more time.

Adry and Louise. He’d have to count on them to be strong for the family.

Ellie and Tryndar. So young. It would break them to lose their big brother.

Merrik. His brother who had followed him so loyally even to this present fury.

The squadron who even now were trying their best to take to the skies.

But none of these things were true regrets. His family and his friends knew his heart. They’d know what he didn’t say and didn’t do.

Pip. There lay his true regret. He should have kissed her. Should have told her he loved her. Shouldn’t have waited so long to take things beyond friendship into more. She would be left with uncertainties that he couldn’t fix now.

There was no more time. He wrapped himself with layer upon layer of his magic, sliced his lap belt with his magic, and fought the forces as much as he could to curl into a protective ball in his seat.

Either this didn’t work, and he’d die a quick but relatively painless death. Or this would work, and the next few moments were really going to hurt.

Then he shoved all of that gathered magic in his chest outward and into the engine compartment, burning through all the safeguards until his magic clashed against his dacha’s stored power.

The blast exploded outward, and Fieran was thrown upward, the pressure wave pummeling his body and stealing his breath. For a moment, darkness filled his vision as unconsciousness threatened.

He hung for a moment, magic and pieces of his aeroplane all around him.

And then he fell.