Page 44 of Fly to Fury (War of the Alliance #3)

Chapter

Twenty-Five

P ip reefed on the nut with her wrench, but it wouldn’t budge.

She yanked again, putting her whole body weight into it, before she jerked the wrench free, gave a scream between her teeth, and pounded the stuck nut with the end of her wrench.

If she unleashed her magic now, she might just reduce the whole engine to a mangled hunk of metal.

When that didn’t ease the building heat in her chest, she vented her scream and threw the wrench at the cement floor as hard as she could. The metal pinged on the concrete, but if she’d damaged either her wrench or the floor, she couldn’t bring herself to care. Tears blurred her vision.

She couldn’t do this. Not without Fieran and Merrik. Not when the trains leaving for Aldon and Estyra would carry them away in a little over an hour.

A pall had settled over the hangar in the past day and a half since the battle.

Half-repaired aeroplanes were scattered around the bays while everyone from the flyboys to the mechanics drifted through with hollow eyes.

There were none of the smiles and jokes that had been such a part of life in the Half-Breed Squadron.

Fieran and Merrik were the squadron’s heart and soul, and without that, they were lost. She was lost.

“Pip?” Mak’s voice sounded from somewhere below.

Pip straightened from where she had been slumped into the engine compartment and furiously swiped at her face to hide her tears.

A useless attempt. This was Mak. He’d take one look at her and know she’d been crying. Again.

Mak strode around the wing before he halted next to her ladder. He peered up at her, his deep brown eyes searching her face. “Perhaps you should put in for leave.”

If she took leave, she could follow Fieran to Aldon. She could…

What? Sit at his side and hold his hand like a proper girlfriend?

She didn’t know if she was that. They’d been so close, and then…

everything had happened and now she had nothing but a drug-induced confession and even more uncertainty than before.

Once all the drugs and healing magic left his system, would he blame her for what had happened to him and Merrik?

She couldn’t abandon her duty here for a relationship that might not even exist.

Even if she went to Aldon, she had nowhere to stay. Nowhere to go. It wasn’t like she’d be able to march up to the gates of Fieran’s family home and just ask to see him like she had any right to be there.

Besides, this was the army. Even if she put in for leave right this minute, it could be months before her request was approved. By that point, Fieran would likely be all healed and returned to the Half-Breed Squadron.

She shook her head as she sat on the top of the ladder, putting her only a few feet taller than Mak. “No. I can’t. I have to stay here and take care of the squadron. It’s what he’d want me to do.”

“Others can fix aeroplanes.” Mak rested a hand on the ladder, as if by steadying it he could steady her. “But you aren’t going to help anyone like this.”

In other words, she needed to get a grip. Stop being such an emotional female, suck it up, and deal with it the way all the big, tough, strong men were doing. As if she hadn’t seen a few of them sneaking off to shed some tears.

“I’m fine, Mak.” She clenched her fists in her lap. “I can do this.”

She was half-dwarf. She’d just have to remember that, remember that dwarfs were as tough as the mountains, and somehow find enough strength to keep moving forward.

“I know you can. But I hate to see you like this.” Mak pulled her in for a partial hug, awkward with her sitting on the ladder and him standing beside it.

Still, she leaned into the hug as best she could. “I hate it too. But what else can I do? It isn’t like the army is going to grant me immediate leave. I’m stuck here, no matter how much I might want to go.”

More footsteps approached this corner of the hangar, and Pip hurriedly straightened, scrubbing at her face again. Bad enough that Mak had caught her mid-meltdown. She could not allow anyone else to see her break.

Chief Mechanic Dunner strode into view, and Pip scrambled down the ladder. Her feet reached the floor as the chief mechanic halted before her.

He held out a folded piece of paper. “Mechanic Detmuk-Inawenys, I have new orders for you.”

What the monkey wrench? New orders? Now ? Pip reached for the paper with shaking fingers. Bad enough that Fieran and Merrik were leaving. If she was ordered to also leave her flyboys, she didn’t know what she’d do. Probably something crazy.

“It has been a pleasure working with you. Thank you for the good work you’ve done here.” The chief mechanic held out a hand.

Only reflexes prompted her to take that hand, shake it as firmly as she could manage, and not collapse to the floor as the chief mechanic spun and strode back the way he’d come.

Pip shoved the paper at Mak, her vision too blurred, her breaths coming too fast.

He unfolded it and quickly scanned the page, stilling, before he slowly looked up. “Pip. You’re being sent to Aldon.”

“What?” Pip snatched the paper back, her heart hammering as hard as a riveter in her chest. For a moment, the words were nothing but gibberish, her eyes flicking over the page too fast for anything to register.

Taking another deep breath, she forced herself to calm and focus. Even then, only snatches broke through.

Temporary reassignment to the Alliance Magical Power Company…

Expert consultant…

Train leaving on…

She froze at that last one. “My train leaves in an hour.”

Maybe less than that now. She hadn’t glanced at the clock on the wall in the past few minutes.

The train. The same one Fieran would be on.

Was this all mere coincidence? That she would, somehow, be reassigned last minute to go with Fieran to Aldon?

No, it couldn’t be. Someone had arranged this. But who? And why?

It didn’t matter. This was the answer to her wrestling.

She hadn’t wanted to selfishly abandon the flyboys to chase after Fieran, nor had she believed going with him was even possible.

But if she was officially ordered there, then going was her duty.

She’d have a place to stay. A right to be there.

A mission to keep her hands busy while she figured this mess out.

She wasn’t sure how things stood with Fieran. But at least this way, she’d have a chance to find out.

When she finally peeled her gaze from the page back to her brother, he was giving her the first smile she’d seen from him in days. He gave a small shrug. “Then I guess we’d better get you packed.”

“Your footlocker has been packed and loaded on the train.” Dacha had his hands clasped behind his back as he stood beside the bed rather than sit.

“Ellie’s books?” If Fieran arrived in Aldon without Ellie’s books, especially the new one, he’d never hear the end of it.

“Yes. They all fit. Barely.” Dacha rocked back on his heels. He glanced toward the door yet again before he reached toward a canvas-wrapped bundle he’d set near it. “But these would not.”

Dacha laid the bundle next to Fieran on the bed, as if he expected Fieran would want to hug the bundle like a comfort blanket or something.

Fieran could feel the familiar weight and shape of his practice swords beneath the wrapping. The gesture of giving him his swords likely meant far more to Dacha than receiving them meant to Fieran, so Fieran wrapped his good hand around the bundle. “Linshi.”

Dacha nodded, clasping his hands behind his back again.

Seconds ticked by, stretching in a painful silence. After all the heart-deep truths they’d shared in the past day, this temporary farewell shouldn’t be this awkward. But…it was.

Fieran cleared his throat. “Dacha, I…”

A knock sounded on the outer door before it opened. “General Laesornysh, sir, we’re here to collect Capt. Laesornysh.”

Dacha pushed the door between the two rooms open and stepped aside as four orderlies filed into the small space. Two of them carried a stretcher between them.

Fieran clenched his teeth as the orderlies transferred him from the bed to the stretcher. The various splints kept his healing bones from shifting, but every hand gripping him ached against all the bruises covering his body.

But he tried his best not to cry out. While he was still pumped full of healing magic, he wasn’t too drugged up at the moment. Having his mind mostly back was worth some pain, as long as it didn’t get any worse.

Once he was settled on the stretcher, gripping his swords to his chest so they wouldn’t fall off, the orderlies maneuvered the stretcher out of the tight space.

As they entered the main room, Dacha stepped forward, and the orderlies paused.

Dacha rested a hand on Fieran’s shoulder, giving him a slight squeeze in the elven hug. “Take care, sason.”

“You too, Dacha.” Fieran clasped Dacha’s forearm, since he couldn’t quite reach his shoulder for a proper elven hug.

Then the orderlies were carrying him outside, and he squinted into the brilliance of the morning sunlight.

“Rest well, nirshon.” Uncle Weylind’s silhouette appeared against the sunlight.

“The healers will have you fighting fit in no time.” Aunt Vriska had her fist clenched, as if she had intended to punch his shoulder but had thought better of it. Her white hair was gathered at the nape of her neck while her gray uniform was only a shade lighter than her skin.

Fieran forced a grin. “I thought I heard you leading the attack to rescue me.”

“Not much of an attack. We were just cleaning up behind your dacha.” Aunt Vriska sounded almost disappointed by that.

Uncle Julien stepped to her side, his red-brown hair and beard neatly trimmed despite the dark circles beneath his eyes. He’d likely been in headquarters with the other top generals, directing the strategy while Aunt Vriska took care of the field tactics. “Take the time you need to heal.”

Fieran nodded, even though there seemed to be more meaning to the words than he could discern.