Page 8 of Fly to Fury (War of the Alliance #3)

Chapter

Four

P ip perched on one of the dirty metal seats on the tram while Mak gripped a leather strap hanging from the ceiling.

As the tram nosed downward toward the lower region of the military base, Pip planted her palms on the back of the seat in front of her.

She was too short for her feet to fully reach the floor.

But as her butt slid forward on the slippery metal bench, she braced herself on her tiptoes on the floor.

The tram leveled out and shook as it came to a halt beside the platform.

As the others—mostly men—clambered to their feet and crowded the aisle, Pip stuck close to Mak’s back, letting him lead the charge through the crowd. How she loved having big, tall people to wade into the fray and create a path for her. She had to dodge far fewer elbows to the face that way.

Outside the tram, the crowd scattered, though the bulk of the men headed for the long buildings that Lt. Busher had indicated were the various mess buildings.

“This way.” Mak turned in the same direction as a few of the other men she recognized as mechanics .

He bypassed the first two mess buildings and entered the third. As Pip followed him inside, the echoing hubbub of voices, clanging of plates on metal tables, and clink of silverware rang against her ears.

She and Mak joined the line, quickly getting their food.

As they turned away to find a table, she spotted a few of the elven mechanics for Flight A gathered at a table with other elves.

Probably mechanics for the elven airships.

Her human mechanics had joined some of the mechanics for the other squadrons.

She shouldn’t be hurt that her little group was scattering the moment they reached Fort Defense. After Dar Goranth, where they were so alone, she couldn’t blame them for seeking larger groups of companionship.

Mak navigated through the long rows of tables until he reached the back corner. He sat down with his back to the wall, and Pip sank onto the bench across from him. Here, it was relatively quiet. Much better for talking.

“So.” Mak waved his fork at her. “Tell me everything that you couldn’t include in your letters.”

Between bites of her food—some kind of mystery meat, mashed potatoes, and rather overcooked green beans—Pip told him about training, the Battle over Bridgetown, the transfer to Dar Goranth, and the Battle for Dar Goranth.

She downplayed the amount of danger she had been in, though by the furrow to her brother’s brow he could read between the lines.

She also didn’t mention anything regarding her non-romance with Fieran. Hopefully her brother couldn’t read between those lines. She really didn’t want to talk about that with anyone, much less her brother.

“And what about you? What happened at home after I left?” Pip had done so much talking that her food was growing cold. Mak was nearly finished, even though he’d taken a larger portion.

“Things got more tense once war was declared, and trains have been running around the clock.” Mak shrugged as he set down his fork. “But nothing much changed. The western rail terminal is so far from the border that it isn’t in danger.”

“Were you still at home when Mongavaria bombed Tarenhiel’s eastern forests?” Pip stirred her food around her plate. She’d seen some of the blackened sections of forests as the airship passed over them on the way to Fort Defense.

“Yes. I was called up for service right after that, and that’s when the king asked Dacha and Muka to negotiate with the dwarven kingdoms.” Mak gave a shrug that was as casual as hers had been when talking about the battles she’d experienced.

He still wasn’t looking at her. “I was sent straight here. No special training or anything. We’ve had a few bombings, but I haven’t been in too much danger. ”

Pip nodded, chewing the last of her mystery meat, and swallowed. Likely because Prince Farrendel was here, protecting the fort the way Fieran had protected Fort Linder during the bombing there.

“Is King Weylind here?” She hadn’t seen him, nor had Prince Farrendel mentioned his presence to Fieran. But the base was huge, and the meeting of father and son had been too brief for catching up about Fieran’s various famous family members.

“Not at the moment.” Mak shook his head, gesturing. “The eastern forests are still under periodic fire bombing, and he’s been helping Prince Ryfon hold the line there. But he occasionally visits Fort Defense to assist the war effort here.”

Pip probably shouldn’t be so relieved. She’d already met several of Fieran’s famous relatives—King Rharreth and Queen Melantha of Kostaria, Princes Rhohen and Sontar, Generals Julien and Vriska Ardon—but she wasn’t sad to put off meeting another one.

Getting used to being on the same base as Prince Farrendel Laesornysh, knowing she’d likely run into him many times, was difficult enough.

What would happen if she actually courted Fieran? All those highly ranked people, scrutinizing her to see if she was good enough for him.

At the tightness in her chest, she shoved those thoughts aside before her panic showed on her face.

“But…” Mak’s grin turned mischievous. “General Farrendel Laesornysh is here.”

Prince Farrendel Laesornysh . Never mind. Full-blown panic mode activated. Her chest squeezed. How was she going to survive meeting him again? She’d embarrassed herself so badly that morning. He probably thought she was some kind of dunce.

“I met him.” Her voice squeaked out high and breathy.

“And…” Mak prompted, leaning his elbows on the table.

“And I didn’t even manage to say a word. I totally froze. It was awful.” Pip dropped her face into her hands, her face burning just remembering it.

“I’m sure it wasn’t that bad.” The mischievous tone dropped from Mak’s voice, replaced with his big brother comforting one.

“It was!” Pip dug her fingers into her hair. “And I’m the head mechanic for his son’s squadron. I’m bound to see him again.”

“Yes.” Mak drew out the word, his gaze going searching again. “About Fieran…”

Nope. She wasn’t talking about Fieran and that complication. Nope, nope, nope .

“Fieran’s a good friend. As are all the flyboys. Merrik is…” Pip babbled something about each of the flyboys.

The furrow remained in Mak’s brow, and despite her chatter, she didn’t think she was fooling him at all.

Fieran strolled beside Merrik as they headed from their tents beside the hangar, down the slight hill, and into the headquarters section of Fort Defense.

As they neared, Fieran studied the buildings. The four-story stone and wood building must be the hospital. A cluster of small wooden buildings tucked into a stand of trees had to be the quarters for the elven healers and nurses.

The officer quarters were a square formed of four long, two-story buildings.

One of the buildings was fully stone. One was wood with trees grown into the sides.

A third was brick while the fourth had a stone foundation and wooden construction.

A fifth building sat in the center of the square, and it bustled with activity even at this time of night. That must be headquarters.

The elven officers’ quarters were built on the ground, but they were formed out of a row of trees.

Each set of rooms was set by itself, but they were placed in a row with a hallway down the center, covered by the roof of tree branches.

A few elven lights glowed beneath the canopy, but the leaves kept the light from being visible from the sky.

On the far end, Dacha and Uncle Iyrinder stood in front of the building, talking quietly. As Fieran and Merrik approached, they stopped talking and turned toward them.

Uncle Iyrinder stepped forward and clasped Fieran’s shoulders in an elven hug. “Fieran. You are looking well. ”

“Uncle Iyrinder.” Fieran returned Uncle Iyrinder’s shoulder hug.

Beside him, Dacha exchanged shoulder clasps with Merrik.

Once they’d finished their greetings, Dacha pushed open the door beside him while Uncle Iyrinder led Merrik to the set of rooms next to Dacha’s, separated by a small open-air hallway. Uncle Iyrinder was likely listed as Dacha’s adjutant or something like that.

Fieran followed his dacha into his set of rooms, the very elven architecture surrounding him in a warm familiarity.

A table stood in the center of the room with two chairs beside it. Covered dishes already waited on the table, wafting savory smells into the air.

A cushioned bench stretched along one wall, grown in place out of the living wood of the walls. A few branches with leaves stretched along the ceiling overhead. The other wall held a desk layered with neat stacks of paperwork.

A doorway on the other side, the door standing open, led into a bedroom with a narrow bed grown into the wall. Fieran smiled at the sight of papers tacked onto the wall above the bed, all of them covered with his little brother Tryndar’s artwork.

Fieran took the chair with his back to the cushioned bench. This let him put his back to the wall, more or less, and gave him a view of both doorways.

Dacha sank into the chair with his back to the desk, as Fieran guessed he would. Dacha never sat with his back to a door, and Fieran hadn’t understood that instinct until he’d joined the war.

“It is good to see you, sason.” Dacha lifted the lid on one of the dishes.

“Yes, it is.” Fieran’s mouth watered at the juicy venison roast laid out on the dish, warm and resting in its own juices.

“That smells good. I’ve missed good food.

The Escarlish Army is rather stingy when it comes to feeding the troops.

Dar Goranth’s food was better than Fort Linder’s, but I’m beyond sick of eating fish. ”

As Dacha uncovered more dishes, Fieran helped himself to the venison, then the roasted potatoes and green beans, all only lightly seasoned, as was the elven preference.