Page 10 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)
Mama raised her eyebrows. “And how many of that other captain’s squadron would have died while you delayed on the ground?”
The five or ten minutes it would have taken for Pip and Mak to inspect his and Merrik’s aeroplanes didn’t sound like much.
But during a battle? That was an eternity.
Even with Fieran getting his aeroplane into the sky as quickly as possible, Captain Kentworth and too many of his pilots were killed.
How many more might have died if Fieran had delayed even five minutes? “I don’t know. But likely several.”
Yet if Fieran had taken the time to have his aeroplane inspected, how many of those who were killed after he’d crashed could he have saved? Would that have balanced out those who would have been killed in the delay?
“And what about the army?” Mama’s gaze didn’t waver. “What did your orders and army regulations require?”
That was just it. According to the army, he’d done everything right.
Pip’s inspections weren’t an army requirement; they were hers.
As far as the army was concerned, as soon as that red alert sounded, it was his duty to get his aeroplane into the sky as soon as possible. Sooner than possible, really.
If he’d delayed and his fellow pilots died because of that delay, he would have been in trouble. Possibly even court-martialed. No one would realize that the alternative would have been a crash. Instead, they’d see deaths that he could have prevented by getting into the air more quickly.
The army didn’t blame him for the pilots that had been killed because he’d crashed. His crash was an accident. Their deaths were the cost of war. Same for Merrik’s injuries.
“According to the army, I did everything I was supposed to do.” Fieran tapped his fingers on the rim of his plate. “But if I did everything right, then why do I feel responsible?”
“You survived, and you feel guilty for it when Merrik and others are suffering far worse consequences.” Mama leaned forward once again, her green eyes regarding him so steadily that he couldn’t have looked away if he’d tried.
“But you aren’t at fault. At least, not in this.
Merrik lost his leg because of war, not because of you.
Yes, you were brash. You charged into that battle with less prudence than you probably should have.
Take responsibility for the things that are actually in your control and let go of the rest. Holding guilt for things that aren’t your fault and aren’t in your control will destroy you if you let it. ”
Nodding, Fieran released a long breath, trying to force her words to stop merely ringing in his head and actually mean something in his heart.
Perhaps that sort of healing wasn’t something that could be smoothed over in a few moments. He’d have to apply his mama’s words over and over again until they stuck.
He wasn’t the reason Merrik lost his leg. The war stole Merrik’s leg. The enemy caused his crash.
Yet Fieran was still at fault for dragging Merrik into the Flying Corps. If not for Fieran, Merrik likely would have joined the elven infantry. He would have fought at his dacha’s side. He would have been safe, or as safe as he could have been in war.
Instead, Fieran had selfishly made the decision to join the Flying Corps for the two of them. Sure, Merrik hadn’t had to follow him, but Fieran hadn’t even asked what Merrik wanted. He’d just expected Merrik to follow. Fieran’s decisions had cost Merrik his warrior hair and now his leg.
First Merrik, then Pip. Fieran had been trampling over those around him, and he hadn’t even realized he’d been doing it.
Oblivious, yes. But also selfish. Arrogant. Too wrapped up in himself to truly pay attention to those around him.
He’d never not liked himself before. It was a rather uncomfortable feeling, and he wasn’t sure what to do with it.
“Maybe I’m not at fault for his crash. At the very least, I’m not the only—or even the main—cause of it.
” Fieran nudged his half-eaten cookie around on his plate.
Crumbs crushed, gritty, beneath his finger.
“But there’s plenty that I am at fault for.
I’ve been pretty selfish when it comes to Merrik. ”
And Pip, but he still wasn’t ready to bring her into this conversation.
“All of us are prone to selfishness, and we must make a conscious effort to choose sacrifice and unselfishness instead of our natural inclinations to pride and self-absorption.” Mama’s smile tilted almost wryly, though it lacked sharp edges.
“Those of us with large personalities and ease with people have to be especially aware that we use our charisma to lift up those around us rather than overshadow them, ignore them, or, worse, hold them down.”
His mama had always been a shining example of sacrificial love of others. She and Dacha were still beloved by the Escarlish people because of their unselfish caring.
“You have a good heart, Fieran.” Mama leaned forward to rest a hand on his arm again. “Maybe it’s my rosy perspective as your mother, but you are a good leader and a good man, despite your mistakes. And because you are a good man, you’ll strive to do better going forward.”
“Thanks, Mama.” Fieran released a long breath. He couldn’t go back and fix his mistakes.
But he could strive to do better going forward. Make better choices. Actually stop and think before he acted, as his dacha—and Merrik—had been telling him for years.
“Will Merrik forgive me, do you think?” Fieran traced his finger over the rim of his plate.
“I’m afraid that’s up to him.” Mama’s tone somehow softened even more as she leaned her elbows on the table.
“You can and should apologize for the things that are truly your fault, and you can let him know you’re there for him.
But you can’t make him forgive you, nor should you push.
It’s his decision when he’s ready to forgive you and restore your friendship. If he’s ever ready.”
If . The bleakness of that word stabbed into his chest. He couldn’t imagine a world where he wasn’t friends—no, brothers—with Merrik.
“Mama, I—” Fieran swallowed, not sure what to say. “Thanks.”
As they lapsed into silence, he glanced around the familiar kitchen, taking in the large white stove with its ceramic polished to a shine. The pots and pans hanging from a rack nearby. The wooden cupboard and countertop for prepping meals and baked goods.
Except…he took in the door to the outside. He pointed. “There’s a gun hanging over the door.”
That hadn’t been there when he’d been growing up. Mama and Dacha never would have kept a weapon so within reach.
Mama’s mouth pressed into a tight line, and she didn’t answer for a long moment, as if she didn’t want to tell him.
Finally, she sighed, her gaze still on the rifle over the door rather than on him.
“The Mongavarians have been dropping agents into Escarland. They’ve realized the best way to eliminate warriors of the ancient kings is to get to them before they come into their magic.
Either kill them or kidnap them to raise. They aren’t picky.”
Ellie. Tryndar. Fieran’s chest squeezed. The Mongavarians wanted to either kill or kidnap his youngest siblings. He swallowed. “Have they…have they gotten close?”
“No. Your dacha’s barrier around Treehaven has kept them out, and we capture them before they can do much more than prod at the defenses.
” His mama gave him a grin that somehow was mischievous as well as grim.
“One would think wielding the magic of the ancient kings would be enough, but the intruders always take me more seriously when I’m pointing a gun at them as well. ”
Fieran tried to say something. Anything. But he couldn’t seem to find the words. He somehow hadn’t pictured his mama going to confront these Mongavarian agents in person.
Instead, he finally asked, “Does Dacha know?”
He couldn’t imagine his dacha would blithely remain at Fort Defense if Mama, Ellie, and Tryndar were being put in danger like this.
“Yes.” Mama’s jaw worked, her eyes flashing. “But he knows I have it handled .”
She said it with an extra, growled emphasis, as if she wasn’t just talking to Fieran. Perhaps she was conveying the sentiment to Dacha through the heart bond.
The Mongavarians really should take the hint. Don’t mess with Fieran and his siblings. His parents were downright terrifying when they were defending their children.