Page 36 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

Chapter

Twenty

I n the cool of the morning, Fieran stepped out of his tent, his swords strapped to his back. He glanced at Merrik’s tent, but no one stirred.

For a moment, it was too much like every morning for the last four weeks. No Merrik. A lonely walk from the tent to the hill beyond the hangar.

It should hopefully be the last walk like this.

Merrik told Fieran the night before that he would be leaving for morning practice early.

Fieran would have assumed Merrik was avoiding him, except for the pink flush to the tips of Merrik’s ears.

Ridiculous of Fieran to assume this had anything to do with him.

Shaking off the weight, Fieran set off over the dead grass, cutting through the hangar to reach the hills beyond. He waved at a few of the mechanics, although he didn’t see Pip yet.

On the other side of the hangar, he hiked up the rise and over the crest of the hill, giving him a view into the hollow where he and Dacha usually practiced.

Down in the valley below, Dacha and Merrik faced each other, just talking. Uncle Iyrinder lingered in the forest beyond, well out of earshot.

Fieran hesitated at the crest of the hill. He shouldn’t interrupt. Not if this discussion was what he thought it was.

But then Dacha reached out and gripped Merrik’s shoulders in the elven hug. He said something Fieran couldn’t hear from that distance, but the words had Merrik ducking his head before giving a nod. After another moment, Merrik returned the elven hug gesture.

Dacha stepped back, his gaze swinging up to where Fieran stood at the top of the hill. He didn’t make a gesture as obvious as a wave, but the tilt of his head, the twitch of his hand, beckoned Fieran forward.

Fieran strolled down the hill, trying to keep his gait casual, his expression neutral, when all he really wanted to do was grin at Merrik. And maybe tease him about how the whole “talking to his girlfriend’s father” went.

Then again, Fieran probably should hold off on the teasing, and not just because Merrik’s girlfriend happened to be Fieran’s sister. But also because Fieran had yet to go through that proper step with Pip’s dacha. He had yet to even meet Pip’s parents.

Fieran reached the bottom of the hill just as Uncle Iyrinder approached from the copse of trees.

Merrik ducked his head again, not reaching for his sword as he avoided looking at anyone. “I am not sure I am up for much of a practice today.”

Fieran slung an arm over Merrik’s shoulders.

Merrik flinched, but he didn’t shove him away or pull back, so Fieran didn’t withdraw his arm.

“My dacha hasn’t even progressed me to full fights yet.

Something about me still regaining my strength and reconnecting with my elfness or something like that. ”

Dacha gave him a dour look that didn’t fully hide the faint curve upward to his mouth. “It has been necessary, sason.”

“So you won’t be the only one not yet up to fighting.” Fieran slapped Merrik’s back, though he kept the gesture light, before he stepped back. “We can all go through our sword stances together.”

Merrik nodded, though he still didn’t meet Fieran’s gaze as he drew his sword.

The rest of them all drew their swords, forming a line with space enough between them. With Merrik mirroring Uncle Iyrinder’s single sword stances and Fieran copying his dacha’s forms with the double swords, they moved through the various stances.

Merrik began to breathe heavily by only the third stance, and he stumbled on the sixth.

“That will be enough for today, sason.” Uncle Iyrinder lowered his sword, sheathed it, and rested a hand on Merrik’s shoulder.

Merrik lowered his sword, but his jaw knotted as if he wasn’t happy with having to admit weakness.

Fieran would have moved to the next sword stance, but a blaring siren cut through the morning, the sound somewhat faint all the way out here in the hills.

He dropped out of the form and hurried to sheathe his swords.

“I knew the break in raids was too good to last. They’re getting an early start today. ”

Dacha sighed and lowered his swords. “Yes.”

Fieran spun toward the hangar, but he paused, glancing at Merrik.

Merrik waved at him. “Go on. I will follow as quickly as I can.”

With a nod, Fieran took off at a sprint, not looking back even as an ache filled him at having to leave Merrik behind to go at his own pace.

The ground crew were already pushing aeroplanes out of the various hangar bays, and several aeroplanes from Lt. Hadley’s squadron roared down the airfield.

Fieran dodged around an aeroplane and skidded into Bay 5, where the elven pilots of Flight A calmly glided toward their aeroplanes. “What are our orders?”

“Fleetwood is to head north and west, Hadley south.” Lt. Rothilion dragged on his flight clothes over his uniform. “The colonel wants us to remain over Fort Defense. So far attacks have only been reported to the west and south, but we know Mongavaria’s current strategy.”

That they did. Very likely, an attack on Fort Defense would be coming, once Mongavaria ensured the Alliance squadrons were distracted elsewhere.

“Got it.” Fieran pointed first at Rothilion, then at Aylia. “Lt. Rothilion, you’re with me. Aylia, wait for Merrik. We’ll switch once everyone is in the air.”

Perhaps slightly unconventional, but he wanted one of the best pilots to take off with Merrik. He didn’t want to risk any accidents. Not with Merrik.

“Understood.” Rothilion tugged on his flight jacket, smoothing it over his uniform.

From beside her aeroplane, Aylia grinned. “Will do.”

That taken care of, Fieran raced from Bay 5 into Bay 4, finding a more chaotic rush than in Bay 5, although not in a fearful way. Just in the more noisy, tromping way of humans.

Nearby, one of the flyboys jostled the workbench piled high with jars of sourdough starter.

As the flyboy frantically tried to steady the tower, several of the jars toppled, then fell to the cement floor with the splintering of shattering glass.

Shards of glass scattered amid the gooey spatter of the starter.

The nearby flyboys froze, staring first at the mess, then at Fieran.

Fieran heaved a sigh and jabbed a hand at the disaster of glass and fermenting dough.

Time to finally take this in hand. “Leave it for now. But when we get back, all of this is going to have to go. Give it to the cooks at the mess hall, throw it away, lob it at the enemy, I don’t care.

But it needs to go. From now on, if anyone wants a donut, you’ll just have to wait until you get a pass to go into Defense City. ”

It wasn’t like Tiny, the one who had started this whole debacle, would care. He’d already been visiting his girl in Defense City every chance he got, regardless of how many donuts the squadron fried up.

The squadron had had their fun with their foray into donut-making endeavors, and it had served its purpose to keep them somewhat sane during those weeks of near constant raids. But it was time to wrangle things back into good order.

The flyboys muttered their assent before they raced away to see to getting into their fly gear and into the sky.

Fieran came across Lije as he hurried through the hangar bay. “Pass the word. Flight A will be taking off first. I’d like all of you to take off afterwards and make a swing south before coming back north.”

“Got it.” Lije raced off, halting by each aeroplane to pass the word through the rest of the Flight.

Fieran ran for his own aeroplane in its station closest to Pip’s workbench by the wall.

She was up on a ladder, the engine compartment open, as she gave the engine a quick look over, even though she’d already given it a thorough inspection the day before after he’d landed.

“How’s everything looking?” Fieran reached for the bundle of his flight clothing he’d left on the floor next to the aeroplane.

“All set.” Despite her words, Pip continued inspecting the engine, her hands and eyes moving rapidly as she worked to finish before the ground crew arrived to wheel out his aeroplane. There was something almost obsessive in the way she scanned the parts of the engine.

“Hey.” Fieran paused in hiking up his flight boots and reached for Pip. As she was standing on a ladder and he was hunched with the fur-lined leather boots halfway up his thighs, he settled for briefly resting his hand on the side of her calf. “The engine is in perfect working order.”

“I know, I know. I just…” Pip didn’t withdraw.

Fieran hopped a bit as he pulled the boots the rest of the way up, hooking the straps to his belt. Then he gripped her waist and lifted her off the ladder.

Pip yelped and squealed as her feet left the ladder.

Fieran set her on her feet on the cement floor in front of him. “You’ve done all you can. I’m not going to crash.”

Pip wrapped her arms around his waist and buried her face against his shirt. “It’s a lot harder to watch you fly into danger after…you know. I thought I was getting better at pushing the memories aside, but seeing Merrik again…”

Her words choked off, but he didn’t need her to finish. It was good to have Merrik back, but Merrik was still dealing with the consequences of that day in a way Fieran wasn’t.

Fieran ran a hand up and down her back while he buried his other hand in her hair, the thick waves curling around his fingers. “I’m going to be all right. Even if I crash again—even if I’m not all right this time—it’s my duty. I need to go up.”

Pip nodded against his hand, blinking as she did so.

Fieran pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I need to go.”

Pip gripped the front of his shirt, stood on her tiptoes, and kissed him before he straightened. When she stepped back, releasing him, her shoulders had straightened, her face smoothing. “Just bring my aeroplane back in one piece. And I mean the whole aeroplane. Not just one tiny piece of it.”

Fieran just grinned at her as he bent, picking up his flight jacket. That was a promise he couldn’t make.