Page 40 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

“I can’t believe you’re here.” Pip gave Muka another hug, sinking into the familiar feeling of her muka’s scratchy beard, which wafted the faint smell of grease and iron.

Ahead, the column of dwarven warriors marched down the road, metal chain mail clinking, weapons glinting, that deep drum booming out a steady rhythm.

The occasional human—even shorter than most of the dwarves—marched among them.

Humans who were on the short side, sometimes deemed an oddity and mistreated by their fellow humans, were always welcomed into the dwarven clans as one of them, and it was rare for a clan to not have a bit of human in them somewhere.

Something swelled inside her chest, and Pip found herself standing straighter. She’d told Fieran that she didn’t feel particularly connected to either her dwarven or elven heritage.

And yet as she stood there, watching the dwarves march past to the beat of the drum, she felt that rhythm deep in her bones. Perhaps she was more dwarf than she had let herself believe. With that drum beat pounding in her chest, she was ready to pick up an axe and join them.

Or maybe her favorite head-bashing wrench. That would serve as a good bludgeoning weapon in a pinch.

Muka released Pip to wrap Mak into a hug. Short as she was, Mak bent down to hug her properly.

Dacha rested his hands on Pip’s shoulders in the elven hug. “It is good to see you again, sena. We missed you greatly while we were gone.”

“I missed you. So much.” An elven hug wasn’t enough. Pip stepped in and hugged her dacha around his waist. She’d been cut off from her parents for so long.

So much had happened since she’d last talked to them. Everything at Dar Goranth. Everything with Fieran and Merrik and their crashes. She had a boyfriend.

Even before Dar Goranth, her letters had been lacking in details, mindful as she had to be about what she said. She didn’t even know how much of what she’d written had gotten past the army censors.

Dacha patted her back before he stepped out of her hug. “Come. Let us find our accommodations, and we will talk. Are the two of you free?”

“Yes. We’re off duty for the rest of the afternoon and evening.” Mak shot Pip a speaking look.

She gave him a look back, shaking her head. He had better not spill the nail jar about Fieran before she did.

Fieran’s cousin Myles jogged up to them, his olive-green uniform crisp beneath the bright red sash across his chest. “Ambassadors Detmuk-Inawenys?”

“Yes?” Dacha turned toward Myles, his tone and expression that impassive, elven one he used when being particularly official.

“The two of you have been allotted Building 42.” Myles consulted a paper on a clipboard before he motioned with a pen. “Just head down the main street, take the third right, and you’ll find the building clearly labeled and on the left.”

“Thanks, Myles. We’ll find it.” Pip set out along the familiar road toward Little Aldon, her chest still strangely bubbling and tight with tension. As if she just had to hurry her family along.

A dust cloud hung over the area after all the tromping boots. Pip had to breathe lightly, even as she gazed around at the buildings on either side of the street.

It was strange being back here in Little Aldon now that it had been fully cleared out of all the civilians. For several weeks, these buildings had been empty and hollow where once this had been a bustling part of Fort Defense.

So many memories. There was the café where she’d eaten with the flyboys. There was the photography studio where the whole group had gotten those costumed photographs.

Now, large numbers in army green had been painted on the front of each building. Dwarves bustled about as they settled into the various shops-turned-barracks. Some of the larger restaurants were now the scattered mess halls for the dwarven warriors.

She and her family turned down one of the side streets, this one filled with smaller shops.

Clusters of dwarves—including many from Detmuk—bustled between the buildings as they settled in.

She caught snatches of conversation, mostly the boasting of warriors about what they’d do once they had a chance for battle and some mentions of a shipment of dwarven vehicles arriving in a day or two.

Building 42 was a small shop with large front windows. When they entered, they found a couple of tables and a small kitchen area on the main floor while the upper floor was the lavatory and bedroom.

Almost as soon as they entered, humans arrived, carrying Dacha’s and Muka’s trunks. Mak and Muka both nodded their thanks, grabbed a trunk, and carried them upstairs.

“This will be quite adequate.” Dacha turned in a circle on the main floor. Muka and Mak were tromping about on the upper floor, their footsteps ringing heavily on the ceiling overhead.

“How long will you be staying?” Pip wrapped her arms over her stomach. She didn’t want to admit how much she was already dreading having to say goodbye to them again.

“Only a day or two. We will see the dwarven regiment settled, then we must return to the western rail terminal.” Dacha settled his hands on her shoulders again. “We will need to make the most of the time we have.”

Pip nodded, swallowing. Her stomach twisted. She needed to tell him. But she probably should wait until Muka returned. She should tell them together.

Muka tromped down the stairs, followed by Mak. “These are fancy digs.”

“Nicer than the army barracks, that’s for sure.” Mak grinned before he met Pip’s gaze over Muka’s head.

Pip narrowed her eyes back at him. She didn’t need her brother rushing her. She’d get to her news when she got to it.

Dacha slid into a seat at one of the largest tables, this one with four chairs already around it. “We have some time before supper. The two of you should tell us what has happened since we last saw you.”

Pip forced herself to pull out a chair and sit across from Dacha. Muka and Mak sat to either side of her.

Mak met her gaze, then tilted his head toward Dacha.

Pip sucked in a breath, opened her mouth, closed it. She swiped her hands on the front of her trousers again. “I have news.”

Dacha’s gaze searched her face, his eyes warm and brown. “That sounds serious.”

“I…” She chickened out. “I’m the head mechanic for my squadron.”

“That’s my girl.” Muka punched her arm, grinning broadly.

“Well done, sena.” Dacha tilted his head in a nod that was almost a salute.

Mak narrowed his gaze at her, crossing his arms. “That isn’t all.”

“Mak!” Pip scrubbed her hands against her trousers yet again. She was going to either leave large sweat stains on the fabric or wear a hole right through it.

Why was she so scared? She loved Fieran. And he was a good guy. It wasn’t like her parents were going to disapprove of him.

“So…I’m…” Pip’s voice squeaked. Ugh. Why was this so difficult? She’d faced bombings. Sneak attacks. Crashing aeroplanes. Her courage shouldn’t fail her now, not when all she was doing was telling her parents about her new boyfriend. “I’m courting.”

Her parents blinked at her, their expressions not changing from mildly confused.

She’d probably blurted that out so fast the words had been unintelligible.

With a deep, steadying breath, Pip fixed her gaze on the table instead of looking at either of her parents. “He’s one of the flyboys from Fort Linder. Fieran. I think I mentioned him in my letters?”

When she peeked at Dacha, he tipped his head, though his expression had gone neutral. Muka’s beard was twitching with the beginnings of her grin.

“But I didn’t tell you his last name.” Pip blew out a breath. She couldn’t. That was a bit of a military secret. “He’s Fieran Laesornysh.”

Dacha bolted upright. “Son of Prince Farrendel Laesornysh?”

“Yes.” Pip’s voice squeaked.

Muka’s guffaw made Pip jump. Muka gave Pip a light punch to the arm. “Now isn’t that quite the unlikely vein of gold in the rubble. You’re courting the son of your childhood hero. Have you met his dak just yet?”

“Yes.” She wasn’t going to mention she was still working on trying to actually talk to Prince Farrendel.

“Is this Fieran a good man? Is he respectful?” Unlike Muka, who was still grinning, Dacha was frowning, grooves lining his forehead and bracketing his mouth.

“Of course.” Pip squirmed, shooting a look at Mak. He’d helped start all this. The least he could do was help her out.

“He is. I haven’t had to beat him up or give him more than a treat my sister right speech.” Mak’s arms were crossed, but he was grinning. Getting far too much enjoyment out of her squirming, no doubt.

“I can invite him to supper tonight.” Pip popped to her feet, nearly tripping over the chair in her haste to back away from the table. “Why don’t I go right now? Mak can fill you in.”

She didn’t wait for her parents’ agreement. She all but bolted out the door.