Page 41 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

Chapter

Twenty-Two

F ieran leaned closer to the tiny mirror by one of the sinks in the shower building. He carefully eased the razor across his cheek, scraping away the hint of red peach fuzz.

Another reminder of how he wasn’t fully an elf. Neither was he fully human enough to actually grow a decent beard. Instead, he had to shave every few weeks; the random bristles and patchy fuzz just looked ratty if he didn’t.

He drew the razor over his jaw. There, that should do it. After rinsing off the razor, he wiped the lather from his face with a damp towel.

After grabbing his uniform shirt from a hook, he shrugged into it, buttoned it, and tucked it in properly. As this wasn’t a ceremony, he was wearing his good, normal uniform and not his dress uniform.

Just as well. The dress uniform looked nice, but it was so stiff and tightly tailored he could barely sit down in it. Supper would be uncomfortable enough as it was.

The outer door creaked open, then slammed shut on its spring-loaded hinges. As it was early for the evening shower rush, that was likely Merrik, come to give Fieran a hard time for taking so long.

But instead of Merrik’s voice, Dacha spoke from behind him. “You missed a spot.”

Fieran glanced over his shoulder, finding his dacha standing only a few feet behind him. Dacha pointed to a spot on his own face just beneath his ear.

Turning his head one way, then the other, Fieran found the spot of lather he’d missed mopping up with the towel and dabbed it away.

Leaning closer to the mirror, Fieran ran his hand over his face, making sure he’d gotten all the patches of bristles. “I think that should do it. I cannot grow an impressive dwarven beard, but at least I can shave closely enough to pass as an elf.”

It had been Uncle Edmund who had taught him how to shave since Dacha hadn’t known how.

“You are an elf, sason. You do not need to merely pass as one.” Dacha’s tone was soft, not quite scolding, not quite disappointed.

Fieran didn’t dare glance over his shoulder, not wanting to see the look in Dacha’s eyes. “I know.”

It was just harder to remember that when he was having to shave like a human.

Probably best to change the subject. Fieran smoothed down his damp hair. “What do you think? Slicked down…”

Dacha made a small noise, the closest thing to an undignified snort that he’d make.

“You’re right. It isn’t me.” Fieran ran his fingers through his hair so that it lay more loose with strands trailing across his forehead. “Artfully tousled it is.”

He’d delayed as long as he could. At this point, he was just pointlessly primping. He turned, facing his dacha.

Dacha’s gaze swept over him before he took a step forward. He tugged at Fieran’s collar, smoothing out a wrinkle. “You will do fine tonight, sason. Her parents will not disapprove of you.”

No, they wouldn’t. But would they approve of him? That was the real question. He had a feeling that Pip’s parents, like Fieran’s, would care far more about how he’d treat their daughter than anything else, including his name and family connections.

Fieran shrugged, trying to call up a grin. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t meet Grandmother until after you and Mama were already married.”

“That just made the experience more nerve-wracking. Your mama’s family were already predisposed to dislike me because I stole your macha away so abruptly.

” Dacha’s mouth curved into that slight smile, his eyes going distant, in that way that said he was sensing his heart bond with Mama.

After a moment, Dacha gripped Fieran’s shoulders.

“But they came around quickly. Be yourself, sason, and you will win over her family just as quickly.”

That sounded more like something Mama would say than Dacha. Perhaps it was something Dacha had gotten through the heart bond.

Fieran tried to nod. “Linshi, Dacha.”

Dacha squeezed his shoulders and stepped back. “Now, you do not want to be late.”

That would certainly make a great impression on Pip’s parents.

Fieran spun on his heel and started for the door. Only to remember that he probably should pick up his shaving items and other toiletries to return to his tent.

“Go on. I will see to this.” Dacha turned to the sink, his nose wrinkling slightly.

If Dacha wanted to pick up after him, Fieran wasn’t going to argue. Dacha must really like Pip if he was going this much out of his way to see that tonight went well.

Fieran hurried out of the showers, only to find Merrik and Uncle Iyrinder waiting there. Merrik leaned more weight on his left leg than his right, lines of weariness around his eyes. But he was standing steadily.

Merrik held out a bouquet of some kind of flowers, tied with a scrap of fabric. “You are welcome.”

Fieran took the flowers. Merrik must have grown them as there weren’t any flowers to be had at Fort Defense. “I’m going to owe you for this, aren’t I?”

Merrik’s grin gleamed in his eyes with too much satisfaction. “Yes.”

Great. That wouldn’t be at all awkward, considering the girl Merrik would expect help wooing was Fieran’s sister .

Fieran sighed. “Fine. Linshi. Now…”

“Go.” Merrik waved a hand. Uncle Iyrinder gave him a nod.

As Fieran turned to go, a small group of the pilots of Lt.

Hadley’s squadron hurried around him and bustled into the shower building.

Even as the door slammed shut behind them, the startled exclamations of “General” rang out as the unsuspecting pilots found themselves face-to-face with an elf general in the communal showers for the low-grade officers.

Grinning, Fieran set off down the road, heading for the tram platform. As he strode past the hangar, various of the flyboys and flygirls leaned out of the hangar doors, calling out teasing advice or merely smirking at him. Tiny, Lije, and Stickyfingers were all grinning as they waved him onward.

He arrived as a tram was pulling in, so he was able to walk right on and take a seat.

After a quick tram ride, Fieran was soon strolling down the road past the mess, the commissary, and the communications building, until he reached the outskirts of Little Aldon. Though perhaps it should be called Little Dalorbor, now that the dwarves had taken over.

The dwarves bustling between the buildings halted to look at him as he strode past, making him all too aware of his height and the very elegantly elven points of his ears. To those dwarves watching him, he likely seemed more elf than human.

The elves and dwarves currently didn’t have the animosity that the elves and trolls had had only a generation ago, but that was mostly because they stayed out of each other’s spaces. This new treaty—actually fighting at each other’s side—was unprecedented.

As he turned the corner onto the smaller side street, he found Pip pacing back and forth across the road, as if to make sure he couldn’t slip past her.

She wore that same green dress she’d worn in Escarland, and it swirled around her calves each time she spun to march the other way.

Her hair lay around her shoulders and down her back in glossy waves while the necklace he’d given her winked when it caught the sunlight.

She reached the far side of the road, spun again, and faced him. As her gaze landed on him, her dark eyes lit, a smile breaking across her face.

He held out the flowers. “For you.”

She hurried across the road, took the flowers, and sniffed them. “Linshi. These are beautiful. Where did you get them?”

“Where else?” Fieran grinned, the expression going a touch lopsided. “Merrik.”

Pip laughed, shaking her head. “I should’ve guessed. He’s an excellent wingman.”

“He’s also making sure I owe him so that I’ll be forced to return the favor as his wingman…while he’s courting my sister.” Fieran gave an exaggerated huff.

“Good for him.” Pip’s eyes sparkled with mischief. But the expression faded after a moment as she glanced over her shoulder down the side road. “Well, I guess we should go. My parents are waiting.”

Fieran’s stomach churned, but he pasted on a smile. He held out a hand, his nerves easing when she took it. He would face her parents with her at his side. Besides, they raised Pip and Mak. They had to be people he’d like, once they got past the parental interrogation.

“Yes, but first…” Fieran tugged her closer before he leaned down and pressed a kiss to her lips. He wouldn’t be able to do that once they were under the watchful eyes of her parents. When he drew back, he whispered in her ear, “You look beautiful.”

Her face flushed as she ducked her head. “It’s the same dress I wore in Aldon.”

“And you’re just as beautiful as you were then. Or as you are in your overalls.” Fieran pressed another kiss to her temple before he forced himself to put some distance between them, although he didn’t let go of her hand.

Pip cleared her throat and looked away from him. “Stop saying stuff like that or I’m going to be beet red.”

Fieran grinned and fell into step with her as they strolled down the road, swinging their clasped hands as they went. “Just to be clear, I’m to stop saying romantic stuff for now. That’s not a ban forever.”

“No.” Pip’s voice went a touch squeaky, her face flushing again. She stepped closer to him so she could nudge him with an elbow. “Not helping.”

Was it bad that he wasn’t at all repentant?

He forced himself to look away to give her a moment and instead took in the street around them.

Dwarves lounged on chairs, stoops, and wooden sidewalks of what used to be cafés and small shops for Little Aldon. Many of the dwarves were sharpening or polishing weapons, laughing and speaking together in their guttural language as they did so.

A large group of them, sprawled across a section of sidewalk, lifted their hands and called out in their language. The only thing Fieran recognized was Pippak .

Pip halted, turning toward the group with a grin. She spoke in dwarvish, gesturing at Fieran. He recognized his name in the jumble, but that was it.