Page 42 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)
Still, the guttural, deeper sounds of dwarvish coming from Pip was strangely startling. He’d known she was half dwarf, but until now he’d only heard her speak elvish or Escarlish. She was so comfortable in human spaces that he’d perhaps begun to see her as half-human like him.
But she was half-dwarf in the way he was half-human, and he shouldn’t let himself forget that. She moved more easily through three cultures than he did his two.
He should start learning dwarvish. If he was going to be with Pip, then he would need to be as comfortable with dwarven culture as she was with Escarlish.
Pip glanced up at Fieran, the twinkle in her dark eyes matching her grin. “Fieran, these are a bunch of my Detmuk cousins, distant cousins, and a few aunts and uncles.”
Aunts? Fieran eyed the group of dwarves again, this time actually picking out the female dwarves among the males. Everyone having a beard was going to take some getting used to.
“Hello.” Fieran waved back at the cluster of Detmuk dwarves, not sure what else to say. Perhaps he should have spoken in elvish instead of Escarlish? Did these dwarves know either? “Elontiri.”
One of the dwarves guffawed and punched another’s arm. The two of them shook with their raucous laughter, drawing the others in.
Pip rolled her eyes, huffed, and spoke in dwarvish again. With a flap of her hand, she tugged Fieran onward. “Apparently my uncles find it hilarious that I have the same taste in men as my mother.”
“Tall and elven?” Fieran wasn’t sure he actually wanted to know.
“Beardless and skinny.” Pip gave that huff again.
He wouldn’t have shaved, but he’d remembered what Pip had said to Pretty Face about how dwarves found a patchy, wimpy beard even more unimpressive than a lack of a beard.
“Perhaps I should have worn my swords.” It was what Dacha would have done. But it hadn’t occurred to Fieran that he might need to sport weaponry, besides his military sidearm in its holster at his hip, when meeting Pip’s parents. “I would have looked more imposing.”
“Only if you managed to keep up a hard look like the one your dacha wears.” Pip elbowed him again. “Your grin rather wrecks the look.”
Fieran couldn’t help but grin back. After a moment’s pause while they strode down the street, he tilted his head back toward the group of her Detmuk relatives. “I thought I had a lot of nosy relatives. Aunts and uncles, huh?”
“Well, they aren’t all my aunts and uncles, as in, my mother’s siblings.” Pip gave a shrug. “Detmuk is a clan as well as a mountain. I’m related to all of them, so they’re called aunts, uncles, and cousins, even though we’re related more distantly than immediate family.”
Fieran swung their clasped hands again. “Good thing I’m used to having a big, nosy family around.”
“That will certainly make your introduction to the Detmuk clan easier.” Pip shook her head, a frown briefly replacing her smile. “But let’s get through introducing you to my parents before we worry about meeting the rest of the clan.”
Good plan. Fieran tried to keep up his jaunty stroll, even as he and Pip approached Building 42.
This particular shop had a small, porch-like wooden awning over large front windows overlooking the sidewalk. Mak stood on the sidewalk with the brown-haired elf and female dwarf from the train station standing next to him.
Fieran drew in a deep breath, unable to hold his grin in place. This was it. Time to meet Pip’s parents. He forced his step to remain steady as he strode onto the sidewalk.
Beside him, Pip had gone back to vibrating with energy. Her voice squeaked slightly as she gestured between everyone. “Muka, Dacha, this is Fieran. Fieran, these are my parents.”
“Elontiri.” Fieran gave the traditional elven hand gesture of greeting, which involved artfully touching one’s hand to one’s mouth, then forehead.
“Elontiri.” Pip’s dacha returned the gesture. “I am Myrdin Detmuk-Inawenys.”
“Glorirgoulyn Detmuk-Inawenys.” Pip’s muka tapped her right fist over her heart.
That must be some kind of dwarven gesture, but Fieran didn’t know enough about dwarven culture to attempt to return it. He might do it wrong and instead make an offensive gesture.
Instead, he gave a nod of his head. Holding out his hand for a shake seemed too human for the moment. “Fieran Laesornysh.”
He could see the flicker in their eyes at his last name. Pip said she’d told them, but it would hit differently coming directly from him.
Mak just stood there, arms crossed, as he grinned. He was enjoying this far too much.
“Come in. The food is currently an edible temperature.” Pip’s dacha spun on his heel, opened the door, and gestured for everyone to precede him inside.
Mak pushed away from the wall and strode in first, followed by Pip’s muka. Fieran fell in behind Pip, and as they stepped inside, Pip’s dacha followed after him, shutting the door with a finality that shivered against Fieran’s shoulders.
When they sat at one of the round café tables, Fieran found himself between Mak and Pip and facing Pip’s parents.
The table had already been set with covered dishes crowding the center. The table hadn’t been designed as a family dining table, and with five of them around it, Fieran had to keep his elbows tucked to his sides to avoid bumping Pip and Mak.
For a few minutes, an awkwardly tense silence fell around the table, broken only by the clink of dishes as everyone helped themselves to the chicken, potatoes, and corn that must have come from the officers’ mess since it was recognizable as food.
Pip’s dacha glanced up from his plate to spear Fieran with a look. “Tell us about yourself.”
Where to start? Most of the basics about Fieran’s family were public knowledge.
With a glance at Pip, Fieran started talking. It was, after all, something he was good at.
By the time they finished supper, Fieran had everyone laughing at his stories, and Pip’s muka was slapping her knee as she guffawed. Surely that was a good sign for Fieran’s chance of a future with Pip.
Pip’s dacha stood and tilted his head toward the door.
A clear order. Fieran pushed out his chair, stood, and followed as Mak took over the conversation.
Pip glanced over her shoulder, but Fieran gave her a smile. Everything was fine. Hopefully. This was merely the conversation he’d been expecting the whole night.
They stepped outside, and Fieran closed the door softly after him. Evening cloaked Fort Defense, the sun setting beyond the Escarlish hills in the distance. To the east, the blue glow of the Wall filled the horizon.
Dwarves still lounged on the various sidewalks and stoops, their laughter and boisterous voices filling the street. Yet the groups were still far enough away that Pip’s dacha and Fieran had a semblance of privacy.
Pip’s dacha led the way around the corner to the alley between the buildings so that they weren’t standing in front of the windows where Pip, Mak, and Pip’s mother would see.
Once they were around the corner, Pip’s dacha turned to Fieran and crossed his arms. He was even slimmer than Fieran’s dacha, lacking the lean muscles of a warrior, nor did his face have the hard edges.
Yet his brown eyes were still flinty with fatherly determination.
“What are your intentions toward my daughter?”
The standard question, but Fieran could hear the implied layers to it. After all, Fieran wasn’t just any young elf lad. He was a prince in two kingdoms. He could toy with a girl’s affections and leave with few consequences.
As if his own parents would ever let him get away with acting like that.
What were Fieran’s intentions? He drew in a deep breath, then let it out slowly as the question settled deep within him. He called up all the memories of his time with Pip, from that first meeting at Fort Linder to holding her hand on the way home to Aldon.
Straightening his shoulders, he met her dacha’s gaze and held it. “I’d like to marry her someday. She’s the most amazing, talented woman I’ve met. She’s going to go far, and I want to be there when she does. I can’t imagine my life without her.”
From the way her magic interacted with his to how well she got along with his family, he fell more in love with her the more he got to know her.
Her dacha searched Fieran’s face, as if looking for the truth of those words. He must have seen an answer he liked for a smile replaced the flat expression. “Good. Then we will not have a problem.”
Even more surprisingly, he held out his hand for a human-style handshake.
Fieran grasped his hand and shook it firmly. “No, we won’t.”
He resisted the urge to pump his first. Pip’s parents approved.
The war was still ongoing. The future was still very much uncertain. But at least he and Pip were on solid ground. As long as they were together, he could face whatever would come.