Page 57 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)
“It was inspired by a book we read about an elf and a human pledging eternal brotherhood during a time of war.” Fieran leaned forward, trying to sound dramatic.
“The spit seemed like the safer option than stealing knives from our parents and slicing our palms to seal our pledge with blood.” Merrik pointed his knife at Fieran before he used it to saw at the mystery meat. “One time you actually did listen to sense.”
“I’d had the same knives and swords are weapons, not toys speech I’m sure you had.” Fieran gave an exaggerated shudder. “I didn’t want to find out what my parents would have done if I disobeyed their orders not to touch without permission.”
Pip nudged him with her elbow. “What did I tell you? Little rebellions, not big ones.”
Merrik tilted his head back and laughed. A genuine, full-on laugh like Fieran hadn’t heard since the crash. “I would call it accidentally rebellious, at least when we were children.”
“Yes! That’s it exactly.” Pip gestured to Merrik, grinning.
“So glad you’re ganging up on me,” Fieran grumbled, though there wasn’t any heat to the words.
He hadn’t known how much he’d needed this. But perhaps Pip had guessed, if she’d been the one to round up Merrik and bring him along.
It was a glimpse of what things might be like, someday when the war was over. When Fieran was married to Pip.
Except Adry might be there too, and as much as Fieran would like to think his sister would take his side, he had a feeling she’d join with Merrik and Pip so that all three would gang up on him.
Oh, well. He usually deserved it.
The three of them talked and laughed and ate, trying not to snort food out their noses when a particularly funny story was told at an inopportune time.
Just as Fieran was getting to the punch line of a particularly embarrassing story about the time he’d decided skinny dipping at the lake at the elven summer palace of Lethorel during the annual large family gathering was a good idea—he’d only just learned how to swim and he didn’t know where Mama had packed his swim trunks—there was just the slightest noise behind him.
Dacha’s voice, grumpy and sleep-befuddled, came from the doorway to the other room. “You are being loud. You woke me up.”
Fieran sprang to his feet so quickly his chair toppled over. He whirled just in time to see the way his dacha winced at the sharp crack of the chair hitting the wooden floor.
“Dacha! You’re awake. Here, take my seat.” Hurrying to right the chair, Fieran gestured at it. “You should eat. Not the meat. It’s questionable. But the beans are okay. At least, I think they’re beans. It’s hard to tell. The rolls are a bit stale, but they’re fine if you don’t mind extra chewing.”
“Sason.” Dacha rubbed at his temple as he sank onto the offered seat. “Just…stop talking.”
“Right. Sorry.” Fieran clamped his mouth shut. He wasn’t sure what to do.
In the other chair, Pip had frozen, her eyes wide. Dacha’s grumpiness probably wasn’t helping anything.
Merrik slid off the bench. “We will leave you to eat and rest, Uncle Farrendel.”
Fieran grabbed Pip’s hand and tugged her from the chair. Together, the three of them beat a hasty retreat, abandoning their dirty dishes for someone else to take care of.
As they stepped outside, Uncle Iyrinder glanced from them to Dacha through the open doorway. He waved to Fieran. “I will look after him for the rest of the night. Get some sleep.”
“Linshi.” Fieran took the excuse to continue their retreat.
None of them spoke until they were in the clear section of land between the headquarters section and the hangar.
Then Pip covered her face with her hands. “Is your dacha actually mad at us?”
“No.” Fieran shook his head, letting out his pent-up breath with a whoosh. “At least, he won’t be once he has slept some more.”
“Ugh. That was still embarrassing.” Pip shook her head, still covering her face.
“That was hardly the first time Fieran has woken his dacha by being too loud.” Merrik nudged Pip, the gesture sending her side-stepping closer to Fieran.
Fieran shook his head before a weary chuckle rose in his chest as he wrapped an arm around Pip’s shoulders. “Not by a long shot. He is used to me being too loud.”
Too loud. Too human. Too much.
But, no, that wasn’t quite the truth. He was also too elven. Too energetic. With too much magical power.
He was Laesornysh. More, he was simply himself. Both human and elven. Short hair and pointed ears. Loud human laugh and powerful elven magic. He would sell himself short if he tried too hard to be fully one or fully the other. He was only whole when he was both.
Merrik shook his head before he set off up the rise toward their tents. “We should follow my dacha’s order and your dacha’s example and rest. We will likely have another long day tomorrow.”
That they would. Even now, the artillery guns boomed despite the gathering darkness, a night made all the darker because it lacked the Wall’s comforting blue glow on the horizon for the first night since this war began.
He couldn’t go back to a time when he didn’t know what it was to take a life. When Merrik had two legs. When his cousin Myles was alive and their kingdom wasn’t in a fight for its existence.
There was only going forward, growing and changing and hopefully becoming a better person by the end of it.