Page 7 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

Chapter

Five

F ieran gritted his teeth as he leaned on the orderly on one side and his mama on the other. He tottered the last few steps toward the silver roadster, which was parked in front of the hospital.

Mama reached past him and opened the passenger door. “In you go.”

Fieran all but collapsed onto the plush leather seat, unable to fully stifle his groan. He shouldn’t be this tired and sore just walking from the door of the hospital to the motorcar waiting for him.

But he was up. He was walking. At this point, he was grateful for that much. As the healers kept telling him, he was taking to the healing magic very well, considering he’d only been in the hospital for less than five days.

After tucking his swords into the footwell next to him, Mama closed the door, circled around the roaster’s shiny fenders and grill, and slid into her own seat behind the wheel. She smiled at him before she turned on the engine. “Let’s get you home.”

“You have no idea how much I want my own bed.” Fieran slouched in the seat so that he could lean his head against the seat. “Or how thankful I am to be wearing clothes again.”

It had been a struggle, shimmying into trousers for the first time since his crash. But worth it to be out of that hospital gown.

“Now you sound like your dacha.” Mama laughed as she tied a scarf over her hair.

“I can’t imagine Dacha being happy being stuck in a hospital gown either.” Fieran let his eyes fall closed. He’d only been up for a few hours, and already he wanted a nap.

Once her hair was protected from the wind, Mama glanced both ways, put the roadster into gear, and pulled into the lane.

After a few moments, she eased the motorcar into the bustle of one of the main roads of Aldon, the traffic moving at a crawl thanks to the clogging mix of horse drawn carriages, steam vehicles, magically-powered motorcars, bicycles, and pedestrians.

The noise of all the traffic made more conversation impossible. It also made napping impossible.

After at least half an hour, the motorcar left the city, and Mama sped up on the macadam stretching into the countryside.

Rolling hills and farm fields spread to either side, broken by the occasional tree-lined ditch or creek.

Prosperous farmhouses with wooden shingles stood next to large barns while other, smaller homes had mere thatched roofs and a shed for animals.

The road wound through the occasional village with its accompanying manor house perched on the outskirts.

Despite the wind in his face and the roar of the engine, Fieran dozed for much of the hour drive. Sleeping was better than dwelling on the churn of thoughts in his head.

When they pulled off the main road in the village closest to home and took the turn toward Treehaven, Fieran shoved himself more upright. He swallowed at the lump in his throat as Treehaven’s brick walls and thick green treetops came into view.

Who knew that he’d get all emotional just seeing home again. It wasn’t like he’d never expected to return from the war, except for those few minutes when his aeroplane had spiraled from the sky.

The guards opened the wooden gates for the roadster, and Mama turned the motorcar onto the drive inside. The tires crunched on the gravel, shadows splashing over them from the tree branches overhead.

Mama parked the roadster in front of the house instead of pulling around back to the carriage house.

As she pushed her door open, an older man with silver hair and a sturdy frame strode from around the side of the house. He opened Fieran’s door. “Let’s get you inside.”

“Uncle Eugene?” Fieran blinked up at him, not taking the arm he offered.

Uncle Eugene wasn’t actually Fieran’s uncle any more than Uncle Iyrinder or Uncle Lance were.

He was Aunt Patience’s brother, making him Merrik’s uncle by blood.

Yet Uncle Eugene had served as the head guard here at Treehaven for as long as Fieran could remember, and it had felt only right as a kid to call him “uncle” right along with the other adopted uncles.

Uncle Eugene had never married, too dedicated to taking care of everyone else around him to take on a family of his own, and he seemed quite content with his choice.

Thanks to being an elf friend to both Dacha and Uncle Iyrinder, he had aged more slowly so that he was still serving as the head guard even though he was in his nineties.

Fieran took Uncle Eugene’s arm and let him leverage him from the vehicle. It was galling to need so much help from the elderly, but Fieran wasn’t sure he could have gotten out of the roadster without help.

Uncle Eugene just made it worse by holding out a wooden cane. “Patience keeps giving these to me. Seems to think I need them. Here, you might as well put one of them to use.”

Fieran took the cane and, giving in, used it to steady himself. “Thanks.” He hesitated as Uncle Eugene turned toward the house, not sure how to voice this question. “Shouldn’t you be…in Estyra?”

“Patience thought it would be best if only she and Kari went instead of crowding Merrik.” Uncle Eugene’s gaze swung away from Fieran to stare into the forest. “And once she got there, well, Merrik isn’t doing well. He will barely talk to anyone. Patience thought it best if I stayed away.”

Fieran stumbled, his stomach sinking into his toes. He swallowed at that lump in his throat again.

He should be there for Merrik. Merrik shouldn’t have to go through something like this alone.

But Fieran was the last person Merrik would want to see right now.

Uncle Eugene hurried to tug Fieran’s arm over his shoulder to better support him, and Fieran didn’t want to admit how much he had to lean on both Uncle Eugene and the cane. Mama hurried to catch up, carrying Fieran’s swords and further steadying him with her free hand.

The walk up the steps, into the house, and down the hall seemed endless.

Fieran didn’t even protest when Uncle Eugene steered him straight for the lift instead of taking the stairs to the second floor.

When they finally reached his bedroom, he sank onto his bed with a groan.

His hips and legs ached after sitting upright so long in the car.

Yet he resisted the urge to lie flat with both his mama and Uncle Eugene there.

Uncle Eugene patted his shoulder and left.

Mama pressed a kiss to Fieran’s forehead. “Get some rest.”

“I’m fine, Mama.” Fieran worked up a smile. He was just sore. Just tired. And just trying really hard not to let the emotions churning inside him consume him.

Mama left, closing his door softly behind her.

As soon as she was gone, Fieran swiveled to lie flat on his bed, groaning again at the way his soft mattress supported his aching bones.

He fell asleep within moments.

Fieran woke to the warmth of sun on his face. For long moments he simply lay there, soaking up the comfort of his plush bed.

A shadow moved between him and the sunlight. Was that the branch of the tree outside his window?

No, he didn’t think so. There was something off about this shadow. And he could feel eyes on him.

Fieran peeled his eyes open and squinted into the brilliant sunlight. A small figure perched in his windowsill, knees drawn up to his chest, long hair silhouetted by the sun.

With a grin, Fieran lifted a hand and nudged Tryndar’s foot. “Hey, Monkey.”

“I am not a monkey,” Tryndar mumbled into his knees, his tone lackluster and automatic.

“I don’t know…” Fieran gathered his strength, sat up, and swept his brother from the windowsill. A twinge of pain lanced through him, but he ignored it.

Tryndar shrieked, his giggles growing louder as Fieran tickled him.

“You shriek like a monkey. And perch in my window like a monkey. You must be a monkey.”

Tryndar rolled out of Fieran’s reach, then scrambled to the end of the bed. He smoothed the strands of his silver-blond hair, though it somehow hadn’t gotten ruffled in the tickling. His tone held his usual indignation as he crossed his arms. “I am not a monkey. I am an elf.”

Fieran probably shouldn’t be so envious of his little brother’s certainty. If Fieran felt as much an elf as Tryndar did, he likely wouldn’t be having any problems with his magic.

“Of course. I see now. You are definitely an elf.” Fieran leaned a shoulder against the wall to prop himself upright as another twinge of pain jolted through him.

He had overdone it, sweeping Tryndar off the windowsill like that.

His little brother wasn’t that heavy, but he was probably heavier than what Fieran should be lifting.

Tryndar’s indignant pout faded, his eyes going wide and liquid again as he poked Fieran’s foot. “Does it hurt?”

Fieran resisted the urge to grimace. He must not have done a good enough job of hiding his pain.

Yet there was no way he was going to tell his little brother the truth. Perhaps lying wasn’t the moral option, but it felt like the right one in this case. “Nah. I’m just tired.”

Tryndar eyed him with his huge green eyes as if he didn’t believe him. “You look like it hurts.”

Fieran really must look a frightful sight. He certainly felt bad enough, and even just sitting upright now was making his hips hurt. He plastered a grin on his face. “I’m fine, Tryndar. Really. Mama kissed it better, and you know how well Mama’s kisses work.”

Tryndar’s face screwed up for a moment as he thought about that, then he nodded, as if that made perfect sense to him.

With a sigh to cover his wince, Fieran eased back so that he was lying down once again. He patted the bed next to him where he could better see Tryndar without craning his neck. “Do you want to hear about how Dacha rescued me?”

Tryndar crawled from the foot of the bed to the new spot near Fieran’s waist, taking a cross-legged seat once again.