Page 9 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

Chapter

Six

H e was falling. Aeroplane spiraling. Hitting the ground.

Fieran jolted awake, gasping for breath. He tore at the blankets restraining him. They were tight. Too tight. Too tangled.

His breathing increased as he yanked at the blankets, a tightness squeezing his chest. He needed to get out. Everything was too constricting. Too stifling.

His legs finally tore free of the blankets, and he stumbled from his bed. He sank onto his knees, gasping as if he’d just ruck-marched for twenty miles at double time.

The half-moon splashed silver light onto his bed and floor. He couldn’t tell what time it was or how long he’d been asleep, but it couldn’t have been that long.

He eyed his bed. The soft mattress called to him, but the memories still lingered, threatening to grab hold of him the moment he tried to sleep. It seemed his brain had decided he was finally in a safe space to start processing everything that had happened.

Using the bed to leverage himself to his feet, he fumbled for the cane Uncle Eugene had given him. Once he found it, he leaned on it to steady himself as he shuffled from his bedroom and into the hall.

As the oldest, his room was at the end, farthest from the stairs. He tried to keep his movements quiet to avoid waking up Ellie or Tryndar. The last thing he wanted to do was answer questions from his siblings about why he was awake at this time of night.

At the end of the hallway, he reached the landing at the top of the stairs.

The stairs. For a moment, Fieran just stared. They looked as insurmountable as a mountain at the moment. He was going to be lucky if he didn’t take a tumble.

There was a lift just down the hall toward Dacha and Mama’s room, but despite all of Dacha’s efforts, the lift rattled and whined when used. Fieran would wake up the whole household for sure if he took it.

The stairs it would have to be. He’d just have to fall quietly if he did take a tumble.

With a firm grip on the rail, he took it one step at a time, using the cane both to steady himself and feel for the next stair.

He was breathing hard from exertion rather than panic by the time he reached the bottom. But he’d done it. That was an improvement.

The walk to the kitchen at the back of the house felt like a mile. By the time he approached the door, his legs were shaking, and he gritted his teeth just to stay upright.

A glow shone from beneath the kitchen door. Had Mama left a light on for him?

Fieran pushed the swinging door open, the hinges soundless as if they’d been regularly oiled. As a kid, he’d never found that odd the way he did now.

He halted in the doorway, his hand holding the door from swinging back at him.

Wearing her green dressing gown, Mama sat at the table, bathed in the glow of the lamp set in the middle of the worn work table.

She cradled a steaming mug in her hands while a plate with a half-eaten cookie rested on the table before her.

Two more plates, one holding several cookies and one empty, had been placed across the table with a mug and chocolate pot sitting nearby.

Her eyes were closed, and her mouth moved silently, almost as if she were murmuring to herself.

Or communicating with Dacha through their heart bond. Fieran had seen his parents do it often enough growing up to recognize the look on his mama’s face.

Perhaps he shouldn’t interrupt. Despite the distance between his parents, this moment seemed too intimate for him to intrude.

“You can come in, Fieran.” Mama didn’t open her eyes or otherwise move.

For a moment, he remained in the doorway, frozen with the same uncomfortable feeling he’d had when he’d caught his parents kissing a few times as a child.

But Mama had told him to come to the kitchen if he couldn’t sleep, and she’d invited him to interrupt.

He shuffled into the kitchen and collapsed into the chair across from his mama and nearest the plate of cookies.

Mama opened her eyes, though she remained where she was, holding her mug of hot chocolate in both hands. “Couldn’t sleep?”

“Must have napped too much today.” Fieran grabbed a cookie and set it on the empty plate. He couldn’t bring himself to meet Mama’s gaze. She’d already set out a plate and mug for him, expecting him tonight. He didn’t want her to see how right she’d been. “I’m sure all this sugar will help.”

“Absolutely.” Mama’s voice remained cheery, light, even as her gaze rested too heavy and searching on Fieran. When she spoke again, her tone had changed to something more somber. “I’m here if you need to talk. Or if you’d prefer silence.”

He didn’t want to talk. Or, well, he did, but he wasn’t sure how to start. Or which of the things churning through him he wanted to talk about.

Stuffing everything back with the same control he used when dealing with his magic, he took a bite of his cookie, chewed, and with the fortification of sugary goodness, finally had the courage to meet Mama’s gaze. “How is Dacha?”

Mama hadn’t just been waiting here for Fieran. The weary tilt to her mouth and the weight in her eyes said as much.

The sight brought up dusty, nearly forgotten memories from his early childhood. Those nights when he’d woken to the sound of screams, as if someone was in pain. A nightmare, his mama had told him. Nothing to worry about. His dacha was fine.

And those mornings when Dacha had been quiet and closed off, not smiling and not responding to Fieran the way he usually did.

Facing him, Mama’s smile was small, not reaching her eyes, as she regarded him over the rim of her hot chocolate mug. “Your dacha will be fine. We’ve faced many a dark night before and come out on the other side. We’ll do it again now. You don’t have to worry.”

Her reassurance not to worry just clawed the worries deeper into his chest. When he’d been a child, he’d believed her reassurances. He hadn’t worried, and eventually those scary nights and tough mornings had become few and far between.

But now he’d faced war and carried the weight of all the lives he’d taken. He knew enough to worry. Looking back, he now realized his dacha’s nightmares likely hadn’t gone away entirely. They’d simply become manageable enough to more effectively hide from his children.

And yet what could Fieran do about it? Was it even his place to worry? Dacha and Mama were still his parents, even now that he was grown. Should they still protect him from their own shadows? Or was that something he should be expected to carry?

Mama’s smile remained as she reached out and rested a hand on Fieran’s arm. “He is fine, Fieran.”

If only he could bring himself to believe it. But he’d caught glimpses of the look on Dacha’s face as he waited at Fieran’s bedside. If Dacha faced darkness tonight, then it was Fieran’s fault.

Another failing to add to the ever-growing tally to Fieran’s name.

Some of the twinkle returned to Mama’s eyes as she leaned back in her chair and picked up her cookie, still holding her mug in her other hand.

“He’s jealous of the chocolate chip cookies.

I couldn’t quite figure out exactly what happened, but I gathered the mess is either all out of cookies or only has oatmeal raisin left.

And their hot chocolate offerings are rather dismal at this time of night, even when a general is requesting it. ”

Fieran huffed as much of a laugh as he could manage. “Dacha detests oatmeal raisin cookies.”

Well, all of them did. Raisins did not belong in cookies.

“Thus the reason I could sense the lack through the heart bond.” Mama gave a soft laugh and sipped her hot chocolate.

What must it be like to have a heart bond like that? Fieran clamped down on his question before he voiced it. To ask a question like that would mean bringing up Pip, and he wasn’t ready to talk that situation over with his mama just yet. He needed to talk with Pip first.

Fieran sighed, reached for the chocolate pot, and poured himself a mugful. His body was aching, especially his hips, at sitting up in a wooden chair. He didn’t have long before he’d have to go back to bed. If he was going to talk about some of what was bothering him, he’d have to do it soon.

After taking a sip of his hot chocolate, Fieran set down his mug and flicked a glance at Mama. “Merrik blames me for his crash.”

“Is it your fault?” Mama’s gaze didn’t waver nor did her steady tone. No judgment. No false cheeriness.

“Yes. Maybe.” Fieran nudged his cookie around his plate, though he didn’t pick it up. His stomach churned with the few bites he’d taken. “I don’t know.”

“Tell me about it.” Mama set down her own mug.

That prompt was all it took. Fieran found himself pouring out the whole story. Or, almost the whole story. He glossed over exactly what he and Pip had been discussing. And left out that almost kiss. Actual kiss? He wasn’t even sure what to call it.

Mama nodded at the right moments, but she didn’t interrupt.

“I was distracted. I rushed into the battle.” Fieran flexed his fingers on his mug.

His hot chocolate had long gone cold. “If my propeller was already cracked and if the mechanics could have discovered it before I took off, then I could have prevented my crash. And if I hadn’t crashed, Merrik wouldn’t have crashed. It’s all my fault.”

He sagged against the back of his chair, his words spent, his whole body aching.

For a long moment, Mama searched his face. Then she asked in that same, too quiet and steady tone, “If you hadn’t distracted your mechanic, would she have inspected your aeroplane?”

Fieran closed his eyes, running the events of that day through his head.

His aeroplane had still been out on the airfield.

Even if Pip had been working instead of talking to him, she wouldn’t have gotten to his aeroplane before the red alert sounded.

“No, she wouldn’t have. But after the red alert sounded, I could have waited a few minutes for her and Mak to run out and… ”

Even as he said it, he realized just how that sounded.