Page 35 of Wings of War

Pip, her curls bouncing, her eyes sparkling, all but raced up the hill, her gaze focused on the outpost. If not for the utter excitement on her face, Fieran might have dragged his feet as he climbed the winding path upward. But he couldn’t dawdle, even knowing the embarrassment to come, when she was so happy to come here.

At the gate, they had to pay for tickets. Fieran kept his head down, holding his breath the whole time that no one would recognize him. The curator would probably dog his steps offering a personalized tour, if anyone realized that he was here.

Thankfully, he was able to purchase a ticket without incident, and he joined the others as they started on the self-guided tour, complete with a pamphlet.

Pip pored through the pamphlet like it held the answers to all of life’s mysteries, then pointed. “Let’s start here.”

As a group, they worked their way along one side of the fort’s parade ground. Historical cannons lined the walk, complete with plaques talking about the outpost’s history from long before Fieran’s parents’ wedding.

Finally, Pip led the way inside, nearly skipping like a little girl as they entered.

When they reached the huge assembly room of the old outpost, Pip let out a squeal and raced across the room to where mannequins wore a white dress and a silver tunic and trouser set, spotlights shining down on the clothing. Fieran half expected a chorus of sopranos to burst into song to highlight the moment.

Ugh, this was going to be embarrassing.

As the others piled into the room, scattering to the various exhibits, Fieran dragged his feet, though Merrik remained at his side.

For Stickyfingers, Lije, and Pretty Face, all of this was history from long ago. Their parents hadn’t even been born when the alliance treaties were signed and the Alliance Bridge built.

While Fieran hadn’t yet been alive for those events either, he’d grown up hearing about them from those who had been there. None of this was that far in the past for him.

For much of his life, he’d felt so much more human than elf. But standing there, he truly felt the elf part of his heritage and the long years it gave him. Sure, he wouldn’t live as long as a full elf. But five hundred years was still ages longer than the mere ninety or so years the humans in the group might live.

For Pip, too, these events weren’t as far in the past as they seemed to a human. He hadn’t asked her yet, but as a half-dwarf, half-elf, she might even be a few years older than him, even if maturity-wise they were the same age. Strange thought, that she might have been alive when his parents were getting married. No wonder she had such hero worship for his dacha. She would’ve been a young, impressionable child when his dacha first attended Hanford University and everyone made such a big deal about it.

Pretty Face, Stickyfingers, and Lije drifted over to the exhibit near Pip, and Fieran braced himself, knowing what they’d see. A huge print of an early photograph hung on the wall and depicted Fieran’s dacha and mama posing in the outfits displayed in the exhibit. The photograph had been taken years after the wedding, but his parents didn’t appear much older than they had back then, thanks to the heart bond and elven lack of aging.

Pretty Face leaned closer, whistled, then pointed. “Whoo-whee! She is a dame.”

Fieran groaned and dropped his head into his palm. He’d known coming to the museum was a bad idea, but this was even worse than he’d thought.

Lije smacked Pretty Face upside the back of the head. “That’s Fieran’s mama!”

“Doesn’t make her any less of a dame.” Pretty Face opened his mouth, as if he planned to keep talking and really tempt Fieran to give him a zap with his magic. Just a tiny zap. Not enough to hurt. Much.

This time it was Stickyfingers who reached up and gave Pretty Face a smack on the back of the head. “You don’t say stuff like that. All women are to be respected, but especially mamas.”

All of them from Tiny to Pretty Face turned to Stickyfingers and stared.

Sticky shrugged. “What? I might come from a family of crooks, but my mama raised me right.”

There was just something so wrong and yet so right about that statement that Fieran didn’t even know how to respond.

“Yes, she did.” Lije patted Sticky’s back in brotherly camaraderie.

Pretty Face sighed, then gestured at the photograph again. “Fine, fine. I won’t say another word about Fieran’s mama. But the real question is, how did two people as gorgeous as that make something like…this?” Pretty Face gestured from the photograph to Fieran.

Fieran finally gave in and gave Pretty Face a punch in the shoulder—probably harder than necessary. At least the focus on himself was better than on his parents. “Are you saying I’m ugly? What would that make you?”

Pretty Face rubbed his shoulder. “I’m not saying you’re ugly, exactly. But you have to admit, you should’ve been the one with the Pretty Face moniker given the way you won the genetic lottery with parents. Instead, well, you’re…” Pretty Face waved at him, as if the end of that sentence should be obvious.

And, perhaps, it was. The endless comparisons to his parents that featured in various newspapers and gossip rags told him exactly where he fell short.

“It’s my nose.” Fieran sighed. There was nothing else for it at this point. “I got my uncle Weylind’s nose.”

While Uncle Weylind’s hawkish nose was tempered by the fine features of the elves, Fieran had also gotten the large nose prominent on the human side of the family. Combined with the hawkishness, it was a blemish on his features that his parents didn’t have.

Pretty Face heaved an exaggerated sigh. “It’s no fair that you have that nose and still get all the ladies.”

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