Page 36 of Wings of War

Pip wandered over to them, apparently having gotten her fill of admiring his parents’ wedding attire. “As we established on the drive over, it’s your personality rather than your face that we ladies object to.”

“I’m here enriching my mind, aren’t I?” Pretty Face placed a hand over his chest as if smoothing a formal necktie.

“Uh-huh. I think your mind needs all the enrichment it can get.” Pip rolled her eyes at him. Then her focus caught on something else across the room, and she headed in that direction with the focus of a hunting dog on a scent.

Beside Fieran, Merrik was making little choking noises as he attempted to hold back his laughter.

Time to redirect the attention onto someone else. With a silent apology—and slight glee at the act of revenge for Merrik’s teasing earlier—Fieran gestured at another, old-style photograph hanging on the wall a few feet away. As he spoke, he began walking in that direction. “Speaking of parents…”

“Fieran…” Merrik hurried after him, a warning in his tone.

Fieran ignored him. “Merrik’s dacha is in this one.”

That photograph commemorated the twenty-five-year anniversary of the treaty. As the only elven guard present at the original treaty signing, Uncle Iyrinder had been reluctantly cajoled—well, ordered—to be in the photograph with Fieran’s parents, Uncle Weylind, Uncle Averett, and the two diplomats.

Lije, Stickyfingers, and Pretty Face bumped into each other as they hurried to claim spots in front of that photograph.

Pretty Face groaned. “That’s it. I’m resigned to third most handsome. There is no way I can compete with elves.”

“Hey, look at this!” Lije had wandered over to where Tiny was looking at the exhibit about the building of the Alliance Bridge. “Fieran, is that…”

Fieran joined him, then sighed and nodded. “Yeah. My mama was pregnant with me when the bridge was built.”

“Really? The bridge was built ages ago!” Pretty Face hurried over, then gaped, first at the photograph, then at Fieran. “How old are you?”

“Sixty-eight.” Fieran winced. “But that’s only about twenty-one to twenty-three in human years.”

“Human years. Can you hear how weird that sounds? It’s like you’re a dog or something. Except that you age opposite of dogs.” Pretty Face shook his head. “Sixty-eight. You’re downright ancient.”

Sixty-eight wasn’t even that old for humans, but Fieran didn’t bother to argue the point.

“My da is in this photograph.” Tiny waved to another large plaque a few feet away. A note of deep pride colored Tiny’s tone. “He helped build the Alliance Bridge.”

Fieran stayed where he was, savoring the relief of having the attention finally taken off him. Not that he minded being the center of attention, but not when it involved his parents, his looks, or the slower aging he experienced as a half-elf.

Merrik wandered off by himself, reading the various plaques and likely taking a moment of quiet away from people. It wouldn’t surprise Fieran if Merrik disappeared into one of the side hallways and continued the tour by himself just for a bit of solitude.

While Lije, Pretty Face, Stickyfingers, and Tiny bumbled about the room, pointing out all the photographs they could find of someone related to Fieran—and there were a lot—Fieran joined Pip before the exhibit featuring his Uncle Edmund’s and Aunt Jalissa’s wedding attire, along with photographs of their rather pageantry-filled wedding on the middle of the newly constructed Alliance Bridge.

Pip briefly glanced away from the exhibit to give him a smile. “Thank you for being willing to come here and put up with all of that.” She jabbed a finger at the others.

“It’s all right. I’m used to that kind of thing.” Fieran shrugged, glancing away from the exhibit. These photographs were nothing he hadn’t already seen many times over the years. Standing next to Pip, he became even more aware of how tiny she was. The top of her head didn’t even come up to his shoulder.

“I can’t imagine how strange it must be. All these people are so famous and everyone hero-worships them. Even me.” Pip’s smile turned slightly lopsided. “And yet, they’re your family.”

“Despite all of them being so famous, they’re still a really great family.” Fieran’s throat got a little rough as he glanced at a photograph of his parents hanging on the wall nearby. “I’m proud to be a part of it.”

Pip reached out a hand, but she stopped short, as if she wasn’t sure if they had enough of a friendship for that kind of response. “I can see that. It’s one reason your dacha—and your macha, really—have been such heroes to me. They might be famous, but they still seem like such normal people, you know? They didn’t let fame go to their heads like some people would.”

Like many of Fieran’s cousins and distant cousins on Uncle Averett’s branch of the family, but Fieran didn’t say that out loud. Those cousins were higher up in line for the Escarlish throne than he was, and he had enough sense not to denigrate them in public, especially while he wore an Escarlish Army uniform.

“No, they didn’t. And they tried their best to make sure me and my siblings didn’t get too spoiled either.” Fieran stuffed his hands into his pockets, then nudged her with an elbow, keeping his tone light. “I’ll have to introduce you to my dacha when I get the chance.”

Pip’s face whitened. “You wouldn’t! I wouldn’t know what to say! I think I’d pass out.”

“Trust me. My dacha will be more scared of you than you will be of him.” Fieran grinned, already picturing it.

Chapter

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