Page 40 of Wings of War

Across the street, a small park filled with trees, brick pathways, and a fountain that tinkled with the splash of water provided a sanctuary amid the bustle of Bridgetown. Parks and squares like this were dotted all through Bridgetown, showing the influence of the elves as this city was built.

Merrik sat at the base of one of the trees, both hands flat against the grass and moss, a hint of his green elven magic twining around his fingers.

“Enjoying your time communing with the trees?” Fieran nudged Merrik’s boot with a foot.

“Yes. You should try it sometime. You might be less reckless.” Merrik’s mouth twitched with a smile, and he cracked an eye open, peering up at Fieran. “You need to do something. You have been even more jittery than usual.”

Pip glanced from Merrik to Fieran. She had noticed that Fieran couldn’t help but tap his foot or wiggle on his seat in the soda parlor, but she hadn’t thought too much of it. He just seemed like the type of person who was in constant motion.

Fieran gave a little shrug, then glanced at Pip. “My magic doesn’t exactly enjoy being reined in for so long. But I’ll be fine. I’m not going to self-combust.”

“Hmm.” Merrik let his eyes fall closed again. “I doubt it.”

Pip just shook her head. She’d seen the way her dacha latched on to trees after spending too much time underground or crossing the Afristani plains. Merrik was probably wishing she and Fieran would stop annoying him.

Pip grabbed Fieran’s sleeve and tugged him away. As they strolled down one of the paths, Pip glanced around, then lowered her voice so it wouldn’t carry. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

Fieran’s shoulders stiffened, his smile freezing into that polite one that he wore as a mask instead of the genuine one that lit his eyes. “Ask away.”

“Your dacha is a prince, and your macha is a princess.” Pip peeked up at him. Way up, since he was walking next to her. “Does that mean you’re actually Prince Fieran?”

Fieran grimaced and sighed. “Technically, yes. But it’s a pretty useless title. On the Escarlish side of the family, I’m about three hundredth in line for the throne. Well, maybe not quite that far, but a whole trainload of people would have to die before I ever came close to inheriting the throne. There are fewer people between me and the Tarenhieli throne, but enough that I’d assume the world was ending if I inherited it.”

“But you’re still a prince.” Pip couldn’t help the slight smile. Fieran looked so uncomfortable admitting that he was a prince.

“Yes.” Fieran side-eyed her. “But don’t spread that around. I don’t want anyone getting ideas. Beyond even the fact that I won’t inherit a throne, my title is only a courtesy title because my grandfathers on both sides of the family were kings. But I won’t pass on the title of prince or princess to my children, although my wife could be a princess if she wanted. Though, I suppose, I do have a laundry list of other titles that will get passed down.”

Pip snorted, then she couldn’t stop her laugh. Fieran couldn’t even hear what that sounded like. Titles were so ordinary to him. He just dismissed the fact that he was a duke or lord or something as if it was nothing special. As if everyone had titles they could just throw away as utterly meaningless.

Fieran halted, turning to her. “What?”

He was so puzzled that Pip had to bend over, bracing her hands on her knees, under the force of her laughter.

When she finally got herself under control, she patted his arm. “Don’t worry about it. Just don’t ever change.”

A noise from the street broke through her laughter as Fieran turned in that direction, his forehead scrunching.

A newsie—a young boy in a slouch cap—hefted a stack of papers in one hand, holding up a single paper in the other hand. “Extra! Extra! Read all about it! Mongavarian ships threaten Kostaria!”

After sharing a glance with her, Fieran hurried in that direction, and Pip followed as fast as she could. The newsie—who was probably about ten—was nearly as tall as she was.

Fieran dug into his pocket, pulled out a handful of coins, and paid for a newspaper, handing the newsie far more coins than necessary and waving off the change. After hurrying a few steps away and putting his back to a nearby haberdashery so that they weren’t standing in the flow of the sidewalk, Fieran opened the paper.

Pip crowded in next to him, and Fieran held the newspaper lower, putting it more level with her face instead of forcing her to stand on her tiptoes to see.

The black headlines splashed across the page declared that a fleet of Mongavarian dreadnoughts—along with a few of their airships—had come rather suspiciously close to the cluster of islands off the coast of Kostaria. They hadn’t done anything aggressive or crossed into Kostaria’s waters.

But their very presence was a provocation and a warning.

The main trade route between Tarenhiel and the elven kingdoms on the far continent—the source of Tarenhiel’s silks and fine porcelains—cut through those waters. Not to mention, Dar Goranth—the largest naval base in all three Alliance Kingdoms—occupied a chunk of one of those Kostarian islands. Because Dar Goranth was on one of the outlying islands, it wasn’t protected behind the magical Wall that shielded the rest of the Alliance Kingdoms.

By sending their warships into waters nearby, the Mongavarian Empire was flexing its might and thumbing its nose at the Alliance and at Kostaria specifically.

Pip swallowed, the bubbling laughter of a few minutes ago turning to ash in her mouth. As idyllic as this weekend of leave was, she couldn’t forget that they were all training for war—a war that seemed increasingly inevitable. “Do you think Mongavaria will strike at Dar Goranth or Fort Defense first?”

For weeks, the newspapers had been filled with pundits debating which military base Mongavaria would strike first.

Fort Defense was the joint military base nestled between the foothills of the Whitehurst Mountains and the Hydalla River on the Escarlish side of the border with Mongavaria. Everyone knew that Fort Defense would become the main headquarters in any war with Mongavaria.

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