Page 75 of Wings of War

Dacha nodded, as if satisfied his warning had been effectively passed along. After a moment, he breathed a soft, weary sigh of his own, a sadness dragging at his otherwise hard expression. His gaze dropped to his hands where a few bolts of his magic appeared, crackling blue in the sunlight. “I did my best to raise you and your siblings to see the possibilities and uses for our magic beyond killing. But I fear, in the end, that war will always remain the primary use of the magic of the ancient kings. That is a burden but perhaps not the thing to be scorned I once thought it to be. Yes, it means killing and death. It can be twisted for empire and greed. But the true purpose of the magic of the ancient kings is protection.”

Fieran let a whisper of his own magic twine over his fingers. “Right now, our kingdoms and people need protectors.”

If it took every spark of magic Fieran possessed in his whole body, he would make sure no other city suffered the way Bridgetown had suffered the previous night.

Forget whatever foolish ideas of glory and making his own legends he’d entertained before. This was his new mission. Protect Escarland, Tarenhiel, and Kostaria so that no more tragedies like this happened ever again.

He could see his resolve mirrored in his dacha’s gaze. Protecting the Alliance Kingdoms wasn’t a duty that rested on Fieran’s shoulders alone. Dacha, Mama, Adry, and Louise would all do their part in this war.

Dacha gave him a slight nod. “I am proud of you, sason.”

“Linshi, Dacha.” Great. Now Fieran’s throat was closing again.

For a few more minutes, they sat in silence, and Fieran wouldn’t have wanted it any other way as he soaked up the comfort of having his dacha at his side in this moment, the darkest morning he’d ever experienced.

Then two figures strode up the hill toward them. One was Merrik with his short chestnut hair looking more red in the morning light and grime smeared over his uniform.

But the other…

Fieran jumped to his feet. “Adry?”

He hadn’t thought he’d spoken that loudly, but his sister’s head snapped up. She smiled, then broke into a run up the hill. Her hair—a red-blonde that was lighter than Fieran’s hair but darker than Dacha’s—whipped behind her.

Fieran jogged to join her, though he had to skid to a halt as she flung herself at him in a hug that was nearly a tackle. Not that he minded. He hugged her right back.

“Fieran!” Adry’s hug was so tight it nearly hurt. “I’m so glad you’re all right.” She pulled back, her smile fading as she glanced from him to the destruction. “This is…really bad.”

“Yes.” Fieran couldn’t bring himself to follow her gaze to take in the city yet again. There were a lot of words both of them could use. Terrible. Awful. Tragic. But somehow that simple bad seemed the most fitting. In the end, there were no words that could capture what he had witnessed that night. Instead, he kept his focus on Adry. “What are you doing here?”

It seemed strange that Dacha would take Adry along when traveling to something like this. Dacha was protective of all his children, but especially of his daughters.

“I’m on my way to join the Tarenhieli Army Reserves.” Adry clenched her fists, her jaw tightening in that mulish way Fieran recognized even as her green eyes flashed. “I might be a girl, but I can’t sit on the sidelines any longer. Not after something like this. Escarland might not allow women to join their army, but Tarenhiel does.”

“I’m sure Mama and Dacha weren’t too happy with that.” Fieran glanced over his shoulder.

Uncle Iyrinder had appeared from the crowd—of course he would have come with Dacha, loyal friend and guard that he was—and he and Merrik now talked.

Dacha remained alone, leaning against the Outpost Museum. He’d closed his eyes, and if Fieran’s guess was correct, he was likely communicating with Mama through the heart bond as best they could as they could only share emotions and impressions, not words.

“They weren’t. But they couldn’t really argue that all of us will be needed.” Adry sighed and grimaced. “They kind of got their way in the end. I wanted to join Tarenhiel’s regular army, but Uncle Weylind wants me in the Reserves so I’ll be stationed in Estyra. After this attack, I understand why one of us needs to be in Estyra to make sure it won’t be bombed the way Bridgetown was. But it’s still frustrating.”

Fieran opened his mouth, but his words caught. Before yesterday, he would have told his sister he was sorry that she was being held back like that. But now, all he could feel was relief that she wouldn’t be put on the frontlines alongside him and Dacha. Finally, he cleared his throat, settling on, “You’ve been thinking about this for a long time.”

“I have.” Adry swung her clenched fists, not looking at Fieran. “But I couldn’t do it too soon after you left, and I didn’t want to disappoint them, you know?”

“Yeah.” Fieran flicked a glance over his shoulder again to where Dacha was still sitting. Perhaps that was the burden of having a good relationship with parents instead of a bad one. The fear of disappointing them had a different taste, a different hold, when that fear came out of love instead of terror.

“But there’s no choice now. Not after this.” Adry waved at the rubble in the streets down the hill. “I’m needed in Estyra.”

“I can’t imagine something like this happening there.” Fieran didn’t want to imagine the great oak Ellonahshinel reduced to splintered limbs and burning, blackened branches.

He hadn’t crossed the Alliance Bridge to see the destruction in Calafaren, but Merrik had come back with that grim, mourning look elves got when trees were hurting. From what Fieran had gathered, Calafaren hadn’t been hit as hard as Bridgetown. Smaller and tucked in the trees as it was, Calafaren wasn’t as big a target as the sprawling, well-lit city on the southern side of the Hydalla River. But Calafaren had still suffered, especially from the fires that had spread from the few bombs that had fallen on the elven city.

“Mama is going to stay in Aldon for the time being and protect the city. Louise will stay there, too, to fill the magical power cells.” Adry gave a little shrug. “And, of course, cousin Rhohen will keep Osmana safe. He wouldn’t exactly take it kindly if we offered any help.”

“No, he wouldn’t.” That brought a huff of a chuckle, something Fieran hadn’t thought he’d be capable of that morning.

His cousin Rhohen was the half-troll, half-elf son of King Rharreth and Queen Melantha of Kostaria. Even though he was only eight months younger than Fieran, the two of them had gotten along about as well as a perpetually grumpy cat and a far-too-friendly dog, especially once Rhohen came into his magic, a rather rare mix of ice magic and the magic of the ancient kings. Rhohen would clench his fists and threaten to fight someone if any of them implied he needed help protecting Kostaria’s capital.

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