Page 8 of Wings of War

When Fieran managed to drag his eyes up from his plate again, he met Mama’s gaze.

She was smiling that sad smile she wore as a mask even when it didn’t fully reach her green eyes. “When do you leave for basic training?”

“A month from now.” Fieran’s throat was squeezing closed. He didn’t think he could handle it if his mother gave him that disappointed look as well. “So I’ll still be here for your birthday party next week.”

As his mother was turning ninety years old—a prestigious age for any human, but one rarely reached while still looking as young as his mother did thanks to her elven heart bond with Dacha—the entire family, including some of his aunts and uncles, had a large celebration planned.

“I wasn’t worried about that.” The sad tilt to his mother’s mouth remained. “How long will you be gone?”

“It’s an accelerated training, so it will be basic training, flight school, and officer training all in one.” Fieran shrugged. “And after that…”

He had no idea. He’d go wherever he was stationed. And when war broke out, well, who knew what would happen then.

Mama’s shoulders heaved with a long breath, her voice burdened but steady. “With the war coming, it was inevitable that you’d enlist. All of us will be called upon to serve in one way or another once war breaks out.”

Mama glanced around the table, her gaze lingering on Adry and Louise before she turned back to Fieran.

Something squeezed in Fieran’s chest at the thought of his sisters getting dragged into the war. Adry would be fine. She fought better than he did most days, and she had that same fire in her that was driving him to enlist.

But Louise was quiet, her mind always spinning with mechanics and new inventions. She wouldn’t do well, if asked to fight in a war.

At least Ellie and Tryndar would be spared from fighting, even if they’d still feel the effects of a war. At thirteen and five in human years, they were far too young and wouldn’t come into their magic for many years yet.

Fieran would just have to contribute enough that none of the kingdoms thought to ask more from his sisters than they were willing to give.

Then again, Dacha would never let the Tarenhieli or Escarlish army call up Adry or Louise if they weren’t willing. Neither would Uncle Weylind nor Uncle Averett. Adry and Louise would be fine.

Supper was finished in near silence, then Mama pushed to her feet. “Adry, Tryndar, it’s your turn for the dishes. Louise, Ellie, you can help clear the table.”

As Fieran’s siblings jumped to obey, Mama tipped her head toward the door in a subtle command. Fieran followed her from the dining room and across the hall into the smaller of their two parlors.

Mama sat on the couch, shooing Munchkins, one of their orange tabby cats, out of the way.

Fieran sank onto the seat on the far side of the couch. “I know it’s sudden, and I probably should have talked to you and Dacha first. But I…”

He wasn’t sure what to tell his mama or how to describe that feeling inside him driving him toward this. Or admit that he hadn’t dared tell them beforehand.

“You wanted a grand adventure. I understand.” Mama leaned forward, running a hand down the cat’s back as Munchkins huffily curled up next to her. A hint of her usual smile returned to her face. “I decided to marry your dacha after meeting him mere minutes before because an arranged marriage with an elf sounded like a grand adventure. I’m not angry. Neither is your dacha.”

Fieran released a long breath. Thanks to the elven heart bond, his mama had a pretty good idea what Dacha was thinking at the moment. A heart bond didn’t give them telepathy, but there was a certain awareness of each other and their emotions. At least, that was what Fieran had heard. “I’m sorry it’s a shock.”

“Not exactly a shock.” Mama shook her head, a wry twist to her smile. “I was expecting something, though I wasn’t sure what or when. You’ve been restless.”

Fieran shifted, glancing away. He hadn’t realized his mama had noticed the way his current life had begun to feel a little…small.

Mama trailed her fingers over the cat as Munchkins purred even louder. “Your dacha will adjust. He feels the weight of the coming war and our part in it very keenly.”

“I noticed.” Fieran leaned his elbows on his knees, rubbing a thumb against his palm. His palms still ached from sword training that morning.

Mama sighed, her gaze going unfocused as she stared out the window into the forested parkland. “Seventy years ago, we chose to avoid war and buy ourselves decades of peace to raise you children. The consequence of that choice is that we will have to watch you go to war. This war is of our making, but it will be yours to fight. That’s not an easy thing for your dacha to come to terms with.”

Fieran braced his hands on his knees to keep them from bouncing. At least talking about this with her was easier than with Dacha, who had the scars and the memories of torture in his eyes. “I’ll be fine, Mama.”

She looked up, blinking as if remembering he was there. She shook her head, a hint of a smile returning, though the smile didn’t banish the sadness in her eyes. “I can see my words are making little difference. You can’t hide your eagerness.”

“I’m not eager, exactly. Just…” He wasn’t quite sure how to describe it. He knew war was terrible. And he wasn’t exactly hoping for war.

But if war was inevitable, then what was the harm of hoping he’d get his chance for glory and great deeds once it came?

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