Page 13 of Wings of War

“So are you.” Pip poked him in the ribs. “You’re more stubborn than me.”

Mak grinned, picked up his wood and knife, and started the tapping rhythm once again.

The two of them lapsed into silence. Well, not exactly silence since Mak murmured in dwarvish under his breath, a rhythm to the words. He changed his tapping to long, cutting strokes with his knife, peeling curls of wood. Yet even his shaving motions were timed with the rhythm he’d established.

Pip could sense his magic gathering around the piece of wood, even if it was only the faintest green, not nearly as bright as their dacha’s plant magic. While Mak might have inherited elven plant magic, he worked it as a dwarf would, crafting the magic in time with knife and hands, song and rhythm.

In Mak’s hand, the wood transformed, and Pip couldn’t have said what part was magic and what part was the knife. There was no separating the two, not really. That was the power of dwarven magic that melded the skill of hands and tools with the power of magic.

Within moments, Mak stopped his carving and low guttural chanting. He held out a tiny, miniature train. It was detailed down to wheels that spun, connected by delicate coupling rods. “Wherever you go, Pip, you’ll never forget us. But you can do so much more with your magic. Don’t hold yourself back out here.”

Pip took the tiny train, turning it over in her hands before she looked up at Mak. “Your magic is special, too, Mak. The same goes for you. You might not have studied at Hanford University, but you could be doing so much more with your magic too.”

Mak just shrugged, though he didn’t meet her gaze. “Maybe. But you know how the full elves are. They don’t see a lot of use in plant magic that is wielded like a dwarf.”

“Who knows? They might if war breaks out.” Pip wasn’t sure why she was making war sound like it would be a good thing.

But oddly, it would bring new opportunities for both of them. They would become important. Necessary. Barriers would be broken for them because of their unique skills and the demands of war.

It wasn’t easy to be divided in halves, always torn between cultures and kingdoms. Perhaps a war would be the only thing that would help them find a place where they truly belonged.

Chapter

Five

Fieran hugged his mama as they stood on the platform at Princess Station in Aldon. All around them, other young men with bags and packs were saying farewells to families. Other new army recruits, gathering to take the designated train car to Bridgetown.

To one side, Merrik hugged his younger sister, his parents clustered around them.

“Do you have to go?” Tryndar swiped at his face, his hand gripped in Mama’s.

Mama released Fieran, giving him that sad but calm smile of hers.

Fieran knelt in front of Tryndar, then gave him a squeezing hug. His brother normally wasn’t big on touch, so hugs were rare. “I’ll write lots of letters, and I’ll be depending on you to write to tell me everything you’ve been up to.”

Tryndar squirmed in Fieran’s hug. “You are squishing me.”

Fieran released him. He moved on to hugs with Ellie, Louise, and Adry. They all murmured farewells and stay safes and teasing Don’t get thrown out of the army on your first day.

Then Fieran was facing his dacha, struggling to meet that silver-blue gaze that held far too much. Fieran’s throat closed, and he couldn’t think of anything to say.

Perhaps that was just it. There was nothing left to say at this point.

Dacha reached out and gripped Fieran’s shoulders in an elven hug. When he spoke, it was only a single, strained word, as if Dacha, too, didn’t know what else to say. “Sason.”

The weight of that one elven word—the meaning behind Dacha calling Fieran son with that elven emphasis—just choked up Fieran even more.

An elven hug just wasn’t enough. He stepped forward and hugged Dacha, even though Dacha, like Tryndar, wasn’t big on physical shows of affection like human hugs.

For a moment, Dacha froze, his arms still awkwardly hovering in the air. Then he gave Fieran one perfunctory thump on the back in an attempt at the manly hugs that Fieran’s human uncles exchanged.

Fieran thumped Dacha’s back in return, then stepped from the embrace. If this farewell lasted too much longer, he was going to disgrace his dignity by doing something like crying. Tryndar was already crying, his face pressed against Mama’s coat as she rested a hand on his hair.

Fieran slung his small pack of belongings over his shoulder. It didn’t weigh much. He knew the army wouldn’t let him keep much anyway, and there was no reason to take a bunch of stuff just to have it sit in a cupboard for months.

With one last nod to his family, Fieran strode toward the waiting train. Moments later, Merrik fell into step with him, his own small pack of belongings over a shoulder.

Fieran lightly leapt up the steps and entered the train car. Row upon row of forward facing wooden benches greeted him, most of the benches already filled with young men. Fieran navigated his way down the aisle, avoiding packs and elbows that protruded into the narrow aisle until he found an empty bench.

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