Page 46 of Wings of War

Pip gave a shudder of her own. Tight as it was, she’d take her cubby of a room over risking an airsick flyboy vomiting over her during the night.

Chapter

Fifteen

Pip stood on the metal catwalk that ringed the top of the gondola. Standing at the bow, the breeze of the airship’s passing toyed with her curls and smacked cold against her face. Stars twinkled in the depths of the nighttime sky that spread out high overhead, partially blocked by the balloon of the dirigible. Below, clusters of lights marked out Escarlish villages amid the darkness of empty farm fields. The distant whistle of a train echoed on the breeze, but it was the only sound that could reach her from the land below.

Behind her came the thrum of the propellers, clank of footsteps on various catwalks, and the buzz of indistinct voices from the dirigible. Despite the noise, her spot at the railing was strangely peaceful, drifting between land and sky.

Bootsteps clanked on the catwalk behind her, but not with the heaviness she’d heard from the airmen. She stayed where she was, not surprised when Fieran leaned against the railing next to her. Only an elf—or half-elf—could manage to walk that quietly on an echoing metal walk while wearing army boots.

“A peaceful night.” Fieran breathed in deeply. A hint of his magic sparked over his fingers and jumped to the railing. He glanced down, then clenched his fists to snuff out his magic.

“Yes, it is.” Pip gestured to his hands. “Less peaceful if you lose control of your magic. That’s getting worse.”

“I’ll be fine.” Fieran shrugged, though another spark of magic jumped from his fingers to the rail. “I’d sneak away to the top of the balloon again to let loose, but I’ve already risked that once. I think someone would notice a blue glow lighting up the night. Besides, I don’t want to risk accidentally incinerating something critical. The balloon looks sturdy, but it wouldn’t take much of my magic to damage it enough to take it down.”

“Thanks for that mental image.” Pip gave an exaggerated shudder. “Just when I was enjoying this airship cruise, you had to go and remind me how easy it would be to crash.”

“Don’t worry. This airship is heavily armed and magically protected. Nothing short of my magic is going to take it down.” Fieran nudged her with a shoulder. “And I have my magic under tight control. No incinerating things tonight.”

“We could still crash from a hundred other reasons.” Pip found herself gripping the railing just thinking about it. She was doing a decent job of suppressing the longing for the ground, but talking about it was causing that panicky feeling in her throat again.

“That’s why you mechanics are here to make sure those hundred reasons don’t happen.” Fieran’s tone was light, but his grin faded as he turned to her, his face visible in the golden light filtering up from the gondola below. “How about a change in topic? I have a question I’ve been wanting to ask you.”

“Go ahead. Shoot.” Pip gripped the railing and closed her eyes, concentrating on the cool breeze sweeping across her face.

“What’s with the hyphenated last name?” Fieran’s voice was low, regaining that hint of a chuckle. “Not that I’m criticizing or anything. My own name is a mouthful.”

“I’ve been wondering about your last name too.” Pip peeled her eyes open, focusing on Fieran rather than the ground far, far below. “Laesornysh is quite the last name to inherit. I’m a bit surprised your parents didn’t settle on something else.”

Years ago, elves hadn’t had family names like the humans of Escarland and trolls of Kostaria did. They earned titles instead, which held great meaning among the elves when they were bestowed.

Thanks to the alliances, King Weylind had decreed that elves also take last names to create a standard across all three of the Alliance Kingdoms. Of course, they could still earn titles on top of their last names, but it would be an additional third name and not used like a family name.

Pip’s dacha’s title Inawenys meant Negotiator of Iron, bestowed for his role in negotiating the current trade agreement between Tarenhiel and her muka’s kingdom of dwarves. That title had become a part of Pip’s last name thanks to King Weylind’s decree.

Fieran rested more fully against the rail and sucked in a deep breath, as if preparing for a long explanation. “Since Mama is a princess of Escarland and Dacha is a prince of Tarenhiel, they could have picked the royal last name of either kingdom. Instead, they decided to leave the royal names for my cousins on both sides and take a new family name.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Pip tried not to let her bubbling squeal loose at the casual mention of Prince Farrendel and Princess Elspeth. She would concentrate on this conversation and not get sidetracked with hero worship. “With how long you will live compared to your royal Escarlish cousins, it would be awkward if you had the same last name as those in line for the throne.”

“Exactly.” Fieran smiled at her, as if pleased that she’d understood so quickly. “My uncles did the same thing for the same reason. Uncle Edmund uses his elven title for their last name, and Uncle Julien took Aunt Vriska’s troll family name, even though neither of them technically needed to drop the Escarlish royal last name for something else.”

“So you ended up Laesornysh.” Pip gave a slight nod, the elven warrior name rolling off her tongue.

“Yes. I don’t mind carrying Dacha’s title. It’s just…” Fieran sighed and gave a weary roll of his shoulders. “It would have been nice to inherit a last name that didn’t carry such weight. It is a title given to a worthy warrior, not carried by someone who has yet to prove himself in battle.”

Pip rested her hand on Fieran’s forearm, his muscles flexing beneath her fingers as he clenched his fists. “Even if the elves can’t see it yet, you have every right to your dacha’s title, and I know you will be a warrior every bit as brave as he was. And I say that as someone who is rather overawed by his magical-mechanical accomplishments.”

“Thanks.” Fieran dropped his gaze from hers, his shoulders hunched. But the melancholy lasted only a moment before he straightened, his smile returning. “The other annoying part about the last name of Laesornysh is the Escarlish find it hard to pronounce. I’m just thankful my mama managed to talk my dacha out of naming me Fierendel. Can you imagine going around with the name of Fierendel Laesornysh? People already accidentally call me by my dacha’s name as it is.”

“I could see how that would get annoying.” Pip laughed, shaking her head. As she, too, was half elf, he didn’t have to explain the full connotation. Fierendel would have been the proper elven form of his name, meaning One with the Fiery Red Hair. “Elves have a hard time with the dwarven Pippak, so I usually go by Pippa or just Pip since it’s easier, despite the elves’ horror at shortening a name like that and butchering the meaning.”

“Elves can be quite stuffy about nicknames.” Fieran gave a more relaxed shrug this time. “At least Red is what the drill sergeants call me anyway. Little do they know that my name is literally Red Hair in elvish.”

Pip nudged him by leaning into him with a shoulder. “Red fits you so well.”

“Doesn’t it?” He swiped a hand over the short strands of his red hair. “Probably even more so if I wore my hair in the long elven style. But much to my dacha’s chagrin, I preferred to keep my hair short even before joining the army. I didn’t inherit the mystical and magical properties of elven hair.”

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