Page 85 of Stalk the Sky

Fieran heaved a sigh, looking rather glum for someone about to receive a medal. “Yeah. I probably should have already started. Formal uniforms take a long time to prepare. You have to measure every little thing on it to get it exactly right.”

“Ah, yes. Fiddly little details. Your favorite thing.” Pip nudged him, giving him a slight nudge toward the stairs. “Get going. I’ll see you there.”

She wanted to do one last check of the shield, the junction box, and all the wiring, now that the shield had been turned on once. If any of it showed any signs of incineration or burning or blackening, then she would need to fix the issue before it became a big problem the next time the barrier was raised.

But after her last checks, she’d hurry up to her room for a quick shower and a change into her best set of coveralls. She wasn’t going to miss watching the medal ceremony.

Or the sight of Fieran in his dress uniform.

On the airfield in front of the hanger, Fieran stood at one end of the double line of flyboys, the tight collar of his uniform itching at his neck. The dress uniform with dark brown jacket and lighter brown trousers was tailored so stiffly and tightly that he wasn’t sure he could actually sit down in it.

Merrik stood beside him, standing so still and seeming unbothered in his dress uniform. The rest of the flyboys lined up in two lines, looking official and solemn.

There was a small space, then the elven pilots also lined up in two lines, dressed in deep green uniforms. Lt. Rothilion stood at the far end of his front row, still a bit pale but on his feet.

Before the hangar, rows of chairs and benches had been set up, and they were currently filled with various spectators, including Rokyd, Lucien, and Sathrah. Rokyd and Lucien were both still recovering here at Dar Goranth, but they were well enough to attend.

The mechanics had the front row, and Fieran resisted the urge to break the military formation to wave at Pip.

In front of the formation of pilots, a bunch of troll officers stood at military attention, including Captain Gradrah and Commander Druindar. Aunt Melantha, Sontar, Uncle Julien, and Aunt Vriska stood with them, along with an elf official Fieran didn’t recognize. He must have shown up pretty recently, given he still had a bit of a green, seasick look to him.

The base commander finished his speech, then nodded to Captain Gradrah.

Captain Gradrah stepped forward and unfolded a piece of paper. “For wounds received in combat, the following have been awarded the Tarenhieli Bronze Maple.”

As Captain Gradrah read off the names of the elven pilots who had been wounded in the battle, the elf official handed the medals to Aunt Melantha, who pinned the medals on the uniforms of the elves who stepped forward, including Lt. Rothilion.

Once the elven pilots had received their medals, Captain Gradrah read off her paper again. “For wounds received in combat, the following have been awarded the Escarlish Royal Heart.”

This time when Captain Gradrah read off the names, Uncle Julien stepped forward and pinned the medals on the uniforms of the flyboys who had been wounded in the battle.

Something almost painful swelled in Fieran’s chest. This was the recognition his men deserved. They’d been denied it after the Battle over Bridgetown. Everyone had been reeling after the attack, and Fieran’s actions had overshadowed those of his men.

Once those medals were distributed, Captain Gradrah spoke again. “Mechanic Pippak Detmuk-Inawenys, please stand and step forward.”

Pip’s face drained of color, her mouth falling open.

Fieran couldn’t fully hide his grin now. Hadn’t she realized that she would be honored today too?

After another heartbeat, her fellow mechanics chivvied her into standing. She took a step forward, straightening her shoulders and pulling herself together.

That feeling was welling in his chest again. That was his girl.

The thought popped the swelling pride like a dirigible balloon scoured with his magic. She wasn’t his girl. All because he’d been too scared of doing something rash to pursue anything with her.

He still wasn’t sure if he’d done the right thing in pulling away from her that night. A part of him—the rash part or the smart part, he wasn’t sure—still thought he should have kissed her.

“Pippak Detmuk-Inawenys, in the Battle for Dar Goranth, you threw yourself into the line of duty, even though you are a civilian. By your actions in defending Dar Goranth with your magic, you saved many lives and preserved the integrity of this base. For these actions above and beyond the call of duty, you have been awarded the Stone of Courage, the highest honor a civilian can be awarded by Kostaria.”

Fieran’s aunts Vriska and Melantha strode to Pip. Aunt Vriska held out the medal, and Aunt Melantha took it from her before looping the medal’s ribbon over Pip’s head. Since Pip was so short, the medal fell all the way to the belt of her coveralls.

Fieran itched to run over and congratulate Pip then and there.

Once Pip had retaken her seat and Fieran’s aunts returned to their spots up front, Captain Gradrah read off, “Second Lieutenant Merrik Loiatir, step forward.”

Merrik took a step out of line, his head high, his shoulders back. A slight breeze tossed his chestnut hair, which reached his collar.

“Second Lieutenant Merrik Loiatir, in the aftermath of the Battle for Dar Goranth, you demonstrated remarkable skill of magic and flight to preserve the life of a fellow pilot at great risk to yourself. For these actions above and beyond the call of duty, you have been awarded the Tarenhieli Silver Beech and the Escarlish Royal Valor, the second-highest medals awarded to an elven warrior or an Escarlish soldier.”

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