Page 13 of Fly to Fury
Dacha sank into the chair with his back to the desk, as Fieran guessed he would. Dacha never sat with his back to a door, and Fieran hadn’t understood that instinct until he’d joined the war.
“It is good to see you, sason.” Dacha lifted the lid on one of the dishes.
“Yes, it is.” Fieran’s mouth watered at the juicy venisonroast laid out on the dish, warm and resting in its own juices. “That smells good. I’ve missed good food. The Escarlish Army is rather stingy when it comes to feeding the troops. Dar Goranth’s food was better than Fort Linder’s, but I’m beyond sick of eating fish.”
As Dacha uncovered more dishes, Fieran helped himself to the venison, then the roasted potatoes and green beans, all only lightly seasoned, as was the elven preference.
Dacha, too, filled his plate. He flicked a glance at Fieran, his expression too blank to read. “I heard you had a fight with your cousin Rhohen.”
With his dacha’s face so impassive, his tone flat, Fieran squirmed, feeling like he was a child getting scolded. “It was a practice bout. Mostly. Up until the end, anyway. And I didn’t provoke him. Much.”
“And I heard about the mattress incident.” This time, the twitch to Dacha’s mouth and the glint in his silver-blue eyes gave away his suppressed humor.
Fieran heaved a sigh and slumped against the back of his chair. “I see the family grapevine is as effective as always.”
He really shouldn’t be surprised. He’d had enough uncles and aunts stop at Dar Goranth. All of them would have happily passed on stories about Fieran to Dacha.
“Yes, but the few stories I heard were rather incomplete.” Dacha sliced a piece of his venison and popped it in his mouth. A clear sign that he wanted Fieran to start talking.
Well, talking had never been a problem for Fieran. Between bites of his food—occasionallyduringbites of his food if he just couldn’t help himself—Fieran told everything from basic training at Fort Linder to his first posting at Dar Goranth.
“And then…wham! Another flyboy on his mattress slammed into the parade ground. Mattresses went skidding inall directions, knocking over men.” Fieran gestured. His food was growing cold, but he was too busy talking to care.
Dacha had lifted his glass of water to his mouth and taken a sip. He made a choking noise, hurriedly set down his glass, and coughed into his sleeve. He spoke between coughs. “I should know better than to drink while you are telling a story.”
Fieran grinned, taking the opportunity of the pause in his story to take a drink himself. “Probably.”
“Choking on food never used to be a problem.” Dacha gave one last cough.
Fieran thought about the meals he’d had with the elven side of the family. Even though he’d heard that Uncle Weylind, Aunt Rheva, Aunt Jalissa, and his cousins Ryfon and Brina had loosened up over the years, the meals were still fairly quiet, even with him, his siblings, Mama, and Uncle Edmund providing the loudest conversation. Well, and Emmyth, his youngest cousin on that side, chipping in occasionally. “No, I don’t imagine the family dinners you had growing up would put anyone at risk of choking on their food.”
“No.” The light tone to Dacha’s voice disappeared.
Fieran dropped his gaze back to his plate. Perhaps he shouldn’t have reminded Dacha of his childhood. From what Fieran had been able to piece together, Dacha’s childhood hadn’t been as joyful as Fieran’s, despite how much Dacha’s father and siblings loved him.
What were mealtimes like at home now? With Adry stationed in Estyra and Fieran and Dacha here in Fort Defense, that left only Mama, Louise, Ellie, and Tryndar at home. Mama would do her best to keep things light and cheerful, but meals wouldn’t be the loud and chaotic affairs they were when everyone was home.
Fieran poked at the cold remains of his venison. “Meals at home are likely pretty quiet right now.”
“Your mama has mentioned as much.” Dacha’s mouth twisted, but this time with a frown rather than a smile. “Louise has been staying at the AMPC rather than travel back and forth each day.”
That meant only Fieran’s youngest siblings, Ellie and Tryndar, were home. They were the quietest of all of them, except for Dacha. Treehaven must seem so empty.
Fieran swallowed to clear the scratchy, squeezing feeling in his throat. “I suppose staying in Aldon makes sense. It saves her a lot of time commuting.”
Louise had a lot resting on her shoulders. As the only one with the magic of the ancient kings left in Aldon—apart from Mama, who could use Dacha’s magic through their heart bond—filling the magical power cells fell solely to her. At least Uncle Lance was still there to run the AMPC.
“Yes.” Dacha hesitated, then added in a weighted tone, “She has also been tasked with protecting Aldon during air raids. A few Mongavarian airships have gotten past our defenses and bombed the city over the past month.”
Fieran hadn’t heard that, all the way up in Dar Goranth as he’d been.
He swallowed, a tightness squeezing his chest. He’d pictured his siblings back home living safe and comfortably, despite the war.
Instead, they were enduring bombings, like what Bridgetown had suffered. Louise might not be on the frontlines, but she was stepping up as a warrior with the magic of the ancient kings nonetheless.
Nothing and no one had been left fully untouched by this war.
After a long moment of silence, Dacha pushed away his plate. “Continue your story, sason.”
