Page 42 of Fly to Fury
Perhaps that was why she had been so willing to simply take Fieran’s decision not to pursue a relationship yet. She was too scared of what a relationship would mean to push for it.
But that wasn’t right. She needed to decide what she wanted. If she would never want the burden of fame and royal titles that came with Fieran, then she should let him go.It wasn’t fair to him to leave him in hope of a relationship someday.
Yet if she truly wanted Fieran, if she believed deep down that being with him would be worth all that came with him, then she needed to stop holding herself back.
Either way, she should speak up and stop this dance they were currently stuck in, both of them attracted to each other and yet neither willing to step forward.
“You’re probably right.” Pip sighed—that admission the most she would grant her meddling big brother—and called up her magic as she found the section of wire where she’d stopped. “How come you think you know so much about all this? It isn’t like you’ve been in a serious relationship any more than I have.”
“I’m your big brother. Having an opinion about your life comes with the territory.” Mak’s lopsided grin eased the tension from the moment, even as it twitched his thick brown beard. “More than that, I’ve paid attention to the various relationships I’ve seen succeed and fail over the years.”
There was that. But Pip wasn’t going to let her brother get away so easily with being right.
“Well, by your own logic, I shouldn’t letyourailroad me either.” Pip crossed her arms and forced a stern look onto her face. “I’ll take your concerns under advisement, but I need to come to my own opinion on what to do.”
“Good for you.” Mak gave her a short nod, as if that was all he’d wanted from her in the first place.
That didn’t stop the churn in Pip’s stomach or the tightness in her chest.
She sneaked another glance at Fieran. He wasn’t looking at her, too busy being the center of attention at the moment.
What should she do about this whole not-relationship thing? Should she gather the courage to tell Fieran her thoughts on the matter? What evenwasher opinion? Was she too scared? Or was a future with him worth whatever price she’d have to pay?
Chapter
Fifteen
Fieran paced between the parked aeroplanes filling the hangar as the constant, sharp drumming of the rain on the metal roof nearly deafened him. The low rumble of thunder rolled across the sky and reverberated through the ground. At least the breeze blowing around the mostly closed doors brought with it the scents of rain and damp earth, washing away the cloying stench of body odor and burnt metal that clung to the hangar.
In the week since he’d destroyed the Mongavarian attack, their patrols hadn’t seen hide nor hair of an enemy aeroplane or airship. That didn’t mean Fieran had destroyed everything Mongavaria had. Just that they were keeping what they had left out of sight.
Despite an exhaustive search of the base, none of the debris from the battle had any of that strange magic left. The mystery itched at Fieran, though there was nothing he could do to solve it.
They had, at least, found bits and pieces of what seemed to be an interrupter gear, which would prevent the Mongavarian machine guns from shooting their propellers.Such a thing would be a leap forward in technology, and the wreckage had been sent to the AMPC for piecing together.
That morning the hot and dry weather had broken into a thunderstorm that carried with it cooler temperatures and a chill rain.
While Fieran enjoyed the reprieve from the heat, the incessant rain and approaching thunderstorm kept all the squadrons grounded, further contributing to his boredom.
Capt. Fleetwood’s squadron—the one that would have been on standby if it hadn’t been downpouring—also lounged about the hangar, bored out of their minds.
Some of the pilots were reading books. Others had hauled out decks of cards or various board games, setting them up on makeshift tables to play. Many of the elves of Flight A had set upeshalmaboards and were currently engrossed in teaching some of the flyboys the traditional elven board game that was somewhat like chess with multiple players and various colored glass marbles. Still others, both humans and elves, were sprawled on the floor, taking naps.
Fieran couldn’t seem to sit still long enough to try any of those options. He itched to take out his swords for something to do, but even his pacing was making his flyboys restless. The best thing he could do was stay out of their way so they could relax.
He found Pip sitting cross-legged on her workbench, cleaning her tools.
Fieran leaned against the workbench, grabbed a spare rag, and picked up one of the sockets waiting in a pile. He had to raise his voice slightly to be heard over the tinging of the rain on the metal roof and sides of the hangar. “I see you’re as bored as I am.”
“Between the rain and the lack of enemies, I don’t haveanything to do.” Pip’s head remained bent over her work as she polished a wrench as if her life might depend on it. “The new wire has been installed on all the aeroplanes of the squadron. I’ve reorganized the spare parts and labeled all the crates so you know what’s inside them.”
“Even if we weren’t on standby while we wait for a break in the weather to patrol, it’s too nasty to make the trip into Little Aldon.” Fieran scrubbed at the socket, sticking his finger with the rag into the inside to clean out any dirt and grease.
Most of Capt. Kentworth’s men—the squadron currently off-duty—had headed into Little Aldon before the rain had worsened. It was probably better than hanging around their barracks, which was a hastily constructed metal building with a roof that leaked like a gas balloon shot full of holes and was just as drafty. After all their modifications to their shelters, the tents for Fieran’s squadron were less damp.
Though, that could change if this rain kept up. Right now, the raised platforms constructed from the spare wood from the crates and pallets kept the tents off the mud and provided a dry floor. The rows of trees that formed the corners of the tents spread leafy branches over them, sheltering the canvas from the rain as much as possible. All the canvas had been recoated to shed water, and so far it was doing its job to keep everything dry. But it was only a matter of time before the damp got to everything.
“At least it would be something to do.” Pip finished with the wrench and hung it on the pegboard behind her. She picked up another wrench, falling silent.
