Page 47 of Fly to Fury
He didn’t ask why Dacha hadn’t gotten them signed thenight before. Dacha didn’t do crowds like this, especially ones where he’d have to wait in line and talk to a stranger at the end.
“Can I drop them off at your room afterwards? Or will you be around so I can hand them back?” Fieran hefted the stack so that the weight settled more fully on his left arm. The paperbacks were deceptively heavy. “They’ll be safer and drier with you than with me.”
Ellie would probably burst into tears if he had to confess that he’d gotten her beloved books signed, only for them to get ruined in the continuing downpour.
Dacha nodded, glancing around one more time, before he beat a quick retreat out of the room with Uncle Iyrinder at his heels.
When Fieran turned back to the others, Merrik was hefting a stack of books as large as Fieran’s. If Dacha wasn’t going to wait in line, then Uncle Iyrinder wouldn’t either.
Behind Fieran, Pip was still frozen, wide-eyed.
He leaned over to bump her shoulder with his stack of books. “Breathe, Pip.”
She shuddered as her body unlocked from her paralysis. After a moment, she hid her face with her book. “Ugh. You’d think repeated proximity would make things better, but nope. I still can’t think of a single word when your dacha is nearby.”
“Don’t let Tenian Daefiel hear you say that. He seems like he’s used to being the center of hero worship in the room.” Fieran tilted his head in that direction since he didn’t dare let go of Ellie’s stack of books and risk dropping one.
The elf actor sprawled in his chair at the table at the front of the room, his posture languid, his smile almost arrogantly practiced-perfect. His golden hair flowed elegantly around his shoulders and down his back. The laces on his shirt wereleft undone, giving a view of his chest to complete the effect. After all, shirtlessness was basically his brand.
The line crawled forward slowly. Fieran’s arms hurt worse the longer he had to wait. Ellie had better appreciate his effort. She would owe him for this.
Just as Fieran was debating whether Ellie would get mad at him if he set her books on the floor to rest his arms, the line crept forward until his group reached the table.
Margaret Grey, the authoress of the Star Forest novels, was a petite human woman with straight light brown hair and brown eyes.
At the other end of the table, Tenian Daefiel flashed the smile that had made him a moving picture star as he flourished his signature on a photograph print of himself in his Star Forest costume.
Pip set her book on the table and smiled at Margaret Grey. “I really love the books.”
“Thank you.” The authoress reached for the book and opened it to the title page, her pen poised. “Who would you like it signed to?”
“Pip.” Pip was fidgeting, but at least she seemed able to talk to the authoress rather than completely freezing.
Margaret Grey wrote Pip’s name, then signed her signature beneath it. She held the book out to Pip. “Thank you for coming.”
Once Pip’s book was signed, she stepped to one side out of the way.
With a sigh at the sheer relief to his arm muscles, Fieran set the stack of books on the table.
Margaret Grey’s eyes widened for a moment before she smiled up at him. “A big fan, I see.”
“My sister is. These are her books.” Fieran shook out his arm, his bicep aching. He had enough sense to cut off hiswords before he blurted out that he preferred the moving pictures.
“Tell her I’m glad she enjoys the books so much.” The authoress picked up the first one from the stack. “What’s her name?”
“Ellie.” That would be easier for the author to write in all the books than Elliana.
Tenian Daefiel lounged in his chair, glancing over at the large stack of books. He grinned and rested an arm along the back of Margaret Grey’s chair. “You have quite the fan there.”
She stiffened, glared at the actor, and poked his arm with her finger. “Because the books are always superior.”
Tenian dropped his arm at her nudge, though he kept grinning at her. “Come now. I brought your hero to life.”
The authoress snorted and gestured at him. “Star Forest isn’t…this.”
“Oh, really?” Tenian Daefiel whipped a worn copy of the book from under the table, opened it to a page marked with a slip of paper, then read out loud, “His muscles rippled, taut and defined beneath the light material of his shirt—”
“Stop, stop.” The authoress blushed nearly as red as Fieran’s hair. “It sounds so much worse when you read it out of context like that.”
