Page 59 of Fly to Fury
Perhaps this was the moment for something sweet and heartfelt. A goodbye that he could leave her with.
But he wasn’t going to die, so he didn’t have to say goodbye.
“Get my dacha. Tell him what’s happening.” Fieran flexed his fingers, wracking his brain for options. “If I have to put down in Mongavaria, he might have to come get me.”
And Dacha would do it too. If Fieran ended up in the hands of the Mongavarian Army, Dacha would destroy mountains and level armies to rescue him.
Maybe it wasn’t what Pip would want to hear, if this was the last thing he ever said to her. But he didn’t want her to listen to his death, if it came to that. He’d rather she and Dacha were together, if his end came.
“All right.” Pip’s voice strengthened, as if having a mission steadied her.
He waited a moment, but she didn’t speak again. Hopefully that meant she was gone and wouldn’t hear whatever came next.
Fieran glanced to the side where Merrik still held his aeroplane far too close. Close enough for Fieran to see the look in Merrik’s eyes. “Merrik, if I don’t make it, tell them—”
More of the wing tore away, disappearing. This aeroplane wasn’t going to stay in the sky much longer. There was no way he was going to land this thing on either side of the border.
He was dead. He was still breathing, his body unhurt, but he was going to die in the next few seconds.
Surely there was something he could do. He couldn’t die like this. He was a Laesornysh. He couldn’t die from something as simple as a propeller breaking.
Yet even a warrior with the magic of the ancient kings wasn’t invincible. The force of gravity didn’t care how famous his parents were.
“Fieran, I am going to grab your aeroplane. Now.” Merrik swerved his flyer to take up a station above Fieran’s.
It would never work. Fieran couldn’t let Merrik sacrifice himself in a vain attempt at a rescue.
“No! The wings are about to give way.” Fieran eased his aeroplane lower. Every foot closer to the ground was one less foot to fall.
“I am not letting you crash.” Tendrils of magic-laced roots reached down from Merrik’s aeroplane.
“Crashing is rather inevitable at this point.” Fieran sliced upward with his magic, sheering off the magic-grown roots. Time to attempt something crazy. “You need to get out of here. I’m about to cause a rather large explosion.”
“Going out in a blaze of magic is not an option!” Merriksounded as if he was somewhere between shouting and gritting his teeth.
“Physics, Merrik, physics! Equal but opposite reaction!” Fieran gathered as much magic as he could in his chest. He’d lost his shield over Merrik’s aeroplane. Right now, there was just his aeroplane, his magic, and his one chance at surviving this.
Merrik spat a word Fieran had never heard him use before. “You will jelly your insides with an explosion like that.”
“Then I’ll have to shield myself.” Fieran worked a tendril of his magic into the engine compartment, finding the magical power cell. Perfect. He could sense Dacha’s magic roiling inside. The clash of magic would provide an even greater explosion than if he was working with only his magic. “It’s my one chance. I don’t plan on dying today. But I’d rather not take you with me.”
What was left of the wings tore away, disappearing. The remaining right wings caught the air, whipping his aeroplane into the beginning of a downward spiral toward the unyielding ground from which there was no escape.
More shouting reverberated from the radio, but he could barely hear it over the roaring of his blood in his ears.
In the whirling tumult that had become the sky around him, he couldn’t tell if Merrik peeled off. Blackness crowded his vision, and he braced his body, fighting the forces that would drive him into unconsciousness. If he fell unconscious, he’d die.
Then again, it might be better to simply fall unconscious peacefully rather than experience this death all the way to its bitter end.
No. He wasn’t going to die. Not without a fight.
He’d get only one shot at this. If he blew up his aeroplanetoo early, he’d have too far to fall and he’d still die when he hit the ground. If he waited too late, there wouldn’t be enough time for the explosion to blow him backward and slow his downward momentum.
The ground rushed toward him. He counted one heartbeat. Then two. Would these be his last?
He should have spent actual time on that blastedIf I Dieletter when he’d joined the army instead of scribbling down a bunch of drivel.
Dacha. He should have hugged him that morning. Should have told him how proud he was to be his son.
