As he was finishing up, a new voice broke into the line. “My apologies, Your Highness, Captain. But there is an urgent telephone call for His Majesty that must be put through. I will need to ask you to hang up.”
“Yes, of course.” Mama’s tone didn’t waver. “Thank you for calling, Fieran.”
After exchanging hurried goodbyes, Fieran hung up the earpiece. As he stood, he grew aware of the noise in the hall. Something bad was going down if Uncle Averett needed to be informed.
Jumping to his feet, Fieran hurried from the room and down the hall, dodging the various elves who were also hurrying about their duties. As he entered the central section of headquarters,the bustle and voices grew louder, although he couldn’t pick out exactly what was happening.
He didn’t see Uncle Julien, although he could just hear the timbre of his voice coming from behind a closed door on his right.
Fieran caught one of the aides bustling nearby. “What’s happening? Has Mongavaria attacked again?”
Should Fieran rush to his aeroplane? Or rush to the front to wield his magic on the ground alongside Uncle Rharreth and Rhohen?
The aide turned to Fieran. “The king’s great-grandson Lt. Myles Kinsley has been found dead in the rubble of the railyard.”
Someone called a name, and the aide jumped, turning away from Fieran. “Coming, sir!”
Fieran stumbled forward and braced himself with a hand against the wall. He squeezed his eyes shut as the words shuddered through him. Myles? Dead?
Myles. Always ready with a grin. One of the few cousins on that side of the family who actually had a good head on his shoulders. So eager to do his part for the war.
He couldn’t be dead. He simply couldn’t.
Yet war didn’t discriminate. It didn’t care how famous or well-connected a person was. It didn’t care about one’s last name or lineage.
Death could come for Fieran. For his dacha. For his family. As long as this war continued, it stalked them.
Even Dacha with his great power could not prevent it.
Chapter
Thirty
Swiping at the tears trickling down her face, Pip found Fieran sitting with his back to the wall in a tucked-away corner of the hangar.
Not giving herself time to hesitate, she curled up on his lap, tucking her head against his shoulder beneath his chin as she wrapped her arms around him. “I heard. I’m so sorry.”
Fieran’s arms came around her, holding her close, and he pressed his face against her hair. His voice was hoarse, choked with tears and an angry fervor. “I hate this war. I hate it. I just want it to end.”
“I know. Me too.” Pip tangled her fingers in the warmth of his shirt and didn’t try to hold back her tears.
First Fieran and Merrik crashed. Then they’d lost Pretty Face. Fieran’s dacha had come far too close to death that day.
And now Myles.
It was too much. Too much death. Too much pain. How much more would this war take before it was over?
She cried into Fieran’s shirt, and if his chest shuddered with his own sobs, she couldn’t fault him. Today was a day for breaking.
She wasn’t sure how much time passed before she sniffed and hiccupped her way to silence. Held by Fieran as she was, she was warm and cozy, even if her eyes were now gritty, her nose stuffed.
“I should have asked before now, but are you all right?” Fieran murmured the words into her hair as he cradled her to his chest.
Was she all right? She squeezed her eyes shut, trying not to remember the things she’d witnessed that day.
“Maybe.” No, that wasn’t quite right. She was shaken, yes. She now had memories she wished she could erase. But she couldn’t regret it. She’d done what she’d had to do. “I think so.”
The Alliance had needed those machines, and no one besides her could have gotten them from the battlefield that quickly. The dwarves might have been able to handle it on their own, but their magic would have taken more time and more tools than hers did. Some of them likely would have died in the attempt.
