This time when Fieran glanced at Pip, she was grinning, leaning forward as if it was taking all her self-discipline not to run onto the platform. Next to her, Mak, too, was grinning.
Fieran studied the elf again. That must be Pip’s dacha. And that dwarf next to him must be her muka. The dwarf’s figure was rather curvy, her black beard braided with even more elaborate braids than the male dwarf, her skin a shade darker than Pip’s.
Her parents. Fieran swallowed hard, his chest squeezing tight. They were here. Right here.
Yes, he wanted to meet them. They were Pip’s parents. And he wanted to court her properly.
But still, they were herparents. Meeting them was a big deal. A big step.
Merrik gave him another elbow to the side.
Right. Focus. He needed to remain at attention for a while longer.
A few more dwarves exited the train car. A round of handshaking between the various dignitaries commenced, followed by a round of speeches about a new era of cooperation and victory and stuff Fieran couldn’t care about while standing there, baking in the sun.
Finally, the speeches finished. The black-haired dwarf who had exited first clapped his hands together twice.
The doors on the rest of the train cars opened. The pounding of a drum—deep and resonant—sounded, and dwarves marched from the train carriages. They formed up in the space next to the platform, ranks upon ranks of the stout, bearded warriors with glints in their eyes and huge weapons in their hands.
As soon as the last dwarf stepped from the train, the drum beat changed. The dwarves marched forward with a pounding step, their faces as hard as their glinting weapons.
Aunt Vriska and several other of the senior army officers fell into step on one side of the marching column of dwarves. Pip and Mak’s parents, too, strode at the head of the dwarves.
“That’s my cue.” Myles shot a grin at Fieran before he hurried to join the senior officers, trailing after them along with the other various adjutants and aides.
Fieran glanced without moving his head at Pip once again. She and Mak were hugging their parents, even as their parents were tugging them to join the line of marching dwarves.
Pip met Fieran’s gaze over her muka’s shoulder. Fieran broke his stance enough to give her a small “go on” wave with his hand. As much as he wanted to meet her parents, he didn’t mind putting it off a while longer. Besides, she and her parents should have a few minutes to catch up before he was introduced.
Once the last of the dwarves had marched by, headed for their new billets in what used to be Little Aldon, Dacha took a step forward, although he glanced over his shoulder. “Come, sason.”
Fieran trailed after Dacha, Uncle Iyrinder and Merrik with him, as they crossed the dirt road and climbed onto the platform to join Uncle Weylind, Uncle Julien, Uncle Rharreth, Rhohen, and the black-haired dwarf.
While Dacha was introduced to the dwarf commander, Fieran faced his cousin. He could sense Merrik hovering just behind him, as if prepared to yank him out of there if things got out of hand. “Rhohen.”
“Fieran.” Rhohen’s shoulders went stiff, though his gaze flicked away toward the retreating dwarves as if he had somewhere he’d rather be. But it was only a moment before he met Fieran’s gaze again with flashing dark eyes and a tick to his jaw.
Yet as Fieran held his cousin’s gaze, he couldn’t call up the bristling annoyance he usually felt around him. He had nothing to prove. Not to Rhohen. Not to anyone.
Besides, there was more than enough blood and death and war to go around. If Rhohen wanted a piece of it, he could have it.
Fieran stuck out a hand. “Welcome to Fort Defense.”
For a moment, Rhohen eyed Fieran’s hand, as if he expected Fieran was tricking him somehow. Then he grasped Fieran’s hand, squeezing tightly, and gave it one firm shake. “Linsh.”
The abbreviated, troll version of the elvishthank-youwas brief and sulky. But even that much was an improvement in their cousinly relationship.
“Rhohen.” Uncle Rharreth called for him with a sharpness in his tone, as if he expected Rhohen and Fieran would come to blows if left unattended for too long.
Rhohen stalked to his father’s side without another glance at Fieran.
Merrik took his place at Fieran’s side. “That was…surprisingly mature of you.”
“My feud with Rhohen just seems kind of trivial now.” Fieran shrugged before he sent Merrik a smile. “Besides, it isn’t like I’ll even have to see him much, if at all. He will be at headquarters or up in the mountains with the troll warriors; I’ll be at the hangar. Fort Defense is big enough for the two of us.”
“I will believe that when I see it.” Merrik matched Fieran’s lopsided smile.
Fieran resisted the urge to grimace. He wouldn’t have believed himself so easily either, not with his and Rhohen’s record of fighting whenever they were in the same room together. “Yes, it’s a stretch. But I’ll behave.”
