Twenty-Two
Fieran leaned closer to the tiny mirror by one of the sinks in the shower building. He carefully eased the razor across his cheek, scraping away the hint of red peach fuzz.
Another reminder of how he wasn’t fully an elf. Neither was he fully human enough to actually grow a decent beard. Instead, he had to shave every few weeks; the random bristles and patchy fuzz just looked ratty if he didn’t.
He drew the razor over his jaw. There, that should do it. After rinsing off the razor, he wiped the lather from his face with a damp towel.
After grabbing his uniform shirt from a hook, he shrugged into it, buttoned it, and tucked it in properly. As this wasn’t a ceremony, he was wearing his good, normal uniform and not his dress uniform.
Just as well. The dress uniform looked nice, but it was so stiff and tightly tailored he could barely sit down in it. Supper would be uncomfortable enough as it was.
The outer door creaked open, then slammed shut on its spring-loaded hinges. As it was early for the evening shower rush, that was likely Merrik, come to give Fieran a hard time for taking so long.
But instead of Merrik’s voice, Dacha spoke from behind him. “You missed a spot.”
Fieran glanced over his shoulder, finding his dacha standing only a few feet behind him. Dacha pointed to a spot on his own face just beneath his ear.
Turning his head one way, then the other, Fieran found the spot of lather he’d missed mopping up with the towel and dabbed it away.
Leaning closer to the mirror, Fieran ran his hand over his face, making sure he’d gotten all the patches of bristles. “I think that should do it. I cannot grow an impressive dwarven beard, but at least I can shave closely enough to pass as an elf.”
It had been Uncle Edmund who had taught him how to shave since Dacha hadn’t known how.
“You are an elf, sason. You do not need to merely pass as one.” Dacha’s tone was soft, not quite scolding, not quite disappointed.
Fieran didn’t dare glance over his shoulder, not wanting to see the look in Dacha’s eyes. “I know.”
It was just harder to remember that when he was having to shave like a human.
Probably best to change the subject. Fieran smoothed down his damp hair. “What do you think? Slicked down…”
Dacha made a small noise, the closest thing to an undignified snort that he’d make.
“You’re right. It isn’t me.” Fieran ran his fingers through his hair so that it lay more loose with strands trailing across his forehead. “Artfully tousled it is.”
He’d delayed as long as he could. At this point, he was just pointlessly primping. He turned, facing his dacha.
Dacha’s gaze swept over him before he took a step forward. He tugged at Fieran’s collar, smoothing out a wrinkle. “You will do fine tonight, sason. Her parents will not disapprove of you.”
No, they wouldn’t. But would theyapproveof him? That was the real question. He had a feeling that Pip’s parents, like Fieran’s, would care far more about how he’d treat their daughter than anything else, including his name and family connections.
Fieran shrugged, trying to call up a grin. “Easy for you to say. You didn’t meet Grandmother until after you and Mama were already married.”
“That just made the experience more nerve-wracking. Your mama’s family were already predisposed to dislike me because I stole your macha away so abruptly.” Dacha’s mouth curved into that slight smile, his eyes going distant, in that way that said he was sensing his heart bond with Mama. After a moment, Dacha gripped Fieran’s shoulders. “But they came around quickly. Be yourself, sason, and you will win over her family just as quickly.”
That sounded more like something Mama would say than Dacha. Perhaps it was something Dacha had gotten through the heart bond.
Fieran tried to nod. “Linshi, Dacha.”
Dacha squeezed his shoulders and stepped back. “Now, you do not want to be late.”
That would certainly make a great impression on Pip’s parents.
Fieran spun on his heel and started for the door. Only to remember that he probably should pick up his shaving items and other toiletries to return to his tent.
“Go on. I will see to this.” Dacha turned to the sink, his nose wrinkling slightly.
If Dacha wanted to pick up after him, Fieran wasn’t going to argue. Dacha must really like Pip if he was going this much out of his way to see that tonight went well.
