Chapter 12

Twelve

With Pip trotting along at his side, Fieran trailed after Merrik as they wound their way through the familiar streets of Bridgetown.

Along their walk, Merrik oh-so-helpfully pointed out all the monuments and historical plaques along the way. There was the statue of Uncle Rharreth at the end of the stone buildings, which had been the homes for the troll workers when the Alliance Bridge was built. That workers' camp had developed into the city as it was now. The statue of Uncle Averett at the end of the Alliance Bridge faced a similar statue of Uncle Weylind across the way on Tarenhiel's side of the river.

Of course Merrik would pick this morning as the moment to come out of his shell and show off the humor he hid beneath.

They boarded a trolley and rode that through the streets of Bridgetown until they got off at the stop near the base of a broad, grassy hill. At the top of the hill, a wooden stockade fort overlooked the Hydalla River. A few of the older style historical cannons perched on the corners.

Paths meandered over the grassy hill and along the bank of the river. A few trees had been allowed to grow to form shady spots, creating a place of peace in the bustling city. Several people jogged along the paths, ignoring the museum on the hill.

Pip, her curls bouncing, her eyes sparkling, all but raced up the hill, her gaze focused on the outpost. If not for the utter excitement on her face, Fieran might have dragged his feet as he climbed the winding path upward. But he couldn't dawdle, even knowing the embarrassment to come, when she was so happy to come here.

At the gate, they had to pay for tickets. Fieran kept his head down, holding his breath the whole time that no one would recognize him. The curator would probably dog his steps offering a personalized tour, if anyone realized that he was here.

Thankfully, he was able to purchase a ticket without incident, and he joined the others as they started on the self-guided tour, complete with a pamphlet.

Pip pored through the pamphlet like it held the answers to all of life's mysteries, then pointed. "Let's start here."

As a group, they worked their way along one side of the fort's parade ground. Historical cannons lined the walk, complete with plaques talking about the outpost's history from long before Fieran's parents' wedding.

Finally, Pip led the way inside, nearly skipping like a little girl as they entered.

When they reached the huge assembly room of the old outpost, Pip let out a squeal and raced across the room to where mannequins wore a white dress and a silver tunic and trouser set, spotlights shining down on the clothing. Fieran half expected a chorus of sopranos to burst into song to highlight the moment.

Ugh, this was going to be embarrassing.

As the others piled into the room, scattering to the various exhibits, Fieran dragged his feet, though Merrik remained at his side.

For Stickyfingers, Lije, and Pretty Face, all of this was history from long ago. Their parents hadn't even been born when the alliance treaties were signed and the Alliance Bridge built.

While Fieran hadn't yet been alive for those events either, he'd grown up hearing about them from those who had been there. None of this was that far in the past for him.

For much of his life, he'd felt so much more human than elf. But standing there, he truly felt the elf part of his heritage and the long years it gave him. Sure, he wouldn't live as long as a full elf. But five hundred years was still ages longer than the mere ninety or so years the humans in the group might live.

For Pip, too, these events weren't as far in the past as they seemed to a human. He hadn't asked her yet, but as a half-dwarf, half-elf, she might even be a few years older than him, even if maturity-wise they were the same age. Strange thought, that she might have been alive when his parents were getting married. No wonder she had such hero worship for his dacha. She would've been a young, impressionable child when his dacha first attended Hanford University and everyone made such a big deal about it.

Pretty Face, Stickyfingers, and Lije drifted over to the exhibit near Pip, and Fieran braced himself, knowing what they'd see. A huge print of an early photograph hung on the wall and depicted Fieran's dacha and mama posing in the outfits displayed in the exhibit. The photograph had been taken years after the wedding, but his parents didn't appear much older than they had back then, thanks to the heart bond and elven lack of aging.

Pretty Face leaned closer, whistled, then pointed. "Whoo-whee! She is a dame."

Fieran groaned and dropped his head into his palm. He'd known coming to the museum was a bad idea, but this was even worse than he'd thought.

Lije smacked Pretty Face upside the back of the head. "That's Fieran's mama!"

"Doesn't make her any less of a dame." Pretty Face opened his mouth, as if he planned to keep talking and really tempt Fieran to give him a zap with his magic. Just a tiny zap. Not enough to hurt. Much.

This time it was Stickyfingers who reached up and gave Pretty Face a smack on the back of the head. "You don't say stuff like that. All women are to be respected, but especially mamas."

All of them from Tiny to Pretty Face turned to Stickyfingers and stared.

Sticky shrugged. "What? I might come from a family of crooks, but my mama raised me right."

There was just something so wrong and yet so right about that statement that Fieran didn't even know how to respond.

"Yes, she did." Lije patted Sticky's back in brotherly camaraderie.

Pretty Face sighed, then gestured at the photograph again. "Fine, fine. I won't say another word about Fieran's mama. But the real question is, how did two people as gorgeous as that make something like…this?" Pretty Face gestured from the photograph to Fieran.

Fieran finally gave in and gave Pretty Face a punch in the shoulder—probably harder than necessary. At least the focus on himself was better than on his parents. "Are you saying I'm ugly? What would that make you?"

Pretty Face rubbed his shoulder. "I'm not saying you're ugly, exactly. But you have to admit, you should've been the one with the Pretty Face moniker given the way you won the genetic lottery with parents. Instead, well, you're…" Pretty Face waved at him, as if the end of that sentence should be obvious.

And, perhaps, it was. The endless comparisons to his parents that featured in various newspapers and gossip rags told him exactly where he fell short.

"It's my nose." Fieran sighed. There was nothing else for it at this point. "I got my uncle Weylind's nose."

While Uncle Weylind's hawkish nose was tempered by the fine features of the elves, Fieran had also gotten the large nose prominent on the human side of the family. Combined with the hawkishness, it was a blemish on his features that his parents didn't have.

Pretty Face heaved an exaggerated sigh. "It's no fair that you have that nose and still get all the ladies."

Pip wandered over to them, apparently having gotten her fill of admiring his parents' wedding attire. "As we established on the drive over, it's your personality rather than your face that we ladies object to."

"I'm here enriching my mind, aren't I?" Pretty Face placed a hand over his chest as if smoothing a formal necktie.

"Uh-huh. I think your mind needs all the enrichment it can get." Pip rolled her eyes at him. Then her focus caught on something else across the room, and she headed in that direction with the focus of a hunting dog on a scent.

Beside Fieran, Merrik was making little choking noises as he attempted to hold back his laughter.

Time to redirect the attention onto someone else. With a silent apology—and slight glee at the act of revenge for Merrik's teasing earlier—Fieran gestured at another, old-style photograph hanging on the wall a few feet away. As he spoke, he began walking in that direction. "Speaking of parents…"

"Fieran…" Merrik hurried after him, a warning in his tone.

Fieran ignored him. "Merrik's dacha is in this one."

That photograph commemorated the twenty-five-year anniversary of the treaty. As the only elven guard present at the original treaty signing, Uncle Iyrinder had been reluctantly cajoled—well, ordered—to be in the photograph with Fieran's parents, Uncle Weylind, Uncle Averett, and the two diplomats.

Lije, Stickyfingers, and Pretty Face bumped into each other as they hurried to claim spots in front of that photograph.

Pretty Face groaned. "That's it. I'm resigned to third most handsome. There is no way I can compete with elves."

"Hey, look at this!" Lije had wandered over to where Tiny was looking at the exhibit about the building of the Alliance Bridge. "Fieran, is that…"

Fieran joined him, then sighed and nodded. "Yeah. My mama was pregnant with me when the bridge was built."

"Really? The bridge was built ages ago!" Pretty Face hurried over, then gaped, first at the photograph, then at Fieran. "How old are you?"

"Sixty-eight." Fieran winced. "But that's only about twenty-one to twenty-three in human years."

"Human years. Can you hear how weird that sounds? It's like you're a dog or something. Except that you age opposite of dogs." Pretty Face shook his head. "Sixty-eight. You're downright ancient."

Sixty-eight wasn't even that old for humans, but Fieran didn't bother to argue the point.

"My da is in this photograph." Tiny waved to another large plaque a few feet away. A note of deep pride colored Tiny's tone. "He helped build the Alliance Bridge."

Fieran stayed where he was, savoring the relief of having the attention finally taken off him. Not that he minded being the center of attention, but not when it involved his parents, his looks, or the slower aging he experienced as a half-elf.

Merrik wandered off by himself, reading the various plaques and likely taking a moment of quiet away from people. It wouldn't surprise Fieran if Merrik disappeared into one of the side hallways and continued the tour by himself just for a bit of solitude.

While Lije, Pretty Face, Stickyfingers, and Tiny bumbled about the room, pointing out all the photographs they could find of someone related to Fieran—and there were a lot—Fieran joined Pip before the exhibit featuring his Uncle Edmund's and Aunt Jalissa's wedding attire, along with photographs of their rather pageantry-filled wedding on the middle of the newly constructed Alliance Bridge.

Pip briefly glanced away from the exhibit to give him a smile. "Thank you for being willing to come here and put up with all of that." She jabbed a finger at the others.

"It's all right. I'm used to that kind of thing." Fieran shrugged, glancing away from the exhibit. These photographs were nothing he hadn't already seen many times over the years. Standing next to Pip, he became even more aware of how tiny she was. The top of her head didn't even come up to his shoulder.

"I can't imagine how strange it must be. All these people are so famous and everyone hero-worships them. Even me." Pip's smile turned slightly lopsided. "And yet, they're your family."

"Despite all of them being so famous, they're still a really great family." Fieran's throat got a little rough as he glanced at a photograph of his parents hanging on the wall nearby. "I'm proud to be a part of it."

Pip reached out a hand, but she stopped short, as if she wasn't sure if they had enough of a friendship for that kind of response. "I can see that. It's one reason your dacha—and your macha, really—have been such heroes to me. They might be famous, but they still seem like such normal people, you know? They didn't let fame go to their heads like some people would."

Like many of Fieran's cousins and distant cousins on Uncle Averett's branch of the family, but Fieran didn't say that out loud. Those cousins were higher up in line for the Escarlish throne than he was, and he had enough sense not to denigrate them in public, especially while he wore an Escarlish Army uniform.

"No, they didn't. And they tried their best to make sure me and my siblings didn't get too spoiled either." Fieran stuffed his hands into his pockets, then nudged her with an elbow, keeping his tone light. "I'll have to introduce you to my dacha when I get the chance."

Pip's face whitened. "You wouldn't! I wouldn't know what to say! I think I'd pass out."

"Trust me. My dacha will be more scared of you than you will be of him." Fieran grinned, already picturing it.