Chapter 25

Twenty-Five

Fieran stood at attention in line with what remained of his squadron at the edge of the main parade ground of Fort Linder, facing the three flagpoles, the flags flapping at half-staff.

All around the parade ground, the various units stationed at Fort Linder also stood at attention, all wearing grim expressions.

Before the infirmary, all the off-duty nurses, secretaries, and other civilian personnel of the base assembled. Pip and the other mechanics stood there, but for once Fieran didn't smile when his gaze briefly met Pip's. She didn't either.

The general in charge of Fort Linder halted beneath the flagpole bearing Escarland's flag, Capt. Arfeld and the other officers beside him. The general unfolded a piece of paper and cleared his throat. "By order of His Majesty King Averett, the following is to be read throughout Escarland. Last night, the Mongavarian Empire executed a cowardly and shameful attack on Fort Linder, Bridgetown, and Calafaren. Many Escarlish and Tarenhieli lives were lost in this sudden and unprovoked attack on our soil."

Standing at attention as he was, Fieran couldn't look around. But he didn't have to sweep a glance over his column to feel all the holes of those missing in the formation.

Beside him, Lije shifted and swallowed. A small, strangled cough came from someone behind them.

"It was only due to the actions of a squadron of Flying Corps pilots-in-training that the attack was halted and all Mongavarian airships were destroyed."

At least Uncle Averett didn't point out Fieran by name. He'd rather the credit be given to the entire squadron. The others had been far more brave than he'd been, hurling themselves at the airships with nothing but miscellaneous weapons and flimsy wood fuselages for protection.

"It is evident by this attack that a state of war now exists between the Mongavarian Empire and the Alliance Kingdoms of Escarland, Tarenhiel, and Kostaria. This morning, His Majesty requested a declaration of war from Parliament, which Parliament unanimously ratified and His Majesty duly signed. Their Majesties King Weylind of Tarenhiel and King Rharreth of Kostaria have issued their own declarations of war against the Empire of Mongavaria on behalf of their kingdoms. As of 14:30 today, we are at war."

The words weren't a surprise, yet Fieran struggled to breathe.

Yet there was also a strange relief that the war was finally here. The pressure of this looming war had been hanging over the Alliance Kingdoms for so many years, weighing especially heavy in the past year and months. At last, they could fight this war rather than living under the ongoing, agonizing trepidation.

Capt. Arfeld stepped forward. "Training Squadron, as of last night, your training is complete."

Fieran's ears buzzed as the others shifted around him. By rights, they should have had another two weeks of training.

But it seemed, now that the Alliance Kingdoms were officially at war, the army was eager to hurry them on their way to make room for the next batch of pilots-in-training.

One by one, Capt. Arfeld called each of them forward and pinned a badge formed of two eagle wings rising out of a shield in the center to their uniforms.

When Fieran's name was called, he stepped forward, his ears still ringing a bit. Yet he stood tall as he faced his commanding officer.

Capt. Arfeld pinned the badge to his uniform and stated, "I commission you Second Lieutenant Fieran Laesornysh in the Escarlish Flying Corps." His voice lowered so only Fieran could hear. "See me after dismissal."

Fieran spun on his heel, then marched back to his place in line. After the darkness of the night, there was something healing in watching Merrik, Lije, Pretty Face, Tiny, Stickyfingers, and the others of the squadron step forward and receive their wings.

As the last of them received their wings and commissions, all the sergeants, corporals, and privates assembled around the square lifted their hands in salutes.

Fieran had to swallow back the lump in his throat at seeing those drill sergeants—the ones who had harassed and harried them all through training—now saluting them with a glimmer almost like respect in their eyes.

After all the weeks of training—the crashes, the losses, the attack during the night—they were now officially pilots.

Fieran knockedon the door to Capt. Arfeld's office and stepped inside when called. He halted before the desk and saluted. "Second Lieutenant Laesornysh reporting as requested, sir."

Capt. Arfeld saluted in return, leaned back in his chair, and regarded Fieran for a long moment before he heaved something like a sigh. "What am I to do with you, Lt. Laesornysh?"

"Sir?" Fieran's stomach twisted. This almost sounded like a lecture would be forthcoming. Or like his famous family was getting involved in some way.

"The night of the attack, you didn't wait for your sergeant's orders. You gave commands when you had no authority to do so. You presumed to tell your commanding officer what he should do. You landed on the Alliance Bridge at great risk to yourself, your aeroplane, your fellow pilot who was crazy enough to follow you, and a rather culturally significant national monument. And…" Capt. Arfeld's weathered face showed no hint of the softening or uncertainty he'd worn during the attack.

Fieran braced himself for whatever the captain would say next, somehow unable to regret what he'd done, even if the litany of his offenses the night before sounded quite insubordinate when put that way.

Had he gained his wings only to promptly lose them? Surely what he'd done wasn't enough to get him dishonorably discharged from the army, especially not with the added protection of his name and relatives, much as he hated to rely on those things.

"And…you saved us all last night." Capt. Arfeld gestured at the chair across the desk from him, next to where Fieran was standing. "Take a seat."

Fieran sat, though he kept his back straight with military posture instead of relaxing. So…was he being reprimanded? Or commended? He still couldn't quite read the captain's tone or expression. It took everything in him not to bounce his knees.

"In my years as a pilot, I have lost many friends and rivals, all of them my brothers and sisters in innovation. I've known many a good and experienced pilot who has panicked or grown disorientated or made a mistake that led to a crash." Capt. Arfeld's voice lowered. "Last night, I had to order a squadron of inexperienced pilots into battle at night, knowing many of them would panic. Many would crash because of their own mistakes rather than anything the enemy had done."

Perhaps this was where Capt. Arfeld's lack of a military background showed through. He was speaking to Fieran as a fellow pilot and a mentor rather than maintaining military distinctions in rank.

Capt. Arfeld's gaze sharpened. "And one of those inexperienced pilots had magic capable of wiping out not only his entire squadron but also the fort and the cities we were trying to protect, if he should panic in the face of unprecedented war."

Fieran shifted in his seat, unable to maintain his discipline with the weight of those words settling on his shoulders. Sure, he hadn't panicked, but Capt. Arfeld hadn't known how Fieran would react once he took to the sky.

"And yet that same pilot was our only hope of actually fighting back, and all I could do was hope that the training I'd witnessed at Fort Charibert and the lack of panic he showed in defending the fort during the early moments of the attack would hold once he was in the air." Capt. Arfeld's eyes grew distant, almost as if he'd forgotten Fieran was even there. "Worse, I had no experience to lead my men or give them the orders they would need to fight effectively. Before last night, no one had ever fought a battle in the air. There is no training, no textbook, no experience that any of us could bring to that fight."

For the first time, war had taken to the skies. Despite all of Uncle Julien's planning for a war that would likely be fought in the air, given the barrier of the Wall, there had been no way to truly prepare for what fighting in the air would be like.

Despite spending seventy years anticipating this war, in many ways Escarland had still been woefully unprepared, complacent with the safety provided by the Wall.

Especially since many military leaders had gotten so much wrong. They'd assumed the war in the air would be fought by the behemoth airships duking it out in the same manner as the ships on the seas. Flyers were considered only useful for scouting, so no one had put much effort into trying to arm them or make them capable of fighting.

Hopefully military command would take note and put more effort into the aeroplanes. Though knowing the army as Fieran did now, last night's battle would likely convince the leaders more than ever that flyers were incapable of standing up to airships and should remain relegated to scouting and surveillance.

Capt. Arfeld met Fieran's gaze again. "You have great potential, Lt. Laesornysh, even beyond your magic. You have a natural talent for flying, and you have the charisma needed to become a leader. Already last night, your squadron rallied behind you. You have that extra spark that makes people look to you to lead them."

Fieran sat even straighter. Praise, not PT. He wasn't sure how to react to that.

"I tell you this not to make you cocky but to caution you." Capt. Arfeld's eyes sharpened further. "With that great potential comes a great potential for disaster. If you grow too arrogant, you will flame out in a cataclysmic mistake, leading all those who follow you into catastrophe."

Fieran dropped his gaze. The losses of last night already weighed heavily on him, and he hadn't been the one giving orders—at least, not most of them. "I understand, sir."

"No, you don't. Not yet." Capt. Arfeld's voice roughened, the weight of his gaze falling away from Fieran. "Even without overconfidence, catastrophes can still happen despite your best efforts. There will be times in command when you will have to order your men to their deaths."

Like last night. The memories hung heavy between them.

"I will remain here to continue training pilots. But you and others like you will be the ones who will develop the strategies that will eventually make it into the textbooks. You will surpass me. I only hope you live long enough to see it."

Fieran swallowed. Was this supposed to be a pep talk or a warning? It seemed to be a bit of both. "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir."

"For that reason, I'm promoting you to First Lieutenant." Capt. Arfeld pushed a stack of paperwork across the desk toward Fieran.

The words swam, but Fieran's name jumped out, typed in black ink. Promoted, and he'd only been commissioned for all of twenty minutes. That had to be some kind of record.

"You earned it. You proved you are capable of keeping your head during battle and not wiping out your own men with your magic." Capt. Arfeld sighed and scrubbed a hand over the bristles of scruff on his chin. "If you were anyone but who you are, I'd likely be under great pressure to submit your name for a medal. As it is, everyone from Bridgetown's mayor to the Escarlish palace's press office want to celebrate you with parades and war propaganda tours."

All Fieran wanted to do was fly. If he'd wanted to glad-hand and schmooze people, he could have done that as a prince. No joining the army necessary. "With all due respect, sir, please tell me you've refused their requests."

"I have, as has everyone in the chain of command. You're the best weapon we have in the air. The last thing we need is for you to be sidelined on some propaganda parade." Capt. Arfeld shook his head, then sighed. "But as it is, there are some who will still think this promotion is because of your name and your connections rather than something you earned."

"I understand, sir." Fieran sighed, understanding all too well.

A promotion was more than enough. He didn't need—or want—a medal or parades or celebrations for what he'd done last night. It had simply been duty, and he needed no reward for that.

Fieran stoodwith his back to the warmed metal side of the hangar, staring at the airfield and the distant smudge that was Bridgetown. Even now a full day and a night after the attack, the taste of ash drifted on the breeze, though smoke no longer rose above the city.

A few tiny blue flowers dotted the new spring grass beneath his boots, a splash of life and cheer amid the bustle of war going on in the hangar behind him.

Soft bootsteps padded on the earth a moment before Merrik joined him, staring over the sunny, grassy field before them. After a long moment, he spoke, his tone so low no one standing near the hangar's door would overhear. "Do you regret it?"

With the long years of friendship stretching between them, Fieran didn't have to ask to know what Merrik meant. He wasn't asking about the events of the attack, or not only about that. But about flying and the army and everything that had happened in the past months since that day Fieran had dragged Merrik away from breakfast, filled to the brim with dreams of the sky.

"No, I don't." Fieran turned to better face Merrik, though Merrik's gaze remained fixed on some distant point on the horizon. "Do you?"

Merrik remained as he was for a long, aching moment before he shook his head. "No."

Fieran released a breath, trying to force out the words he should have said long before now. "Thank you for always guarding my back. Even now."

Merrik made a weary, scoffing noise, even as he shook his head. "Little good that I did. Your back does not need much protecting when you unleash your magic."

"Still, I was glad to have you there regardless." After the attack and the squadron mates they'd lost, Fieran didn't want to take that for granted again.

Merrik just tipped his head in that subtle elven nod before the two of them returned to soaking in the warm rays of the morning sunlight, gathering a last few minutes of peace before they were launched back into a war.

Their new orders had come through first thing that morning. They'd be leaving in a few hours, headed north for Dar Goranth and the icy waters off the coast of Kostaria.

Their destination hadn't been much of a surprise. With Mama at Aldon, Adry at Estyra, and Dacha at Fort Defense, that had left Dar Goranth as the one likely Mongavarian target still undefended by a warrior with the magic of the ancient kings—unless one wanted to count Rhohen, and Fieran wasn't sure his troll cousin would appreciate the way the military leaders were counting him out.

Pip stepped from the hangar, her green coveralls rolled up at the ends of the pant legs to make them short enough and her brown curls stuffed into some kind of messy bun at the top of her head. She glanced around, and Fieran lifted a hand in a small wave to catch her attention.

As her gaze swiveled in his direction, she smiled, and the expression twisted in the pit of his stomach. Something had changed between them in those nightmarish moments standing in the ruined streets of Bridgetown, just holding each other amid a shattered world, although Fieran couldn't have said exactly what it was just yet.

Pip strode over to join him and Merrik in the patch of warm, spring sunshine, claiming the spot on Fieran's other side from Merrik. She reached over and tapped the silver wings pinned to his uniform. "These look good on you."

"Linshi." Fieran glanced first at the wings, then at her. After everything that had happened, he craved levity more than more mourning, especially if they'd be parting in a few hours. His breath hitched at the thought of never seeing her again. Swallowing, he plastered on a grin. "My dacha was in Bridgetown. I thought about waking you to introduce you but…"

As he'd known it would, her face washed pale, her eyes widening, her mouth falling open in hero-struck terror. Her voice squeaked. "It's…okay."

Merrik snorted softly, easing slightly farther away from Pip and Fieran.

"Maybe a different time." Fieran rolled his shoulders in a shrug. He wasn't sure when he'd started to find Pip's hero worship of his dacha humorous rather than embarrassing. He gave her shoulder a gentle poke. "Breathe. My dacha isn't here now."

Pip released a breath in a whoosh, all but slumping against the metal siding behind them. "Fine, fine. Just…give me a warning first, all right? No just showing up with your dacha in tow or shaking me awake and he's just right there. I'm not sure I'd survive."

Fieran chuckled, though his laughter lasted only a moment before the weight in his chest squashed it. "I don't know when I'll have the chance. My squadron is being sent to Dar Goranth."

Pip straightened, a smile brightening her face. "I'm being sent there too."

"Oh. Good. That's…really good." Fieran reached to pat her shoulder, then halted short of touching her. He dropped his hand, clenching it into a fist at his side instead. "Someone in the army must have noticed that we make a good team."

It wasn't exactly what he wanted to say, though what he wanted to say was eluding him at the moment, so it would have to do.

"That we do." Pip grinned, tipping her head back to look up at him. The warmth in her eyes kindled that inexpressible something inside his chest.

With a loud tromping of boots and the bang of his shoulder hitting the metal siding, Pretty Face leaned against the hangar next to Pip, though he didn't crowd her. He grinned, the expression pulling tight the new scar tracing across his jaw. "Did you hear that we're being shipped out?"

"Yes. I'm shipping out with you." Pip lightly punched his shoulder in the way she did when she was trying to pretend she was just one of the guys. "You boys aren't getting rid of me that easily."

Pretty Face waved to Tiny and Stickyfingers, who were walking toward them. "Guess what? Our Pip is coming with us to Dar Goranth."

"Yes!" Stickyfingers pumped his fist while Tiny gave Pip a nod.

Lije poked his head around the door of the hangar. "What's going on out here?"

"Pip is coming with us to Dar Goranth." Stickyfingers gestured to her, his gap-toothed grin wide.

"That's great!" Lije stepped forward and held out a hand for her to slap.

Fieran settled more comfortably against the warm metal siding at his back, crossing one leg over the other at the ankles. So much for his quiet moment with Merrik and Pip.

But that was all right. He'd started this adventure with just Merrik at his side, but it felt right to have all of them together for whatever came next.