Chapter 3

Three

Enlisting in the army was almost laughably simple. A stop at the military recruitment office in Aldon, a few pieces of paper, a few signatures, and Fieran had signed his life away. Merrik, too.

At least Fieran could easily pledge loyalty to Escarland's current king. His uncle Averett was ninety-seven years old, but he didn't look a day over seventy, thanks to being an elf friend with Fieran's uncle Weylind. The extra years given to a human who was an elf friend weren't quite like those given in a heart bond, which was what Fieran's mother shared with his dacha. Mama would live hundreds of years beyond what a normal human would. Uncle Averett would only gain a few extra decades.

Fieran and Merrik stepped from the recruiting office and into the bustle of Aldon's streets only a few blocks from Winstead Palace. A crush of people—from brawny, gray-skinned trolls in workers' worn garb to human women in neat shirtwaists and bustled skirts to newsies with grimy faces—milled along the sidewalks and spilled into the cobbled streets. The streets themselves were clogged with horse-drawn carriages and magically powered vehicles, the drivers of each shouting at each other.

Fieran checked that his slouch cap was pulled low over his distinct red hair and the elven points of his ears while the collar of his coat was turned up against the brisk, late winter wind. He would rather not be recognized today.

Merrik still got a few second glances due to the elven style of his long hair cascading down his back. While trolls had become a common sight in Aldon, elves didn't usually take to the bustle and lack of trees in the large city.

Technically, the trolls were a form of elf as well—mountain elves rather than forest elves. But long animosity between the forest elves and mountain elves had led to the gray-skinned, generally white-haired mountain elves becoming their own culture and identity. They had embraced the formerly derogatory term "troll" for themselves, even though the tall, athletic mountain elves were far from the hulking, disgusting figures implied in the word "troll."

There was some talk about coming up with a different term that didn't have its root as an insult, but the trolls didn't want to go back to calling themselves mountain elves and no other term had caught on just yet.

After a brief stop at a soda parlor to purchase four bottles, Fieran and Merrik fought their way through the crowd to the nearest entrance to the Underground, the network of magically powered trains that ran beneath Aldon. Fieran and Merrik paid the fare, then climbed onto one of the train carriages, gripping one of the poles instead of bothering with seats.

The magically powered train clacked over the iron rails, the cars vibrating slightly. The smooth walls of the troll-made tunnel closed around them, but the darkness was broken by white lights fueled by the magical power grid.

Fieran and Merrik hopped off only three stops later, climbing up the stairs and back out onto Aldon's streets.

Here, large factories filled whole blocks. A few still wafted plumes of smoke, but the days of a smoke haze were long gone now that most industry had switched to running on magic rather than coal.

The bustle had calmed as most people in this district of Aldon were occupied within the buildings at this time of day. Only those making deliveries or running errands hurried along these streets.

After only a short stroll, they reached the complex of eight massive buildings that comprised the AMPC, Uncle Lance's invention warehouse, and affiliated factories.

Fieran turned off the walk, entering beneath an arched sign for the Alliance Magical Power Company. He showed his badge to the security guards standing in the alley, though the guards—one troll and one human—were already waving him through. It wasn't like the guards couldn't easily recognize him.

To Fieran's left, the factory rang with the tings and screeches of metal as the workers constructed the empty magical power cells. On a walk overhead, a troll pushed a cart loaded with finished power cells from the building on the left to the warehouse on Fieran's right.

Fieran opened the door to the warehouse on the right and stepped inside. There, the well-lit space crackled with the taste of magic. To one side of the space, Adry stood behind a protective, tempered glass barrier next to one of the machines that filled the magical power cells. She touched her magic-laced fingers to a wire overhead. The magic leapt along the wire, over the barrier, and down into the magical power cell.

In front of the barrier, Louise wore a set of goggles as she flipped the switches and pushed the buttons that ran the machine, all while monitoring the dials that tracked power levels.

To one side, racks upon racks of filled power cells lined up on carts, waiting to be hauled to the next warehouse over, where they would await distribution to the various companies and people who purchased the magical power cells from the AMPC. Some of the power cells glowed with Adry's bright blue magic, but most of them flashed with Louise's more blue-white magic.

Something dinged, and Louise flipped a switch. The machine whirred down, and Adry cut off her magic.

As Merrik stepped inside behind Fieran and closed the door, Louise turned to the two of them. "What took you two so long? That was a rather generous lunch break."

"I fetched sodas." Fieran strolled across the warehouse, reached into the deep pockets of his coat, and presented each of his sisters with their favorites, the carbonated beverages sparkling inside glass bottles. The newfangled sodas were all the rage in Escarland.

Louise took the bottles from him, still eyeing him suspiciously. "Getting sodas still wouldn't have taken you this long."

Fieran just shrugged. He wasn't about to explain about signing up for the Flying Corps. He'd tell the whole family over supper. If he could work up the courage. His stomach twisted in knots every time he thought about telling Dacha what he and Merrik had just done.

Popping off the metal cap of his own soda, Fieran headed for the other side of the warehouse, separated from the magical power cell filling machine by a thick stone wall reinforced with both troll stone magic and Dacha's magic.

On the other side of the protective wall, Merrik was already shrugging into padded coveralls made from thick canvas material. After placing his soda and coat on a table to one side, Fieran claimed his own set of coveralls, though his magic would likely provide more protection in the event of an explosion. But procedure was procedure.

He could follow rules and regulations when he put his mind to it. Joining the army wouldn't be that bad. Right?

Once Fieran had buttoned up the coveralls and wiggled his safety goggles into place, he strode to the line of magically powered engines waiting for testing. The company had sent over a randomly selected batch of ten engines for AMPC to test their compatibility and hardiness when the magical power cells were installed. Only after AMPC had certified that the engines were safe for their power cells could the company go into full-scale production of the new engines.

Merrik took up his post behind yet another protective barrier. He set his soda on the desk there, shoved the elven-made moss earplugs into his ears, then picked up a clipboard. He pointed with a pencil, his voice raised to compensate for his muffled ears. "We are up to engine six."

"Right." Fieran shoved his own earplugs into his ears and made his way to engine six.

That morning, the first five engines had held up decently well. None had exploded, so far. The only problem they had come across was that one of the power wires had a tendency to burn out when the engine was under particular strain. Not an uncommon problem when it came to dealing with the magic of the ancient kings.

Fieran wheeled engine six onto the testing floor and slid one of the cylindrical magical power cells into the space in the engine, locking it tight. "Starting test one of twenty."

"Test one. Check." Merrik made a note on his clipboard.

Together, Fieran and Merrik tested the rest of the engines. None of them exploded, sadly. The wire problem persisted, but that was manageable.

More manageable than telling his family what he'd done during his lunch break.

Fieran couldn't keephis knees from bouncing as he sat at the dining table with his family. At least the table hid his nerves, as long as he refrained from bumping the table and rattling the dishes.

Adry and Louise chattered about how many magical power cells they filled that day. Mama and Ellie described the event they attended to announce the new collection of books translated from elvish now available at Aldon's largest library. Tryndar babbled about whatever he observed while spending the day with Dacha, though it was hard to understand exactly what Dacha and Uncle Lance had been working on in their top-secret invention workshop. Dacha didn't clarify.

Mama swallowed her bite of roast. "Fieran, you've been quiet."

Everyone else around the table paused their conversations, turning to him as they realized he hadn't been adding to the boisterous banter like he usually did.

Fieran drew in a deep, steadying breath, the roast he'd eaten sinking like a stone in his stomach. Time for his announcement. "During our lunch break today, Merrik and I enlisted in the Escarlish Flying Corps."

For a heartbeat, Fieran's entire family just gaped at him.

The book that Ellie had been not-so-secretly reading below the table hit the floor with a thump.

"What?" Louise dropped her fork into her roast.

"That's what you were doing?" Adry waved her fork, flinging bits of gravy into the air.

Tryndar blinked, as if he couldn't quite process what was going on.

Fieran shrugged and risked a glance at Dacha, his breath tight and aching in his chest. Of everyone, he was most nervous about Dacha's reaction.

Dacha had gone hard as stone, his jaw set, his gaze on his plate. After a strained moment, he shoved away from the table, spun on his heel, and marched from the room, the door swinging shut with a clunk behind him.

Fieran sagged in his chair, his stomach twisting into even more painful knots. All he wanted was for Dacha to be proud of him. Instead, it seemed Dacha was angry.

When Fieran managed to drag his eyes up from his plate again, he met Mama's gaze.

She was smiling that sad smile she wore as a mask even when it didn't fully reach her green eyes. "When do you leave for basic training?"

"A month from now." Fieran's throat was squeezing closed. He didn't think he could handle it if his mother gave him that disappointed look as well. "So I'll still be here for your birthday party next week."

As his mother was turning ninety years old—a prestigious age for any human, but one rarely reached while still looking as young as his mother did thanks to her elven heart bond with Dacha—the entire family, including some of his aunts and uncles, had a large celebration planned.

"I wasn't worried about that." The sad tilt to his mother's mouth remained. "How long will you be gone?"

"It's an accelerated training, so it will be basic training, flight school, and officer training all in one." Fieran shrugged. "And after that…"

He had no idea. He'd go wherever he was stationed. And when war broke out, well, who knew what would happen then.

Mama's shoulders heaved with a long breath, her voice burdened but steady. "With the war coming, it was inevitable that you'd enlist. All of us will be called upon to serve in one way or another once war breaks out."

Mama glanced around the table, her gaze lingering on Adry and Louise before she turned back to Fieran.

Something squeezed in Fieran's chest at the thought of his sisters getting dragged into the war. Adry would be fine. She fought better than he did most days, and she had that same fire in her that was driving him to enlist.

But Louise was quiet, her mind always spinning with mechanics and new inventions. She wouldn't do well, if asked to fight in a war.

At least Ellie and Tryndar would be spared from fighting, even if they'd still feel the effects of a war. At thirteen and five in human years, they were far too young and wouldn't come into their magic for many years yet.

Fieran would just have to contribute enough that none of the kingdoms thought to ask more from his sisters than they were willing to give.

Then again, Dacha would never let the Tarenhieli or Escarlish army call up Adry or Louise if they weren't willing. Neither would Uncle Weylind nor Uncle Averett. Adry and Louise would be fine.

Supper was finished in near silence, then Mama pushed to her feet. "Adry, Tryndar, it's your turn for the dishes. Louise, Ellie, you can help clear the table."

As Fieran's siblings jumped to obey, Mama tipped her head toward the door in a subtle command. Fieran followed her from the dining room and across the hall into the smaller of their two parlors.

Mama sat on the couch, shooing Munchkins, one of their orange tabby cats, out of the way.

Fieran sank onto the seat on the far side of the couch. "I know it's sudden, and I probably should have talked to you and Dacha first. But I…"

He wasn't sure what to tell his mama or how to describe that feeling inside him driving him toward this. Or admit that he hadn't dared tell them beforehand.

"You wanted a grand adventure. I understand." Mama leaned forward, running a hand down the cat's back as Munchkins huffily curled up next to her. A hint of her usual smile returned to her face. "I decided to marry your dacha after meeting him mere minutes before because an arranged marriage with an elf sounded like a grand adventure. I'm not angry. Neither is your dacha."

Fieran released a long breath. Thanks to the elven heart bond, his mama had a pretty good idea what Dacha was thinking at the moment. A heart bond didn't give them telepathy, but there was a certain awareness of each other and their emotions. At least, that was what Fieran had heard. "I'm sorry it's a shock."

"Not exactly a shock." Mama shook her head, a wry twist to her smile. "I was expecting something, though I wasn't sure what or when. You've been restless."

Fieran shifted, glancing away. He hadn't realized his mama had noticed the way his current life had begun to feel a little…small.

Mama trailed her fingers over the cat as Munchkins purred even louder. "Your dacha will adjust. He feels the weight of the coming war and our part in it very keenly."

"I noticed." Fieran leaned his elbows on his knees, rubbing a thumb against his palm. His palms still ached from sword training that morning.

Mama sighed, her gaze going unfocused as she stared out the window into the forested parkland. "Seventy years ago, we chose to avoid war and buy ourselves decades of peace to raise you children. The consequence of that choice is that we will have to watch you go to war. This war is of our making, but it will be yours to fight. That's not an easy thing for your dacha to come to terms with."

Fieran braced his hands on his knees to keep them from bouncing. At least talking about this with her was easier than with Dacha, who had the scars and the memories of torture in his eyes. "I'll be fine, Mama."

She looked up, blinking as if remembering he was there. She shook her head, a hint of a smile returning, though the smile didn't banish the sadness in her eyes. "I can see my words are making little difference. You can't hide your eagerness."

"I'm not eager, exactly. Just…" He wasn't quite sure how to describe it. He knew war was terrible. And he wasn't exactly hoping for war.

But if war was inevitable, then what was the harm of hoping he'd get his chance for glory and great deeds once it came?

Mama nodded, as if she understood what he wasn't saying. "Give your dacha time. He will come around. Though I'll warn you, your morning training won't be easy for the next month. Your dacha was sent off to war unprepared and far too young. He doesn't want that for you."

"I know." Fieran grimaced, rubbing harder at the calluses on his palms. Mornings were majorly going to hurt from now on.

Fieran foundhis Dacha leaning against the railing of the patio balcony. A slight breeze toyed with his dacha's long elven hair while he stared unseeing into the nighttime forest.

Fieran rested his elbows against the railing. It took some doing, but he swallowed back his words and didn't immediately speak.

After long moments of silence, Dacha's shoulders hunched as he dropped his gaze from the distance. "You enlisted."

Fieran suspected his dacha wouldn't be pleased with his logic that they should join up now so they didn't miss any of the war. "Yes."

Dacha's shoulders slumped further, his head hanging. More long moments of silence stretched between them.

"I'm going to be all right, Dacha. I'll have Merrik to guard my back, and you've trained me well." Fieran shrugged, unable to keep the excited note from his voice.

"I have trained you to fight, but I have not trained you to kill. There is a difference." Dacha lifted his head, though he still did not look at Fieran. His voice held a raw, weighty note. "I mourn what I know you will lose."

Fieran swallowed. He wasn't sure what to say to that. While his dacha did not talk about the wars often, Fieran had seen the scars that traced thin lines over his dacha's wrists, arms, torso, and even his ankles. His dacha had been thrown into war when he was barely grown, far younger than Fieran was now. Dacha had been captured twice…and tortured twice.

"But, sason." Dacha turned to him and gripped Fieran's shoulders in the elven way of hugging. "I am proud of who you are now, and I will be proud of who you will become."

Great. His dacha so rarely said such heartfelt things. For once, Fieran was at a loss for words.

He returned his dacha's elven shoulder-hug and cleared his throat. "Linshi, Dacha."

The elvish thank you rolled easily from his tongue. Fieran had grown up speaking both elvish and Escarlish as his family spent half their time in Tarenhiel in the royal elven palace and half their time at their Escarlish estate.

Dacha released Fieran, and they both stepped back to lean against the railing again.

Fieran turned his face to the forest as the icy breeze brushed his face and ruffled his short red hair. Soon, that breeze would be the cold winds of the sky as he piloted his very own flyer.

After long minutes of quiet, Dacha abruptly gave a soft snort of a laugh and shook his head.

"What was that laugh for?" Fieran eyed his dacha. He hadn't expected laughter in the wake of his enlistment.

"Did you make your bed this morning?" Dacha raised his eyebrows.

"Uh, maybe? I don't remember."

"And your room? When was the last time you picked up your clothes?"

"Um…" Fieran winced, thinking about the clothes he'd left tossed on a chair and on the floor.

Dacha was smirking now, a knowing glint in his eyes. "The discipline of the Escarlish military will be quite the shock for you, sason."

Fieran couldn't argue with that. Of course he would have to get used to making his bed and being neat and tidy with his clothing. But he could handle a little discipline.

And once he was in the air…nothing else would matter.