Chapter 7

Seven

Fieran levered himself onto the top bunk and collapsed onto the hard, flat mattress, too tired to care if it wasn't nearly as soft as what he was used to back home. After the day of travel and the long night of processing into the army, his eyes were gritty, his body sagging with the urge to sleep.

But his butt cheek still throbbed from that shot, as did both of his arms from those vaccines and push-ups.

At least with the last names of Laesornysh and Loiatir, he and Merrik had gotten top bunks side by side in the barracks. It turned out their new friend Lije's last name was Lake, so he was assigned the bed below Fieran's.

"Would anyone like some ice?"

At the high-pitched tenor, Fieran rolled onto an elbow to peer across the barracks.

A troll stood almost directly across the barracks from Fieran's bunk. He was unusually short for a troll, his head barely level with the bunk next to him, yet he retained the broad shoulders and brawny arms, making him look a little bit like a bulldog. Despite his huge chest, he had the highest pitched tenor voice Fieran had heard, a surprising sound coming from such a well-built troll.

But as he held up his hand, white magic laced his fingers. With his other hand, he poured a stream of water from a canteen onto his palm. The water froze as soon as it came into contact with his magic. He shaped the water into flat circles.

A few of the others made their way around the center "sergeant's zone" where the recruits weren't allowed to step. Reaching the troll, they claimed a handful of ice, pressing it to whatever butt cheek received the stab.

Fieran hopped down from his bunk as Lije shoved to his feet. Merrik joined them, and the three of them strode around the perimeter of the room to join the line.

As Fieran reached the troll, the troll started to hold out the ice, only to pause, his eyes lifting as he took in Fieran. "You're an elf."

"Half-elf." Fieran waved to him. "Troll?"

"Half-troll." His high-pitched tenor was even more out of place this close. He grinned and held out a hand. "Donkyn Sairdror, but I go by Tiny. My da helped build the Alliance Bridge before he moved to Aldon and married my ma."

Fieran returned the handshake, grinning, even as he internally braced himself. "Fieran Laesornysh. My parents are the reason there is a bridge."

Tiny's bushy white eyebrows shot up. "Son of Prince Farrendel Laesornysh?"

"Yeah." Fieran shrugged, as if the Laesornysh name wasn't that big of a deal.

Tiny just grinned wider, showing off his white teeth, and handed over the chunk of ice. "Won't Da and Ma be surprised? Serving in the same squadron as Laesornysh's son."

Fieran really needed to change the topic before this turned into more of a discussion of his famous parents.

Not to mention, the ice chunk was rather cold in his hands. He pressed the ice to his butt cheek. "Well, you're a life saver."

Lije reached past Fieran, claimed an ice chunk, and held it to his own rear end, heaving a sigh. "Don't you mean butt saver?"

A few of the others around them devolved into ever more crude versions of butt-saving.

Tiny rolled his eyes and handed off a piece of ice to Merrik.

As Fieran and Merrik made their way around the perimeter of the room once again, avoiding the lines that denoted the sergeant's zone at the center of the room, a short, scrawny young man knelt before a footlocker, a box made of shabby, cheap wood and painted an even shabbier green. He was arranging everything from toilet paper to extra toothbrushes in the space allotted to him.

"How did you manage to get all that stuff in past processing?" Fieran halted next to him, still holding the ice to his rear. At least the troll magic was keeping the ice from melting as rapidly as it normally would, though it burned his fingers with cold.

"I have my ways." The scrawny young man grinned up at Fieran with a smile that was missing a few teeth. "I have toothbrushes, toothpaste, foot powder. You name it, I got it. Toilet paper sold by the square or by the roll."

The young man named a price that was about ten times the normal price of toilet paper.

"That's highway robbery!" The young man on the bunk above snorted.

"When the army food starts hitting and the latrines run out of toilet paper, you'll change your tune." The young man closed the lid of his footlocker. "Plus I got the good stuff. None of that scratch-your-skin-off stuff the army uses."

"How do you even know what army food is like?" Fieran leaned a shoulder against the bunk.

The young man lounged on his closed footlocker. "My brothers warned me that army food is even worse than prison food. And they should know. I'm the youngest of six brothers, and all five of my older brothers are—or were—in prison. The oldest one was hung a while back. Anyway, one of us had to stay out of the joint and take care of our mama, so when the judge gave me the choice of prison or army, I picked army."

Fieran opened his mouth, then shut it. What was he supposed to say to something like that? He wasn't sure if he'd ever met a criminal before. Well, Uncle Edmund had a bit of the criminal about him, but he was a spy so it was okay. More or less.

The young criminal went on without waiting for Fieran to respond. "At least I could pick the Flying Corps. They're so desperate for pilots they'll take anyone, even someone like me, as long as I can pass all the tests and stuff. Parking my rear in a flyer sounds better than marching on the ground, and I'd never make officer rank in the regular army. The officer's pay will be rather nice to send to my mama."

Fieran cleared his throat and managed a few words at last. "I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

"She will. She might even be able to afford to take the train to visit my brothers now and then. She misses them something fierce." The young delinquent held out a hand. "I'm Stickyfingers Smith."

"Fieran." Fieran shook Stickyfingers' hand, glad to find that the moniker wasn't literal. He gestured to the others. "This is Merrik and Lije."

Stickyfingers waved to each of them. "Nice to meet you."

Merrik gave a stilted, subtle elven wave in return, as if he, too, wasn't sure if associating with a criminal was wise.

Lije grinned and shook Stickyfingers' hand. "Are any of your brothers in Endow Prison? I got a couple of distant cousins in there."

"No." Stickyfingers rattled off a list of the prisons where his brothers were at.

Fieran nodded along, then gave another deeper nod before he and Merrik meandered away, leaving Lije still talking with Sticky.

Back at their bunks, a young man with dark brown hair was settling into the bunk below Merrik's. He had the kind of chiseled features Fieran's sisters assured him was handsome, and the droop to his eyelids and languid pose suggested he knew it. He held a small hand mirror and was inspecting the lighter patches on his face that must have been covered by a fashionable mustache and small beard before the army barber got a hold of him.

The young man's eyes remained on the mirror as they approached. "Do you think the ladies will mind the new look?"

"I don't think we'll be seeing many ladies around here." Fieran leaned against the back of the bunk.

"I spied a few cute secretaries, and then there's the ladies who serve in the mess. Not to mention we'll eventually get leave to go into Bridgetown." The young man smoothed a hand over his recently shaved cheek, then finally lowered the mirror. As his gaze landed first on Fieran, then on Merrik, he swung upright with a groan. "Oh, come on! Elves! Here I joined the army hoping to pick up dames—you know how the ladies love a man in uniform—but I can't compete with a couple of elves. Not fair."

"Half-elves. Our mothers are humans." Fieran gestured from himself to Merrik. "And you can have the ladies' fawning."

He'd dealt with it his whole life, and it only got worse once the young women realized he was a prince.

At least having the ladies flirt with him wasn't as bad as when they flirted with his dacha. Dacha never flirted back, of course. He was utterly devoted to Mama. But it was just awkward watching ladies throw themselves at Dacha because he was an elf with a pretty face, not seeming to care that he was married with five children.

Then there was that awkward poster that had gotten around years ago that featured a sketch of Dacha lounging about in a shirtless, sexy pose. Dacha had never posed for such a thing, and the artist had only gotten away with it because he'd marketed it as a poster of a generic elf rather than one of Dacha.

But it had clearly been Dacha. Dacha had been mortified.

Fieran was mortified whenever that poster made its rounds again.

"Even half as pretty as a full elf, you're still half an elf too handsome." The young man grumbled, sighed, then tucked the mirror into a pocket. "I suppose I will just have to settle for being the third most handsome specimen in the unit."

"Such a hardship, I'm sure." Fieran shook his head and climbed back onto his bunk. It was beyond time to get some shut-eye before morning muster.