Page 32 of Storm to Victory
“No, not Pip.” Fieran stepped in front of her, as if to protect her from his uncle’s schemes. He wasn’t doubting Pip’s courage or magic in the least.
But he agreed with his dacha. He didn’t like this plan. At all.
Pip rested a hand on his arm. “I’m officially in the army now. They actually can order me to do this.”
“But they won’t.” Fieran held Uncle Edmund’s gaze for a moment before he looked at Uncle Julien, who would likely be the more sympathetic of the two. “She’s not a warrior. She’s a mechanic. If she doesn’t want to do this, she won’t be forced.”
“No, she won’t.” Uncle Julien’s voice was low, but his gaze was unwavering.
“None of you will be forced into this.” Uncle Edmund nodded to Fieran before gesturing between Dacha and himself. “Your dacha and I will be going regardless, of course. Fieran and Pip, your participation is strictly voluntary.”
Fieran half-turned to meet Pip’s gaze. He didn’t want her to come along and experience that kind of danger. He’d been determined to do whatever it took to end the war, but risking Pip’s life on a crazy mission wasn’t what he’d had in mind.
But this was her decision, and he wouldn’t make it for her. She wasn’t a child who needed choices made for her about what danger she could handle.
No, she was a capable woman who had faced bombs and battles. Her magic was strong, and her courage even stronger.
Pip’s gaze dropped for just a moment, her shoulders hunching as if to make herself smaller. She was silent for several moments before her posture straightened. Her eyes flashed back up to meet his with an iron determination. She reached out and gripped his hand again. “If you’re going, then I’m going.”
Pip would stick by his side no matter which choice he made. He clasped her hand, nodded, and turned to face his uncles again.
Dacha’s gaze and jaw were hard, his arms crossed over his chest. He was likely hoping Fieran would decide to stay here.
Yet this was everything Fieran had dreamed about as a child. Going into battle and glory at his dacha’s side, a warrior worthy of the Laesornysh name.
Now he knew there was no glory in battle. War held nothing but death and destruction. But he was still Laesornysh, and he still longed to go into battle at his dacha’s side. He knew deep within his soul that, together, he and his dacha could end this war.
Fieran glanced over his shoulder first at Rothilion, then at Merrik. His childhood dreams might spur him to go, but his duty and loyalty to his squadron grounded him to stay. He couldn’t leave his squadron behind. More than his magic, they were the source of his strength. The reason he’d made it this far in the war. He couldn’t abandon them now.
But Pretty Face might be a prisoner at that facility. If Fieran went, he could rescue him and finally bring him home. Did Fieran’s duty lie with the one he’d lost or with the many he’d leave behind?
“The squadron will be all right.” Rothilion tipped his head. “I will look after them.”
“Due to the shielding wires invented by Capt. Detmuk-Inawenys, the squadrons will still have the benefit of your magic to protect them.” Uncle Julien spoke up, as if he understood the source of Fieran’s hesitation.
Fieran shook his head and gave Pip a fake glare. “Told you that you’d make me obsolete.”
“I might have thought twice about it if I’d realized it would free you to be sent off into danger in Mongavaria,” Pip muttered with a glance toward his uncles.
“But speaking about the Half-Breed Squadron…” Uncle Julien’s tone had Fieran turning his attention back to him. Uncle Julien held up a folded piece of paper. “Capt. Rothilion, you have a choice as well. If Fieran should take the mission to Mongavaria, you would be the new captain of the squadron. However, I’m working with the navy on a top-secret project that will coincide with the mission into Mongavaria. We are lookingto recruit six of the top elven pilots for this project, and, if you agree, I’d like you to lead those elves.”
Rothilion glanced from Fieran to the paper in Uncle Julien’s hand. “And this project…will it assist with Laesornysh’s mission into Mongavaria?”
“Yes. It will help ensure the end of the war.” Uncle Julien continued to hold out the piece of paper. “I’m afraid you won’t be told more than that until you report to Sylmare to prepare for your mission. If you agree, you’ll leave in two days.”
Fieran’s throat closed. All of them had choices, choices that would split the Half-Breed Squadron apart. It would be what was best to win the war, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t mourn it.
Rothilion stepped forward and, with a deliberate motion, took the paper from Uncle Julien’s hand. “Then I accept.”
“Good.” Uncle Julien nodded, picked up a second folded paper, and held it out to Merrik. “Then, should Fieran accept the mission, you would be the captain of the Half-Breed Squadron.”
Merrik took a step back, his eyes widening. As if he’d never thought such a duty would fall to him.
And it never would, if Fieran stayed here.
That settled deep within his heart, making his decision for him with a sense of right certainty.
“Then you’d better take that paper, Merrik. Because I’m going with my dacha into Mongavaria.” Fieran couldn’t believe those words were coming out of his mouth.
