Chapter 33
Chapter
Thirty-Three
Fieran stood beside Pip on the deck of the ship anchored in the harbor beneath Landri Castle.
Ahead of them, a table had been laid out beneath the warship’s turret in the shadow of the long guns stretching toward the bow of the ship.
Dacha, Prince Edmund, and Admiral Brynjar Vulred—supreme admiral of the Kostarian Fleet and shield brother to King Rharreth—stood on one side of the table as the representatives of each kingdom in the Alliance.
On the other side, Empress Bella glared, flanked by her son.
With a booming voice, Admiral Vulred read the contents of the surrender out loud, his voice piped through the ship so that anyone not assembled on deck would be able to hear.
A nearby radio sent his words to all the ships in the fleet, both those in the harbor and stationed in a cordon farther out to sea.
Fieran gripped Pip’s hand and tried to take in the words, but the unreality of it sent the sounds ringing in his ears without processing in his brain.
After all the fighting, the deaths, the blood on Fieran’s hands, the war would end today.
When he’d finished reading it, Admiral Vulred placed his piece of paper on the table once again, lining it up with the other three copies of the surrender that lay there.
Uncle Edmund held out a pen to Empress Bella, holding her gaze.
For long, tense moments she kept glaring, unbending, unyielding. Then she took the pen and stiffly signed each of the four copies of the surrender terms.
Once she’d signed all of them, Uncle Edmund, Dacha, and Admiral Vulred signed the surrender, making it official. As Admiral Vulred scrawled his signature on the final piece of paper, Fieran released a long breath and squeezed his eyes shut.
Shouldn’t he feel giddy? Happy? Relieved? Right now, there was just a strange numb incomprehension. He couldn’t quite process that the fighting was over.
Perhaps the relief would come later as the reality settled in.
For this moment as the guns of the fleet boomed a salute and the six aeroplanes led by Rothilion flew overhead, Fieran merely clasped Pip’s hand and breathed deeply of the salty sea breeze.
It was done. The war was over.
Fieran leaned on the metal railing at the prow, the light spray splashing him with chilly droplets.
In the sea around the ship, other smaller warships created a protective formation. Farther out, several submarines ran on the surface while overhead four airships provided air cover. All this extra precaution was to guard the three copies of the surrender that were currently locked in Rokyd’s safe.
Scuffing boots sounded behind him a moment before Capt. Rothilion appeared beside him. Rothilion gripped the rail, a green hue beneath his silver skin tone.
“Got your gear stowed?” Fieran raised his eyebrows. Rothilion had come aboard before their ship had left the rest of the fleet, having been rowed over from a strange-looking ship patrolling in the center of the Alliance Fleet. The ship had a huge, flat top with five aeroplanes parked on top.
Rothilion’s aeroplane was currently tied down at the end of the rather unwieldy-looking ramp hastily built over the bow gun turret and stretching over Fieran’s and Rothilion’s heads even now. The ramp wasn’t long enough for a landing, but they could launch the aeroplane in case of an attack.
“Yes.” Rothilion leaned farther forward as if he was debating upchucking over the side of the ship.
“So…the flat top. Your secret mission. You flew off a ship. I thought that was impossible.” Fieran edged farther upwind. Hopefully if he got Rothilion talking, he would be distracted from his seasickness.
“Apparently the engineers figured out more or less how to balance a flat top on a ship’s keel.
They are still fine-tuning it.” Rothilion sucked in a shaky breath and didn’t vomit.
“They realized that the size was not that much different from the landing strips in the trees that we elves have been using. The new aeroplanes have enough power to actually take off, and they rigged a similar root catching system for landing. It is a more efficient way of creating a mobile aeroplane airstrip since a seaborne ship has more capacity than an airship.”
“They gave you command of that small squadron of aeroplanes.” Fieran gestured back toward where the main fleet was now out of sight, still holding station before Landri. “Yet you’re giving it up?”
Rothilion huffed a mirthless laugh and released the railing long enough to wave at himself. “As my current state demonstrates, I am not well-suited to life onboard ship.”
“True.” Fieran told himself sternly that he wasn’t going to laugh at the sight of a motion-sick elf. He hadn’t thought Rothilion, of all elves, would have a flaw like seasickness. “We’ll be glad to have you back in the Half-Breed Squadron.”
“It will be good to be back, for as long as the squadron remains together.” Rothilion sighed, staring at the horizon. “Once a peace treaty is signed, there will be no more need for integrated Alliance units. My half of the squadron will return to Tarenhiel, and yours will remain in Escarland.”
A lump formed in Fieran’s throat at the thought.
Rothilion was right. Once a peace treaty was formally signed to negotiate the final and official end of hostilities, the Alliance would downsize from a war footing.
Many of the pilots would be let go. Whole squadrons might be disbanded.
As the only squadron formed of both elves and humans, the Half-Breed Squadron would likely be the first to disband, unless joint ventures were determined to still be useful.
Fieran swallowed and clapped Rothilion on the shoulder. “We will always be the Half-Breed Squadron, no matter where we go from here. That won’t change.”
“No, it will not.” Rothilion somehow managed a smile as he clapped Fieran on the shoulder in return.
As much as Fieran had longed for the end of the war, it was strange to be melancholy about the changes peace would bring.
Yet no matter what, the Half-Breed Squadron was a badge all of them would wear with honor for the rest of their lives.
After several days of navigating up the waters of the Hydalla seaway between the various islands and shoals, the ship anchored alongside one of the deepwater wharves jutting from below the bluffs of Fort Defense.
Overhead, aeroplanes bearing the elf ears of the Half-Breed Squadron soared in one last salute before they tipped their wings and headed for a landing on top of the familiar bluffs overlooking the docks.
They’d been providing an escort in the sky from the moment the fleet had entered their range, and the sight of his squadron overhead brought a smile to his face and a warmth to his chest as they guided him, Pip, and Rothilion home.
The gangplank lowered, linking the ship to the pier.
Fieran stood off to the side, his hand clasping Pip’s, as they waited for the official honor guard to disembark with the locked box containing the three copies of the signed surrender.
As the honor guard marched down the gangplank and disappeared down the wharf, a woman with her red hair and blue skirt flapping on the breeze stepped into sight.
Mama.
Behind her, Louise gripped Ellie’s hand while Adry held Tryndar on her hip.
Before Fieran could go more than a couple of steps in that direction, Fieran’s dacha all but dashed past him, taking the gangplank in three strides.
He swept Mama into his arms, holding her close and murmuring words into her hair.
She buried her face against his shoulder, her shoulders shaking as if she was crying.
Fieran swallowed. All through the war, his mama had been such a rock. Only now that the war was over did she let herself cry in front of them.
Mama lifted her head, and Dacha kissed her. Right there in front of all of them.
Fieran glanced away, just as another three people strode up the pier.
Pip yanked her hand free of his and raced down the gangplank, flinging herself into a group hug with her muka, dacha, and brother.
As Fieran followed at a much slower pace, Tryndar wiggled out of Adry’s grip and leapt the distance from her to Dacha and Mama, giving a shout. Dacha reached out and caught Tryndar without even looking, letting the kiss linger another moment before he and Mama pulled back.
As Dacha greeted Tryndar, Fieran reached the rest of the family, exchanging hugs with Adry, Louise, and Ellie. Thankfully his wound had fully healed, so he was in no danger of flinching and having to explain that he’d been hurt.
It was good to see them all alive and well. Adry had been fighting on the front these past weeks, and Louise, Ellie, and Tryndar had been in some kind of danger.
They’d all have stories to tell. But for now, Fieran was more than content to simply hug his sisters and enjoy having their whole family together again for the first time since he joined the army.
Strange how he’d gone through this whole war only to realize he’d already had what mattered most in life. Loving parents. Close siblings. A loyal friend. A life that was rich and full.
That life would be even more rich and full now. More friends. More family. And now he knew never to take them for granted.
To one side, Uncle Edmund swept Aunt Jalissa into his arms, the two of them laughing and crying as if they were the only two standing on that pier.
Mama reached up and touched the shortened strands of Dacha’s hair. “What happened?”
“I cut it.” Dacha leaned his forehead against hers, placing an emphasis on the words that Fieran didn’t quite understand as he repeated, “I cut it.”
Tryndar placed both hands over his head, as if to protect the long strands of his hair. “Am I going to have to cut my hair?”
Dacha laughed, the sound lighter and more unburdened than Fieran had heard in a long time. Adjusting Tryndar in his arms so that he was facing him more fully, Dacha shook his head. “No, sason. You do not have to cut your hair if you do not wish to do so.”