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He leveled out and lined up on the patch of open grass. A shorter runway than he would have liked, but it wasn’t like this aeroplane would be taking off from there, not after he’d drained both power cells.

With practiced, rote movements, he shoved his goggles onto his forehead so that, if he crashed, the shattering glass of the lenses wouldn’t take out his eyes. Then he double-checked that the engine, shield, and other power switches were turned off. Sure, the power cells were showing empty, but he couldn’t risk any remnants of power being free to explode on impact if things went wrong.

Lower…lower…then his wheels jounced against the ground. He held his breath as the long grass yanked at the wheel struts and threatened to slow him too quickly, which would send his aeroplane careening onto its nose.

A slight rise in the ground slowed him just enough for the tail to land with a jolt. The tailskid dug in, further slowing his aeroplane.

He was already unbuckling his lap belt and working his way from the aeroplane before it had fully rolled to a halt. When he leapt from the still-moving warbird, his knees nearly buckled at the impact of hitting the unmoving ground.

Gathering his legs beneath him, he broke into a jog, his focus on the crackling tornado of blue magic swirling ahead of him.

He’d only gone a few yards when he was grabbed, yanked to the side, and forced down behind a set of earthworks.

“Get down.” His dacha had him in a firm grip, holding him against the dirt.

To the other side of Dacha, the other elite guards huddled against the earth, their weapons drawn but useless in their hands.

Merrik struggled against his dacha’s unrelenting hold. “No. I need to go to her.”

He could still hear her whispered words, I’d lose myself completely.

She was losing herself now, and Merrik was the only one who could pull her back from this brink.

“No, sason. You cannot.” Dacha’s grip tightened, though it wasn’t painful due to the thickness of Merrik’s flight jacket. “I have only seen one person safely approach a Laesornysh warrior with his magic unleashed like this, and she shared a heart bond with him. You do not yet share one with her.”

“I still need to go to her.” Merrik stopped struggling and met his dacha’s gaze. “She is too far in the magic. She needs me.”

He would never be her equal in magical power nor could he fight at her side the way Pip could with Fieran due to the way her iron magic was compatible with his.

But Merrik could do this. He could hold her here—hold her together—when her magic became too much. He could be her rock in the magical storm, her shelter after the war and the bloodshed was done.

After a long moment, Dacha’s eyes grew sad, almost haunted. Slowly, as if he felt he was releasing Merrik to go to his death, Dacha’s fingers lifted from his shoulder.

Merrik tugged his goggles over his eyes before he scrambled to his feet, using the embankment as leverage. He still wore his flight clothes and the dwarven bracers on his forearms beneath his coat. Hopefully the thick layers would provide some protection against the scorching magic. If Adry were actually trying to kill him, they wouldn’t do anything to stop her magic from incinerating him. But from a few stray bolts? Maybe.

He was gambling his life on that maybe. And on his trust that, even now, Adry wouldn’t hurt him.

Straightening from behind the earthworks, he stepped into the outer edge of the storm of magic. The magic was thrashing into a gale, tugging and tearing at his clothes. Every breath burned in his throat, and he lifted his arm over his face for some paltry protection.

He forged into the maelstrom, step by step, ever closer to the figure kneeling on the ground, her hands braced on her swords stabbed into the earth, her red-gold hair whipping around her. Blue bolts crackled off her like water retreating in the tide, crashing outward in wave after wave.

“Adry!” he shouted into the roar, the word barely ringing even in his own ears.

Something lashed against his cheek, scorching a line of pain on the skin exposed above his silk scarf and below his flight cap and goggles.

Still he pressed onward, fighting the pressure of the whirling magic for every step, until he was within reach. He fell to his knees, reached out, and gripped her shoulders. He opened his mouth to call her name, but whatever he would have said disappeared into a cry as a burning agony seared into his hands even through his gloves.

But he didn’t let go. He tightened his grip despite the pain and ducked his head against the force of the magic surging around them. “I am here, Adry. I will not let go.”

She didn’t react to his touch or his words, too deeply gone in the magic. When she finally spoke, it was with a voice so ancient, so deep, that it no longer sounded like hers as it reverberated through the magic. “We are Laesornysh.”

Something in Merrik quaked. This was a power beyond him. Beyond her. All he could do was hold her and hope—hope—it was enough.

The magic seemed to still for a heartbeat as old as the mountains. Then with a blasting rush, it swept past where he and Adry knelt, bolts of powers tearing at the two of them before traveling onward.

The air cleared long enough for Merrik to drag in a deep breath. The ground beneath him quaked, as if from a far-off tremor.

Then Adry went limp, her hands sliding off her swords and her body slumping into Merrik’s grip.