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He lowered her into his arms. “Adry?”

She was so pale. So still. Was she even breathing? He tore off his goggles and cap. When he placed his ear near her face, he couldn’t feel or hear the stirring of her breath.

“No. No, come back to me.” He cradled the back of her head, murmuring against her hair. “Please come back to me.”

Perhaps he should have set her down to begin chest compressions. But this wasn’t physical, not in the way that chest compressions would solve.

With the scuff of boots, Dacha skidded to a halt next to Merrik and Adry, falling to his knees. The other guards spread out before them, taking up guarding positions.

Dacha gripped Merrik’s shoulder, his gaze focused on Adry. He didn’t speak, kneeling beside Merrik in a dreadful, frozen moment of waiting.

Merrik pressed a soft kiss to Adry’s forehead, gathering her tight in his arms, not caring who was there to witness. “Please.”

He couldn’t lose her. He wouldn’t let her magic take her from him. Whatever depths of love they shared, whatever link that provided them, he mentally reached for her and willed her to breathe.

With a gasp, her whole body shuddered as she dragged in a breath.

“There you are.” Merrik released a long breath as he murmured against her hair.

Dacha’s breath whooshed out in his own sigh, his hand giving Merrik’s shoulder a squeeze before dropping.

“Merrik.” His name was a whisper, the syllables drawn out. She didn’t open her eyes, as if even that much movement would take too much energy.

“I am here.” He cradled her against his chest, thankful to feel the rise and fall of her breaths against his arms.

“Just wanna sleep.” She turned her head to better tuck it against his chest.

“Then rest. It is all right now.” He forced himself to ease some of his tight grip on her, though he still cradled her against his chest.

High in the sky, a handful of damaged airships limped toward the eastern horizon, the dots of the Mongavarian aeroplanes providing escort. The whining whir of the Alliance aeroplanes roared overhead as they swooped along the battle lines.

Shouted orders rang through the hills moments before elf and human warriors streamed past where Merrik knelt, holding Adry.

Yards away, the Mongavarian soldiers were slowly standing, hands in the air, scraps of white cloth waving. They didn’t have so much as a lump of metal to throw at the Alliance soldiers racing toward them.

Just like that, the entire Empress Line was collapsing, surrendering. Thousands of Mongavarian soldiers standing down in the face of the power Adry—and he was guessing her family—had unleashed.

The war might not be over officially, but for today, it had met its end.

Dacha yanked one of the large pouches from his belt, opened it, and rummaged around the bandages and other medical supplies. He pulled out a jar of salve, uncapped it, and swiped a dollop with his fingers. “Hold still, sason.”

Merrik froze, then hissed when Dacha touched the salve to that stinging spot on his cheek, only then growing aware of how both it and his hands were aching. “Are you going to tell me I told you so?”

“No.” Dacha shook his head as he worked the salve into the burn on Merrik’s cheek.

“Good. Because it is your fault, you know.” Merrik tilted his face to give his dacha a better angle for tending the burn. “I am just following your example of loyally guarding a Laesornysh in battle.”

“I, at least, have the sense to know when it is best to stay under cover.” Dacha gestured first toward the earthworks behind them before motioning to where Merrik held Adry. “Your hands.”

Merrik cradled Adry with one arm and extended the other toward Dacha. The leather glove over his hand was in tatters, patches of it burned through to show raw, reddened skin. The end of his flight coat’s sleeve had also burned away, revealing the leather and metal dwarven bracer he wore beneath. Those bracers, laced with dwarven iron magic as they were, had probably saved his wrists and forearms from similar burns.

He gritted his teeth, hissing at the pain, as Dacha eased the glove off, revealing the patches of burns blistered across his palm and the pads of his fingers.

Dacha swiped more salve from the jar before dabbing it on the burns on Merrik’s hand. “However, I would suggest, sason, that if you are going to continue throwing yourself into danger following a Laesornysh, you should marry her sooner rather than later, form a heart bond, and hope that gives you some measure of immunity from her magic.”

“Is immunity a possibility?” Merrik tried to keep his voice steady as he spoke between clenched teeth. He wasn’t yet ready to mention the way he’d sensed she was in danger before, and how he’d reached for her just now. Was it the beginning of a heart bond already? Was such a thing possible?

“Yes. Although it is unknown if it will occur in every heart bond formed with a Laesornysh.” Dacha reached for a roll of bandages. “Essie was married to Farrendel for only a short time before he melded his magic with the heart bond, changing the nature of how his magic interacted with her. There were indications that she could be immune, but they never fully tested it before she gained full use of his magic. Yet most heart bonded couples gain some level of immunity to or influence with each other’s magic.”