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“She is.” Merrik had no hesitation there. Pip’s steadiness and good sense was exactly what Fieran needed, and Fieran’s good-natured, adventurous spirit pushed Pip to step out of her comfort zone and use her talents to her fullest extent.

A longing filled Merrik’s chest, so painful that he had to resist pressing a hand over it.

The only girl he could picture himself with was sitting across from him right now, her red-blonde hair glinting in the morning sunlight, her blue eyes twinkling.

But she would never look at him that way. No, she saw him only as another brother.

Chapter

Eleven

Adry whirled as she wielded her swords, her magic flashing around her. After taking a short run, she pushed off a tree trunk with her foot, launching herself into the air. She landed in a crouch, her swords poised before her.

A few yards away, Merrik lay on his back on the grass with his wheelchair next to him at the end of his root rails. He was currently doing an exercise called the bicycle, slowly stretching out one leg, then the other.

Adry straightened from her crouch and cleared her throat. She probably shouldn’t bring this up. Merrik had shown far more life in his eyes lately, and she didn’t want to snuff it out again.

But this would need to be talked about, even if Merrik would want to avoid it.

“Fieran returned to Fort Defense.” Adry fell into the familiar sword forms, holding each position for a moment before moving to the next one. Going through her forms kept her moving for the conversation, but she could keep a closer eye on Merrik to gauge his reaction than she could when actively practicing.

Merrik sighed, pausing his exercises for a moment. His voice held a weight to it. “I heard.”

Adry dropped to the next sword form, clamping her mouth shut to resist the urge to speak. This seemed like a moment when she needed to let Merrik voice what was eating at him.

“He sent me a letter.” Merrik returned to his exercises, but he went through them with more stilted movements. “I have not been able to bring myself to read it yet.”

Adry stuffed back the words boiling inside her. Nope, not yet. Merrik needed more space, more time, to get it all out. Her sword stances turned sharper with her agitation, but she kept at them.

He heaved another sigh, this one harsher. “I know I should not resent him for the crash. He was reckless, yes. But there was nothing else he could have done. Our duty was to throw ourselves into that fight, regardless of the consequences to ourselves, and to be prepared to die in a reckless fury.”

Not yet. Still she waited.

“Yet I cannot help but blame him.” Merrik clenched his fists as he halted his exercises. “He charged into that battle without so much as a thought or a plan. As he always does. And I am the one paying for it. Again. He is returning to full duty, and I cannot even walk unassisted yet.”

Of course he’d be bitter. Not that she could blame him. A small seed of bitterness rested in her gut as well. Fieran had already gotten his chance at joining this war. Yet he was going back to the war, even after all his injuries, while she had yet to get her chance.

Merrik turned his head and grimaced. “I probably should not be telling you this. He is your brother.”

“That’s exactly why you should be telling me. He’s my brother. I understand being mad at him.” Adry stabbed one of her swords forward, the other sweeping over her head. “I’ve been angry with him a lot. And right now, I have my own struggle not to resent him.”

“What do you resent Fieran for?” A muscle at the corner of Merrik’s jaw knotted.

“It’s frustrating how everyone expects Fieran to be Dacha’s heir and carry on the Laesornysh legacy.” Adry put more power into her next stab and swing. “I know Fieran feels that pressure, and it’s been hard on him in its own way.”

This time, Merrik remained quiet with his head turned to study her.

“But what if I want to be the one to carry on Dacha’s legacy? To be the next Laesornysh warrior?” Adry released a hint of her magic, letting it crackle down her blades. That tiny release wasn’t enough compared to the fiery roil in her chest, but she had to unleash some of it before she burned from the inside out. “I want to be there on the front, fighting, so badly it hurts. Instead I’m stuck here.”

“War is not something to long for.” Merrik’s tone dropped, holding the same weary note that her dacha’s voice got at times. “You do not know the cost of killing. It is terrible.”

“But maybe I’m terrible.” She stabbed both swords forward, as if through an opponent’s head and heart. “Maybe I’m terrible enough that I think I can handle killing. Maybe I know deep in my soul that I was born to do this. To be the Laesornysh like my dacha before me. But no one will even give me that chance.”

That was the most frustrating thing. Feeling like everyone was holding her back. Her uncle King Weylind refused to send her to war. Her dacha hadn’t asked for her to be stationed at the front yet. Her commanding officer was content to let her molder in training that was way below her skill level.

She swung her swords in an arc before pausing to hold the stance. “Everyone expects Fieran to follow in Dacha’s footsteps because he is the firstborn son. But I’m the firstborn daughter. Shouldn’t they have the same expectations of me?”

She gave a growl from deep in her throat as she whirled, her swords whistling through the air, before she stabbed forward again. Even with hints of her magic crackling around her, it wasn’t enough. It was never enough to quench the fire in her chest.