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As they wound their way between the aeroplanes, he pointed out which aeroplane belonged to each pilot. On the far side, they reached the last two biplanes near the wall.

“This one is my aeroplane, and that one is Fieran’s. That’s Pip’s workbench along the wall there, closest to his aeroplane.” Merrik pointed as he spoke.

Adry snorted a laugh as she took in the artwork on Fieran’s aeroplane, the red hair turning to flames, the small scenes of airships and magic wreathed in the flames, the blue bolts, and the large elf ear. “I could’ve guessed which one was Fieran’s just from the artwork. It’s very him.”

“Yes.” Merrik’s grin faded as his gaze landed first on Fieran’s aeroplane, then his own, which was emblazoned with a leaf and a more subtle elf ear than Fieran’s. “Pretty Face did the artwork weeks ago, as soon as a replacement was sent, even though no one knew if I would return.”

Adry rested her free hand on his arm. “You miss him.”

“Yeah. The squadron is not the same without him.” Merrik released a long breath. “Hopefully he is all right.”

“I’m sure he is.” She had no such confidence, but it seemed the right thing to say.

Merrik shook himself, and his smile returned. He hefted her bag higher, which he’d been toting around this whole time. “We should get you settled in your room.”

Adry nodded, and the two of them headed for a large outer door. Once outside, Merrik gestured to the mess hall and other buildings that served the aerodrome. Before them, a line of tents pitched on wooden platforms tucked into a stand of trees.

Merrik pointed to the tent and platform that had a ramp leading up to it. The tips of his ears turned pink. “That tent is mine. If you need anything.”

“Good to know.” Adry worked to keep her amused smile tucked away.

The two of them walked down the hill toward what Merrik explained was the headquarters section of Fort Defense. Dacha and Uncle Iyrinder stood before the elven officer quarters. Well, Uncle Iyrinder stood. Dacha paced back and forth, as if too energized to stay still.

Merrik nodded to his dacha and hers before he turned to her. “I had better return to the hangar.”

She took her bag from him and pressed a light kiss to his cheek. “See you tonight?”

“Yes.” Merrik smiled before he turned and set off up the hill.

“Come, sena.” Dacha sent her a small smile as he gestured for her to follow.

After she hurried to catch up with him, he led her around the corner of the building to a door that was one down from his room on the end. “This one is yours.”

“Linshi.” Adry stepped inside and took in the small sitting area. There was a single window in the wall next to the door with the cushioned bench beneath it. The center of the room held a table with a single chair while the far side of the room and the wall to her left both had doors.

When she opened the door on her left, she found a small bedchamber with a bed about the width of a cot grown into the far wall. Behind the other door lay a private lavatory and shower. Another sign of how privileged she was, stationed here under her dacha instead of shuffled off to a normal army unit.

But she was a Laesornysh, like her father, like her brother. And soon, she’d step onto the battlefield and discover exactly what that meant.

Chapter

Twenty-One

With her swords strapped across her back, Adry stepped from her room into the gray of early dawn. She shivered at the chill wrapping around her, even knowing she’d warm up quickly.

At the end of the building, she met Dacha as he exited his room, his own swords resting in their sheaths across his back. He nodded to her, and the two of them set off into the chilly, dewy morning, Uncle Iyrinder trailing behind them in his capacity as Dacha’s guard detail.

The three of them rounded the far end of the nested hangar, cutting between the large building and where the Alliance airships docked in a thick stand of trees.

Behind the airship dock and to the left of the airfield, a hollow dipped into the ground, sheltered by the surrounding hills and the trees beyond.

Once in the meadow, Adry halted and drew her swords, the hilt comfortable in her hands. “Is anyone else coming?”

“No.” Dacha drew his own swords and dropped into a fighting stance. “This morning is just for you.”

That was about as close to a Show me what you’ve got as her dacha would say.

Reaching for her magic, she released her control just enough to let it crackle through her veins. With her muscles surging with her magic, she launched herself at Dacha, swinging one sword high, the other thrusting low.