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He sent an extra thread of his magic through his prosthetic, taking his time to sense his magic spreading through the roots resting against his skin, down into the wooden calf and shin, and finally filling the foot and five wooden toes. As he focused on the sensations of the magic, some of the stabbing, phantom pain eased as his mind realized he could feel a right leg—a wooden leg, but still a leg.

“Tired?” Fieran’s voice was barely loud enough to ring over the drumming of the rain.

Merrik didn’t bother to open his eyes, even as he felt the weight of Fieran’s searching look. “Weather fronts make my ankles ache. It kept me awake last night.”

“Ankles?”

So Fieran had picked up on the plural. Thanks to the rain, his left ankle ached, which, of course, his brain decided meant that both ankles needed to ache despite the fact that he only had one made of flesh and bone. “Yeah. It is annoying enough when the ankle I still have aches. It, at least, has an excuse. But it is especially aggravating when the ankle I do not have decides to hurt.”

Fieran didn’t immediately reply to that, though Merrik still sensed the weight of his gaze. When the silence stretched far too long, Merrik sighed and forced himself to open his eyes and meet Fieran’s gaze. As he’d feared, the look there was far too concerned. “It is just a few aches, and they are infrequent.”

Truly, he was fortunate. The healers’ efforts in that surgery to reattach nerves had mostly eliminated any phantom pains. He could have been in far more pain if that hadn’t been as successful as it was.

The concerned furrow didn’t disappear from Fieran’s forehead nor the frown from his mouth.

Merrik sighed again and gestured down at his right leg. “Often, wearing my prosthetic the next day and using my magic to move my foot makes the phantom pain go away, as my magical senses tell my brain I am feeling my leg. If it gets worse, I will go to the healer.”

There likely wouldn’t be anything else a healer could do at that point, but hopefully the offer would reassure Fieran.

Finally, Fieran nodded, his voice somewhat rough. “Good. Uh, good.”

Since his expression still hadn’t returned to normal, Merrik leaned over and lightly punched Fieran’s shoulder. “I am fine.” He hoped Fieran could hear the certainty in his tone. “And I can now predict when storms are coming.”

The lighter note in Merrik’s voice finally erased the last of Fieran’s furrowed look, his customary grin returning. “That’s convenient. Especially for an aeroplane pilot.”

“Exactly.” Merrik settled into a more comfortable position once again, closing his eyes.

When silence fell between them once again, it was more comfortable than it had been in a long time. Likely not since the crash.

Perhaps it was that renewed kinship between them, but it felt rather good to actually joke with Fieran as the two of them used to.

Grinning, Merrik gestured at the roof. “I am so glad you dragged me into the Flying Corps. If you had not, we likely would have been in the infantry, languishing in the flooding trenches right about now. Instead, we get to lounge about a mansion and have a day off when it rains.”

Poor Adry. She would be huddled in some trench or bunker, hopefully somewhat dry. Was she thinking of him even now as he was thinking of her? Likely she would be putting together one of those wooden puzzles she’d purchased in Defense City. He could picture his dacha and hers, each working on a puzzle of their own.

“It is more pleasant.” Fieran settled deeper into his chair. He tilted his head toward Merrik once again, the grin fading. “Although, if you had been in the infantry, you might not have lost your leg.”

And they were back to serious topics once again. Since he didn’t want the focus to turn grim, Merrik kept his tone light, despite the topic. “Doubtful. I would have followed you or Adry into battle, one of you would have inevitably done something reckless, and I would have gotten my leg blown off anyway. Except instead of crashing into the airfield conveniently close to the hospital, I would have been lying in the mud of the battlefield far from help where I likely would have bled out.”

He hadn’t voiced that reality to himself yet. There was no point in dwelling on what-ifs. But in this case, the what-if likely wouldn’t have changed anything. He knew Adry and Fieran, and he knew himself.

“Still, you would have been fighting at Adry’s side.” Fieran’s grin didn’t return as he searched Merrik’s face.

Merrik laughed, tilting his head back as he imagined it. Perhaps now he and Adry could manage such a thing, but at the beginning of the war? She would have chafed at his hovering. He would have just been another big brother to her. “That would have been disastrous for our relationship. I would not have been able to resist hovering and worrying, and she would have resented the smothering. It is better that we fight this war together, but in our own places.”

“Instead I’m the one who gets the full dose of your good sense.” Fieran’s grin returned, though it tilted wryly.

“Can you deny that you need it?” Merrik raised an eyebrow. Providing Fieran with the sensible option seemed to be his chief role as his second-in-command.

“Nope.” This time when Fieran settled back in his chair, his grin remained. Though he still regarded Merrik, as if he was puzzling something out. “You’re okay. You’re truly okay.”

He was okay. The realization settled within him, deep and soothing like a gentle rain shower on parched earth.

He felt whole again, with or without wearing his prosthetic. He was simply himself. He was once again comfortable within his own skin, settled within his body, whether he needed to use his wheelchair that day or walk on the two feet he now had.

Yes, there would be days he would be less okay. Days when the ache in his ankles would remind him of a time when his body hadn’t hurt so much. Days when he would miss being able to simply get out of bed or climb up stairs or navigate a new place without all the calculations and tools he needed now.

But he was okay. Perhaps someday he would become even more okay.