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“Good.” Adry reached for his hand and gripped it as she turned to the bunker. “I suppose we should go in.”

Merrik nodded, and she led the way down the trench, still holding his hand as he trailed after her.

The two of them ducked under the lintel of the stone bunker, entering a dark space illuminated by troll lights embedded into the stone walls.

Uncle Julien, Aunt Vriska, and several other generals gathered around the table, peering at the maps laid out there. Others of lesser rank, including Uncle Iyrinder, packed along the sides of the bunker.

Adry moved to join him but froze as one of the generals glanced up and made room at the table. “Laesornysh. Good, you’re here.”

Oh. Apparently, she was expected to join them, even though she was only a lieutenant and, technically, Uncle Iyrinder was her senior officer. If anyone should be standing at the table, it should be him.

But Merrik released her hand, continuing past her to join his dacha by the wall. Uncle Iyrinder briefly rested his hand on Merrik’s shoulder, a father-son moment before both of them returned to hard, military focus.

With a deep breath, Adry took the spot at the table. She was the Laesornysh. She’d earned her spot at this table in the past week, and the generals were acknowledging that. No more simply calling her by her first name as she’d experienced in Estyra.

Uncle Julien smiled at Adry, and Aunt Vriska nodded, though she didn’t so much as break into a smile. Familial warmth had no place here.

Adry took in all the tired and lined faces around her. Her cousin Ryfon stood across from her with two elves at his back. The shadows in the room added depth to the angles of his face, making him appear older and look even more like his dacha, Uncle Weylind.

Farther down the table, Uncle Rharreth and Rhohen both had their arms crossed, and for once Rhohen’s expression was merely hard and tired rather than pouty. The trolls assembled behind them stood more slumped than in a proud stance.

The dwarves next to them had even craggier looks about them, though it was more difficult to tell past their thick beards.

Aunt Vriska pointed at the chart before them. “We have made good progress on our advance. But we are nearing the Empress Line. The fight is only going to get harder from here.”

Adry took in the chart, which showed the known positions of enemy bunkers, earthworks, entrenchments, guns, airfields, and other layers of defenses. Worse were the red markers labeled as suspected placements of magic-stealing machines.

This wasn’t going to be an easy assault. Adry’s stomach churned just looking at the chart.

“Should we even bother trying to crack these defenses?” One of the human generals waved a hand at the map. “If all goes to plan with Laesornysh’s mission, the war will end in less than a week. We’d just be wasting lives for useless ground at this point.”

“A valid consideration.” Uncle Julien nodded before he sighed. “I don’t deny that the loss of life is a concern. We never want to spend lives needlessly. While the war should end in less than a week, we can’t guarantee that the mission will be a success. More, if we halt our advance, it may be taken by Mongavaria as a sign of weakness. They might not even surrender as planned if we don’t make a strong strike on this position.”

“And if we fail to take it?” One of the elf generals grimaced. “Would that not also send a signal of weakness?”

“You are assuming we will fail.” Aunt Vriska scowled before she waved first at Adry, then at Rhohen. “We have two warriors with Laesornysh magic, air superiority, and an alliance stronger than anything Mongavaria can boast. We will not fail.”

Beside Uncle Rharreth, Rhohen straightened. He opened his mouth, as if to speak, but Uncle Rharreth’s hand on his shoulder stopped him.

Adry, too, stood a little straighter. All of the Alliance was trusting that she could continue to stand as Laesornysh in her dacha’s place.

Uncle Julien kept his gaze locked on the elf general. “The cautions are warranted, but we should give in to neither pessimism nor overconfidence. This assault will be difficult. The war might end before we finish. But we must enter any surrender negotiations from a position of strength, and that will only happen if we continue our advance forward. The Mongavarian government needs to be scared that we will be unstoppable.”

“Besides,”—Aunt Vriska shared a look with Uncle Julien—“we need to keep the Mongavarian army engaged if our mission within their borders is going to succeed.”

Uncle Julien’s gaze flicked briefly to Adry, something almost like an apology in his deep brown eyes before he looked away. “We have received news on that front. Unfortunately, the hijacked airship carrying Gen. Laesornysh, Maj. Laesornysh, Capt. Detmuk-Inawenys, and Prince Edmund was attacked and shot down short of their goal of the hidden Mongavarian facility.”

Adry clenched her fists, barely stopping her gasp as her heart beat harder within her chest. Surely her dacha, brother, and uncle were all right. Pip, too. She couldn’t bear to lose any of them.

“As of two days ago, we have confirmation that Gen. and Maj. Laesornysh are alive.” Uncle Julien’s strong voice didn’t waver. “They succeeded in liberating the ogres and Alliance prisoners-of-war and shutting down the Ludin facility. Those rescued prisoners crossed the border into Alliance-held territory this morning.”

Then her dacha and brother were alive, at least. Adry released a long breath, slowly, to avoid drawing notice to herself.

Uncle Julien’s gaze shot to Adry once again. “They believe Prince Edmund and Capt. Detmuk-Inawenys were taken to Landri, and both the general and major decided to continue on to Landri rather than split up as originally planned.”

She swallowed and returned a slight nod before she looked away. At least all four of them were believed to be alive.

“The bad news for our assault of the Empress Line is that we will not have Maj. Laesornysh back in the sky as hoped.” Aunt Vriska turned toward where Merrik stood with his dacha. “But I assume the Half-Breed Squadron will be able to handle themselves.”