Page 24 of Storm to Victory
For a few moments, the two of them sat in silence, the rain beating a steady rhythm over their heads.
Then Merrik grinned and 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.”
“It is more pleasant.” Fieran slid farther down in his chair, enjoying the comfortable cushioning. Then he tilted his head to better face Merrik, searching his expression as he added, “Although, if you had been in the infantry, you might not have lost your leg.”
Merrik snorted and shook his head without looking at Fieran. “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.”
Fieran knew exactly what that felt like. He’d only survived because he’d been able to keep himself alive with his magic.
“Still, you would have been fighting at Adry’s side.”
Merrik barked a laugh. “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.”
“Can you deny that you need it?” Merrik raised an eyebrow.
“Nope.” Fieran settled back in his chair, but his gaze remained on Merrik. “You’re okay. You’re truly okay.”
There was a note of peace in Merrik’s tone and in his face that hadn’t been there even a few weeks ago.
“Yeah, I think I am.” This time, Merrik’s sigh was more contentment than exhaustion. He slouched deeper in his chair, his eyes closed, his hands folded across his chest.
Some days would still be harder than others. But Fieran could see the way his friend had pieced himself back together. He would be all right. And on the days when he wasn’t, Adry would be there for him, as would Fieran.
The distant sound of ringing broke the silence. Fieran groaned, gathered himself, and forced himself to his feet. “I had better see who that is.”
Leaving Merrik to his lounging, Fieran picked his way between the groups of elven and human pilots as he crossed the parlor. In the foyer, he had to dodge the various lawn games that were very much not meant to be played indoors.
After hurrying down the corridor, he stepped into his office and picked up the telephone. “The forest sings at the birth of day.”
“The shy moon retreats.” The voice on the other end finished the other part of that week’s recognition code. Taking inspiration from the elven entertainment the other day, the recognition codes had been lines from elven poetry, although something was lost in the translation to Escarlish. “General Julien Ardon and General Laesornysh have requested that Major Laesornysh, Capt. Loiatir, Capt. Rothilion, and Capt. Detmuk-Inawenys join them in General Ardon’s office at headquarters.”
Here in the depths of the house, Fieran didn’t have a window to glare at the rain, but he could still hear it pounding on theroof. Did the truck even have a canvas top? “We’ll be there shortly.”
Fieran sighed as he hung up the telephone. So much for a leisurely rainy day off.
“Why wouldI be included in this meeting?”
Fieran glanced down at Pip where she was clinging painfully tightly to his hand. The two of them huddled beneath the shield she held over their heads. “I don’t know.”
Rothilion and Merrik trailed after them beneath the edge of the shield to stay dry as the four of them sloshed through the puddles on the cobblestone road, crossing the street from where he’d parked the truck.
Uncle Julien’s office was on the first floor of the townhouse he’d taken over, and Fieran led the way in that direction. The MPs at the door let them in without too much hassle, and soon the four of them were standing in the foyer, their boots leaving puddles on the tiled floor.
Multiple voices resonated from a room deeper within the townhouse. Who else was there with Dacha and Uncle Julien?
Uncle Iyrinder stood just outside of a door in the corridor to their right. His gaze went first to Merrik before he motioned to them.
Apparently they were to head right in. Fieran led the way down the corridor, then into the office.
Dacha had planted himself with his back to the wall, his swords resting against his back, his hands gripping the back of one of the chairs. Uncle Julien lounged behind the desk, a grin framed by his beard.
But across from them stood a man with auburn hair, eyes that looked blue in the current light, and a laugh that filled the room.
Pip squeaked, her steps faltering, as her gaze landed on Uncle Edmund and she realized Dacha and Uncle Julien weren’t the only ones in the room.
“Uncle Edmund!” Fieran let go of Pip’s hand to step into Uncle Edmund’s hug.
