Page 10 of Storm to Victory
After a quick cleanup from walking the dusty streets for most of the day, Fieran paused before leaving his tent. Hesitating another moment, he picked up his swords, shrugged them on, and buckled the straps. He buckled the bracers on as well.
He didn’t necessarily need his swords for a family dinner—although carrying them at least fulfilled the army regulations tobe armed—but he was trying to wear them more. To get more used to the feel of them on his back and in his hands.
As he strolled out of his tent, Merrik was stepping out of his, a small wince twisting his face.
“Are you all right?” Fieran hurried closer, though he didn’t offer an arm. If Merrik wanted help, he’d ask for it.
“Fine.” Merrik’s gait had more of a hitch to it, a limp that he’d nearly erased most days. “That was just a lot of walking. I’ll be fine tomorrow.”
Fieran opened his mouth, not quite sure what to say. Before he had the chance, Merrik’s gaze swung past him. With a smile, Merrik nudged Fieran.
Turning, Fieran found Pip strolling toward the two of them, dressed in her uniform shirt and skirt. She halted and smoothed her skirt in what seemed to be a nervous gesture. “Do I look all right?”
“You look great. Not that Dacha will even notice.” Fieran held out his hand to her, resisting the urge to pull her closer or kiss her.
“You do not have to be nervous.” Merrik fell in on the other side of Fieran. “The table will be so crowded that Uncle Farrendel’s attention will not be on you.”
Pip gave a slight nod, but she was still walking close to Fieran, her grip tight on his hand.
Continued distraction was in order. Fieran nudged Merrik with an elbow. “Is it weird, still calling my dacha Uncle Farrendel while you’re courting Adry?”
“A little, yes.” Merrik shrugged, breathing out a light chuckle. “That is something we are still sorting out. It is too soon to claim him as Dacha yet, especially while he and my dacha are in the same room. That would get confusing for everyone involved. But he is too much family to take a step back to call himAmirorGeneral.”
And perhaps this was why Merrik courting Adry was both complicated and strangely simple. Merrik was family already.
When he, Merrik, and Pip crested the rise, Adry was waiting for them, pacing in the grassy space between the rise and the elven officer quarters, where she had a room. As soon as Adry’s and Merrik’s gazes met, a smile burst across Adry’s face. A glance at Merrik beside him showed a similar smile.
Pip leaned closer to Fieran and whispered, “They’re so cute together.”
“Yes.” Fieran hadn’t realized how often Merrik and Adry had gravitated toward each other until he’d searched his memory. The signs had been there. He’d simply missed them.
Adry hurried toward them, taking Merrik’s hand and whispering something to him. He smiled back, their pace slowing.
Fieran shared a glance with Pip and hurried ahead.
Two elven guards, neither of them Uncle Iyrinder, guarded the door. They nodded to Fieran, stepping aside to give him and Pip more room, as Fieran knocked on the door.
“Come in,” Dacha’s voice called from inside.
Fieran opened the door. He would have gone inside, but Pip remained rooted to the spot, her eyes wide. He leaned closer. “Breathe, Pip.”
She shuddered in a breath and muttered something that sounded almost likeI can do this.
“Could you hold the door?”
Fieran glanced over his shoulder, then hurried out of the way, holding the door open. He tugged Pip out of the way as well, since she was still shaking off her hero-worship paralysis.
Uncle Iyrinder approached, carrying a chair. He nodded to them before he walked inside.
Fieran rested a hand between Pip’s shoulder blades, his other arm crooked at an awkward angle since Pip had a death grip on it, and steered her inside.
In the main room of Dacha’s suite, Uncle Iyrinder set the chair down next to the small table. Dacha adjusted one of the other chairs, as if attempting to create more space. But with four chairs around a table designed for two and one side of the table pulled up to the cushioned bench set into the wall for the final two seats, they would be rather crowded.
Dacha’s silver-blond hair lay long down his back and around the hilts of his swords. When he turned to face Fieran, there were shadows beneath his eyes, his mouth set in a grim line.
And the look in his eyes…it had Fieran halting, wondering if perhaps this wasn’t a great night for a large family dinner. The set of Dacha’s shoulders was somewhere between hard and fragile.
But then Merrik and Adry piled into the room after them, and there was no chance to duck out and call the dinner off.
