Fieran set the chair beside the table. After fetching the second chair and closing the door between the rooms, he and Pip picked up the table and moved it closer to the cushioned bench so that there would be enough seats for all of them.
Uncle Iyrinder claimed one of the bowls and spoons from Merrik’s tray before he turned to face outward again, eating while standing guard. Then Merrik strode inside, his gait hitching in that way that betrayed how much his foot and ankle were hurting. Nor was he using his magic to make his prosthetic move more smoothly.
But he was walking, even after the strain of the day. His body was healing and adjusting.
After setting the tray on the table, Merrik sank onto the cushioned bench with a sigh. He turned sideways so that he could prop his feet up. “So, Pip, has Fieran told you about the time he dragged me out of a tree?”
“Yes.” Pip perched on a chair, a grin helping to dispel some of the weight in her eyes. “Pointed out the exact tree and everything while we were at Treehaven.”
“It wasn’t my fault you tried to catch me when I fell.” Fieran took the other chair, reaching a hand to Pip. She clasped it beneath the table. “Nor that you didn’t let go as I was dragging you down.”
“I told you not to climb that high.” Merrik shook his head as he helped himself to the food.
Fieran hadn’t listened to Merrik, and look where that had gotten the two of them. The broken arms when they’d been children had been bad enough. But Merrik was still paying for Fieran’s recklessness.
Fieran held Merrik’s gaze. “I’m sorry for that. And the broken arm you got out of the deal.”
Merrik huffed and tossed one of the rolls at Fieran. “I did not tell you that to make you apologize. Now, eat.”
Fieran caught the roll. As it was several days old, it was plenty hard, smacking into his palm. “The rest did you good, I see.”
Pip had retrieved some of the mystery meat and was struggling to cut it with one hand, her other hand still gripping his. “Then the two of you had better come up with a funnier story than that. I’m sure you have them.”
“Have I told you about our old tradition of spit handshakes?” Fieran grinned as he set the roll on his plate and reached to dish out some of the mystery meat.
“Oldtradition? That implies it has been years since we last employed it.” Merrik grimaced, nose wrinkling, before he took a bite.
“Hey, you were the last one to initiate it. I was the very mature one who said we should make that the last one.” Fieran waggled his fork in Merrik’s direction.
“I was the first one to say we were too old for such things.” Merrik shook his head, his long chestnut hair flowing over his shoulders.
Pip glanced between the two of them, her fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Spit handshakes? Do I want to know?” She gave a little tug on the hand clasping his under the table, as if reconsidering whether she dared hold his hand if he went about performing such unsanitary handshakes all the time.
“It was inspired by a book we read about an elf and a human pledging eternal brotherhood during a time of war.” Fieran leaned forward, trying to sound dramatic.
“The spit seemed like the safer option than stealing knives from our parents and slicing our palms to seal our pledge with blood.” Merrik pointed his knife at Fieran before he used it to saw at the mystery meat. “One time you actually did listen to sense.”
“I’d had the sameknives and swords are weapons, not toysspeech I’m sure you had.” Fieran gave an exaggerated shudder. “I didn’t want to find out what my parents would have done if I disobeyed their orders not to touch without permission.”
Pip nudged him with her elbow. “What did I tell you? Little rebellions, not big ones.”
Merrik tilted his head back and laughed. A genuine, full-on laugh like Fieran hadn’t heard since the crash. “I would call it accidentally rebellious, at least when we were children.”
“Yes! That’s it exactly.” Pip gestured to Merrik, grinning.
“So glad you’re ganging up on me,” Fieran grumbled, though there wasn’t any heat to the words.
He hadn’t known how much he’d needed this. But perhaps Pip had guessed, if she’d been the one to round up Merrik and bring him along.
It was a glimpse of what things might be like, someday when the war was over. When Fieran was married to Pip.
Except Adry might be there too, and as much as Fieran would like to think his sister would take his side, he had a feeling she’d join with Merrik and Pip so that all three would gang up on him.
Oh, well. He usually deserved it.
The three of them talked and laughed and ate, trying not to snort food out their noses when a particularly funny story was told at an inopportune time.
Just as Fieran was getting to the punch line of a particularly embarrassing story about the time he’d decided skinny dipping at the lake at the elven summer palace of Lethorel during the annual large family gathering was a good idea—he’d only just learned how to swim and he didn’t know where Mama had packed his swim trunks—there was just the slightest noise behind him.
