Fieran turned to get a better look, squinting into the setting sun. That was a two-seater, not Lt. Rothilion’s normal aeroplane.
The aeroplane touched down lightly, then rolled with its momentum. As it slowed, it turned and coasted back to the hangar until it finally came to a halt only a few yards away.
The aeroplane’s pilot climbed out, revealing Lt. Rothilion’s honey-blond hair as he removed his cap and goggles. His long hair was tied back and tucked underneath his flight jacket to keep it from tangling.
Rather than stroll toward Fieran, Lt. Rothilion waited beside the aeroplane as the passenger in the second seat climbed smoothly down, the grace of the movements proving that his passenger was an elf.
There was something familiar about those movements. Yet it wasn’t until the passenger pulled off his flight cap and goggles and revealed silver-blond hair, similarly tied back and stuffed beneath the flight jacket, that Fieran started. “What’s my dacha doing flying with Lt. Rothilion?”
“Pretending to be you.” Pretty Face shrugged, as if that was a perfectly normal set of words. “He volunteered, and we conducted our first flight only a few days after you’d been sent back to Aldon.”
“First flight?” Fieran braced himself more firmly against his aeroplane behind him, his legs going even more wobbly.
“Yeah, we’ve done five or six of these.” Lije gestured to where Dacha and Lt. Rothilion were striding toward the rest of them. Both elves were busy freeing their hair from the ties. “Your dacha realized that the Mongavarians wouldn’t know how badly you’d been wounded, and they have no way to tell your magic apart from his. So he’s been going up, putting on a show of his magic, to make the Mongavarians think that you’ve been here the whole time.”
“It worked.” Pretty Face grinned again. “We’ve had a nice, quiet two weeks.”
Fieran released a breath, an ache disappearing from his chest. He’d been worried that his squadron would be in danger without him and his magic there to protect them.
Yet his dacha had stepped in to protect the squadron for him.
As Dacha reached them, the pilots all turned and saluted. Yet there was something about the way they did so, as if they weren’t quite as terrified of Dacha as they had been before.
Fieran hurried to straighten and salute as well, still reeling at the sight of his dacha in flight clothes.
“At ease.” Dacha returned their salutes, his gaze locking on Fieran.
Last time Fieran had arrived at Fort Defense, he hadn’t hugged Dacha, too mindful of all the eyes watching. This time, he didn’t hesitate. He embraced Dacha, throwing in a back slap for good measure.
After the first stiff moment, Dacha returned the embrace before he stepped back, gripping Fieran’s shoulders. His gazeflicked over Fieran, as if taking in everything from his stance to the swords on his back. “You seem to have healed well, sason.”
“Nylian worked wonders, as usual.” Fieran grinned with all the memories of past trips to Nylian when growing up. He released Dacha’s shoulders and gestured at the two-seater. “You’ve been flying with my squadron.”
He was dying to ask all about it, especially how it had come about that he was flying with Lt. Rothilion of all people. Rothilion came from a stuffy elven noble family who hated Dacha. While Rothilion had come around to respecting Fieran, that didn’t necessarily extend to Dacha.
Or did it? Fieran suspected neither Lt. Rothilion nor Dacha would own up to anything in front of the rest of the squadron.
Dacha gave that graceful elven shrug and—wonder of wonders—his mouth twitched with a hint of his smile. “I can see why you love it, sason.”
Was Dacha…bonding? Over flying? Fieran was actually going to keel over if his dacha kept surprising him like this.
With one more nod, Dacha stepped back, his gaze swinging to someone out of Fieran’s sight.
Uncle Iyrinder strode between the ranks of flyboys and elven pilots, setting off another round of salutes.
As he approached, Fieran met his gaze. “How is Merrik? Have you heard from him?”
He hated how much his question betrayed. Perhaps Fieran should respect Merrik’s wish for silence, but he had to know how Merrik was doing. He was still Fieran’s best friend.
Uncle Iyrinder dipped his head. He had weary lines creasing his face and a slump to his posture. “He seems to be doing better these past few days. He has started the process of strengthening his leg to learn to walk again.”
“And the healers think he will? Walk again?” Fieran clenched his fists at his sides. He should have been there at Merrik’s side.He should have known exactly what Merrik was going through and how to help. There shouldn’t have been this silence between them. Not during a time like this.
At least Adry was there in Estyra. Merrik wouldn’t be alone. Sure, he had his mama, sister, and elven aunt, uncle, and cousins there. But he’d have a friend as well, even if that friend wasn’t Fieran.
“Yes, they do.” Uncle Iyrinder’s smile was forced, not reaching his eyes. “But it will take work and time.”
Not unexpected. But that gnawing need to be there ached inside Fieran again.
