Page 38 of Winds of Death


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He glanced at the tent next to his, but Merrik didn’t step out to join him as he had every morning practice they’d gone to at Fort Defense.

Giving himself a shake, Fieran strode alone through the hangar and into the hills on the far side. When he crested the rise, he found Dacha standing alone. Uncle Iyrinder was likely somewhere nearby, but Fieran didn’t spot him.

As Fieran approached, Dacha’s gaze flicked over him, as if assessing his movements.

Fieran halted and spread his arms. “I’m fine, Dacha. The healers patched me up just fine.”

“Yes.” Dacha drew his swords. “But we will not engage in a battle today. Instead, we will stick to the basic sword forms.”

“Is that really necessary? I’mfine.” Fieran drew his own swords, adjusting his hands. They were sure to be sticky with sweat soon thanks to the humidity.

“You were healed by elven healing magic, which prevented your muscles from weakening from a long recovery.” Dacha held out his swords in the first sword stance, a guard with one sword raised, and the other in a block. “But such healing still takes a toll on your body. You are healed, yes. But your body will not be back to full strength for weeks yet.”

Fieran copied the movements, as he’d done so many times before. This was, after all, how Dacha had trained him since the very first day Dacha had pressed a pair of wooden swords into Fieran’s small hands and guided him through the motions.

Yet as Fieran held the first stance, he could feel the ache in his muscles that came far sooner than it should. Perhaps Dacha had a point.

Of course he did. Dacha was, after all, speaking from experience.

After holding the first stance for a full minute, Dacha gracefully swept into the next form.

Fieran matched him, stepping forward into the movement. His shin bone twinged, reminding him again that he wasn’t as recovered as he might feel. He had, after all, crashed only two and a half weeks ago.

Dacha would gladly perform the whole routine in complete silence. But Fieran wasn’t going to manage it. Not when he still had so much to tell Dacha. The brief phone calls while he’d been recovering hadn’t been enough.

Fieran tried not to let his arms quiver as he held the stance. “Thank you for protecting my squadron while I was gone.”

Dacha gave a nod, though he didn’t glance at Fieran, too focused on his sword. “They are clearly important to you, and you are important to them. I saw that after you crashed.”

Meeting new people wasn’t Dacha’s preference, and yet Dacha had actually made an effort to get to know Fieran’ssquadron in the past two weeks. He’d flown with them. Made a point of figuring out why Fieran loved flying so much.

Fieran worked to stuff back his smile. If Dacha would go to such lengths with the squadron, how much more would he take the time to get to know Pip? “I’m courting Pip. Officially now.”

That made Dacha’s sword stance wobble, just a moment before he caught himself. He cleared his throat as he glided into the third form. “Good. I…good. You will have to invite her to join a morning practice, once she returns to Fort Defense.”

Fieran had asked her once before, more a joke than a true invite since he’d known Pip would refuse.

But it was a big deal for Dacha to extend the offer. Morning practices were nearly sacred. Only for family or those so close they were like family.

“I’ll do that.” Fieran grinned as he matched Dacha’s stance, his arms and legs already aching. But it was a good ache. “Thanks for seeing to it that she was sent to Aldon with me. And that she is coming back to Fort Defense.”

Dacha gave another throat clearing noise. “Your uncle Lance did most of the work for her return. Rather reluctantly. He, Bennett, and Louise were quite impressed with her.”

“She is impressive.” Fieran clamped his mouth shut before he waxed eloquent on all of Pip’s many amazing attributes and skills.

The two of them lapsed into silence as they moved through several more forms. The familiar routine was strangely soothing, even as his muscles burned with the exertion.

Perhaps it was the silence or the peace of the morning. But Fieran found himself blurting, “While I was in the hospital, I had a talk with Nylian. About those dizzy spells.”

“And?” Dacha glanced at Fieran, giving him that raised eyebrow look that never failed to make Fieran confess whatever he might have done wrong when he’d been young.

Fieran moved into the next form as Dacha did, sweeping one sword down and the other out. “He doesn’t think they’re caused by the fact that I’m half-human. He said I might simply need to increase my magical stamina or that they might be caused because I’m trying to wield my elven magic like a human.”

For a long moment, Dacha remained silent as he swept into the next stance. Then he exhaled a sigh in time with his movements. “Sason. I—”

“My doubts aren’t your fault. Yours or Mama’s.” Fieran cut his dacha off before he could apologize. Perhaps some of Fieran’s struggles with his magic were because of the way his parents raised him. Maybe his dacha had been so focused on making sure Fieran didn’t experience the same trauma with his magic that Dacha had growing up that he instead made other mistakes.

But Fieran wouldn’t trade his childhood for anything even with its imperfections, and he wouldn’t have his dacha apologize for what Fieran wouldn’t want changed.