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Merrik gave a hard smile. War had honed this squadron, and in the next few days, they would prove their mettle.

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

The predawn chill wafted against her skin as Adry faced the line of hills, her hands shaking in her leather gauntlets, the dwarven-made vambraces strapped to her forearms. Her heart pounded as she took in the smoking bunkers and bombed ground, all of it wreathed in the mist of morning. Her mind flashed back to those moments of the bullets striking her middle, the feel of her blood leaking through her fingers, the lightheadedness of knowing she could die.

She might have died, if Merrik hadn’t swooped down to whisk her away to the hospital in time.

Uncle Iyrinder halted next to her and rested a hand on her shoulder. He merely stood there, a silent, comforting presence as she gathered herself.

He didn’t tell her that she didn’t have to do this. Because she did. Today could potentially be the final day of the war, if Dacha, Fieran, Uncle Edmund, and Pip pulled off whatever Uncle Edmund had been planning. The Alliance needed to pummel the Empress Line with a show of strength, not hold back its strongest warrior to allow her more time to mentally recover.

Physically, she was fine. The healers had done their job, and while she was still sore, she was fit enough to fight.

But staring at those hills and the dug-in Mongavarian guns that had nearly killed her the last time she’d assaulted those heights, something in her shook.

She’d thrown herself into battle many times. But it was different, now that she’d tasted her own vulnerability and mortality. She was a Laesornysh, but that didn’t prevent her from dying. A single moment’s inattention, and a gun could kill her just as easily as anyone else.

Dacha had known it would be like this. He’d faced moments like this over and over again in the wars he’d fought.

This was the moment when she truly discovered what she was made of. It had hardly been brave, charging into battle with such a sense of invincibility.

Now she knew the cold grasp of encroaching death. And she would have to hurtle into battle anyway.

A whining whir came from overhead as a formation of aeroplanes soared toward Mongavarian skies to protect the ground forces from aerial attack.

The sight steadied her. Merrik had climbed back into an aeroplane and gone into battle again and again after his crash, despite coming far closer to death than she had. She’s seen firsthand how hard it had been for him to pick up the pieces of himself and come back from that.

If he could do so, then she could too.

She glanced at Uncle Iyrinder. “Do you think this will truly be the last day of the war?”

Not that she doubted her dacha, brother, or uncle. Or Pip, though she didn’t know her that well yet. They’d even received a report from a scout airship that a Mongavarian aerodrome was attacked with Laesornysh magic the night before. That could only be Dacha and Fieran.

But it seemed unreal that the war could end today. It had consumed the whole life of the Alliance Kingdoms since Bridgetown had been bombed. It didn’t seem possible that it would just…end.

Uncle Iyrinder must have heard the deeper notes in her voice. Dropping his hand from her shoulder, he stared at the battlefield stretching before them. “All wars end, one way or another. But the men in those heights do not yet know that this one is at an end. And even those who suspect they have already lost will fight with the determination to give their lives before they give up their country. Do not make the mistake of believing that today will be an easy fight. This could well be the hardest day of the war.”

With a deep breath, she drew her swords, her hands now steady. “Then let’s make sure today is the end.”

All the way across Mongavaria in Landri, her dacha and brother would be going into battle to end the war. She would do the same here and now.

Adry reached deep into her chest, to that place where her magic burned behind her careful restraints, and unleashed just a fraction of it. It burst into a crackling roar around her, spreading out in both directions. While the Alliance had spent the day before doing their best to eliminate the last of those magic-stealing machines, there might still be a few around. But today wasn’t a day for caution.

A quick glance showed that Uncle Iyrinder had dropped back to stand, sword drawn, with the other elite guards several yards behind her.

Then she leapt into a steady jog, charging up the road she’d marched two days before. To either side of her, Alliance troops huddled in the burnt-out remains of bunkers and trenches that had been conquered in the past few days. She faintly heard the cheers and saw the salutes as she raced past, but she didn’t pause to acknowledge any of them.

She was Laesornysh, and she was going to war.

As she approached the heights, a large shell whistled overhead. She grabbed it with her magic, slinging it back the way it had come.

The muzzles of the machine guns in the bunkers on the tallest of the hills ahead swung toward her.

She unleashed more of her magic, shoving it before her and expanding to either side. The machine gun bullets slammed into the leading edge, her magic incinerating them before they got anywhere near her.

Still, her magic battered at her mental control, begging her to unleash more. Always more.