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Merrik, too, glanced down at himself. Between the flight boot on his left foot and the regular army boot on his prosthetic, one couldn’t tell just by looking at him that one of those feet was made of wood. “Got it back, though.”

“You seem to be walking pretty good now.” Pretty Face’s gaze still didn’t quite lift to meet Merrik’s.

“Yeah, it was tough, and it took time. But I got there.” He clapped Pretty Face on the shoulder again, hoping he could hear what he wasn’t saying.

He didn’t know what Pretty Face had been through while imprisoned in Mongavaria, though he could guess at some of it from the haunted look in his eyes.

Pretty Face had a fight ahead of him to come back from the place he was now. But if Merrik could get up and walk again, then Pretty Face, too, could fight his battles to find himself again. It wouldn’t be easy. Merrik knew that better than most. But it was possible.

“That’s good.” Pretty Face said the right words, but they remained somewhat flat, as if he was still too exhausted to put effort into speaking.

“I have been wanting to thank you for painting my new Defender, even when you did not know if I would return.” Merrik gestured toward where his aeroplane remained parked. “It helped, returning to find my aeroplane already looking like mine.”

Pretty Face looked at the aeroplane, a faint smile touching his mouth. “Happy to do it.”

Merrik gave Pretty Face one last look before releasing him. “If you need anything, I am here, understand? The whole squadron has your back.”

Pretty Face nodded, but he didn’t speak or meet Merrik’s gaze.

That listlessness was worrisome, but not something Merrik could fix. Only Pretty Face could claw his way back, if he sought the help he needed.

A flyboy appeared in the doorway of the hangar, slightly out of breath as if he’d been running. “Captain, you’ll never guess.”

“What is it?” Merrik turned in that direction, his mind already whirling with some catastrophe he’d have to solve.

“The army still hasn’t built barracks for us. No need, I guess, while we were stationed in Mongavaria.” The flyboy heaved a sigh. “It’s back to tents for us.”

After the various mansions and farmhouses they’d stayed in during the march into Mongavaria, going back to a tent would be a downgrade. Oh, well. It was better than the muddy fields they’d also stayed in during their time at the front.

Merrik sighed and shook his head. What else had he expected for the heroic Half-Breed Squadron? This was the army. It was back to drafty tents, semi-cold showers, and mystery meat served tough and sloppy.

But it was home.

Merrik stood off to one side on the docks situated in the lower reaches of Fort Defense along the Hydalla River, watching as Fieran, Uncle Farrendel, Pip, and Prince Edmund disembarked from the recently docked warship and greeted their families. At the moment, the flyboys and flygirls were mobbing Pip and Rothilion, who had also returned with them from his secret mission.

Then Fieran’s gaze swung in Merrik’s direction, and Merrik straightened, forcing his legs into movement, a strange mixture of confidence and apprehension churning within him. He’d led the squadron well. He knew that. But something in him struggled to believe he measured up.

As soon as he was within arm’s reach. Fieran yanked him in for a brotherly, backslapping hug. “You led them well. Linshi.”

“I have not told you what happened in the past weeks.” Merrik shook his head on a laugh as he returned Fieran’s backslapping hug.

“You don’t have to. They’re all here, and you’re alive. That’s all that matters.” Fieran stepped back, something in his blue eyes turning more serious as he held Merrik’s gaze and gripped his shoulders in an elven hug.

Merrik released a breath as those words settled on his shoulders. Fieran had entrusted him with the squadron, and he’d led them well. Every single one of them had returned safe and sound to Fort Defense.

Merrik had done well. He shouldn’t doubt that or his own merits.

Adry leaned against the warm wall of the aeroplane hangar behind her, shading her eyes to watch as Merrik and Fieran took off with their squadron, a flight done not for war but for the pure joy of flying. Merrik had his little sister Kari and Adry’s little sister Ellie strapped into the back seat of a two-seater while Fieran had buckled their youngest brother Tryndar onto his lap where he could hang on to him.

Next to her, her parents, Merrik’s parents, Pip, and Louise all similarly shaded their eyes as they peered upward. Her mama, younger siblings, Merrik’s mama, and Kari had arrived that morning, just in time to greet the ship returning from Mongavaria.

High above, one of the aeroplanes tilted, giving a view of the two heads—one of red hair and the other with silver-blond hair flying—peering over the side. The tiny figures waved, the movement wild enough to be visible even from this far away.

Adry grinned and waved back until her brothers were no more than a speck on the far horizon.

When she lowered her arm, she turned to her family. Her and Merrik’s mamas were already moving off, talking quietly. Louise and Pip had disappeared, probably to tinker with something mechanical in the hangar.

But her dacha remained a few feet away. She still couldn’t get over the sight of him with short hair, and the only explanation she’d gotten so far was that he’d cut it sometime during his time in Mongavaria. With all the others rushing to greet him, she hadn’t had the chance to do more than exchange a hug with him.