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Grinning, Adry drew her own two swords and faced her dacha.

Dacha swung at her, one sword going high, the other one snaking forward in a lightning strike.

She skipped backward, mindful of the edge behind her. As she parried and ducked, she attempted a strike of her own, which her dacha easily swept aside into another strike of his own.

Her magic thrumming within her at the danger of battle, she let a few bolts of it wind down her swords and spark off the train car’s roof at her feet.

Across from her, Dacha’s mouth curved with a dangerous tilt before he, too, unleashed bolts of his magic. His magic wreathed his swords, and when she blocked his next strike, the two magics sparked and crackled against each other.

They fought like that for several minutes, neither trying all that hard to press an advantage, nor did they truly give in to the fury of fighting. This was a true practice, back-and-forth, parry-thrust, as the miles clacked by beneath their feet.

At last her dacha stepped back and lowered his swords. “That is enough.”

Adry lowered her own swords, only panting slightly after the mild exertion. As she peered around, she didn’t recognize the rolling fields or small, captured Mongavarian hamlets that rolled past. Had they passed the point where she and Dacha had pushed the line yet? How much farther had Uncle Rharreth and Rhohen marched into Mongavaria in the days since?

Had it really only been days that she’d been back at Fort Defense? All too soon, she would find herself back in the mud and the trenches.

Dacha sheathed his swords, his gaze fixed on the passing countryside rather than at her. “I used to practice on the train roof like this before going into battle with the trolls. I would try to numb myself the best I could. It was the only way to stay sane.”

Adry swallowed at the weight in those words. A part of her didn’t want to hear this. She didn’t want to hear the pain in Dacha’s voice, knowing what she did now about his nightmares, having listened to too many while they were at the front.

She braced her feet as the train curved around a larger Mongavarian town. Even from this distance, she could see Alliance soldiers marching down the streets between the Mongavarian citizens who hadn’t fled the oncoming army and now lived under occupation.

“War destroys.” Dacha gestured at the town, where a large swath of what had been brick buildings was now a pile of rubble, wisps of smoke still curling upward. “It will destroy Mongavaria, and it will do its best to destroy you.”

She’d seen the toll war had taken on her dacha and the new shadows in Fieran’s eyes, the harder edge beneath his smile. Those same shadows and harder edges had honed Merrik, with the additional weight he carried after what he’d been through.

She already carried the weight of death after that week at the front. That burden would only grow as the war continued.

“I know.” She swallowed as they passed what had once been a field. It was now a pockmarked wasteland of churned mud, deep blast craters, and tangled barbed wire. The stench of rotting bodies wafted from the field so strongly that she choked on it in the breeze of the train’s passing. A handful of men and women—dressed in civilian clothing—picked their way over the field or dug along a ditch with shovels.

They must be nearing the new front lines, if the digging crews of Mongavarian citizens were still hard at work burying their dead. The Alliance dead would have already been retrieved from the fields and returned with all honor to the grieving families in Escarland, Tarenhiel, or Kostaria.

Dacha remained standing where he was, staring outward, until the field was well behind them and the air freshened once more. Then he turned to her and gripped her shoulders. “You are not alone, sena. Whenever the war tries to destroy you, turn to those who will help you. I will be there for you, as will Merrik.”

“I know.” When she repeated the words this time, she couldn’t help the hint of a smile. Merrik had already proved that he would be there for her when she needed him.

Dacha cleared his throat, his voice rough. “There are also counselors and people you can talk to, if you do not want to talk with me or with Merrik.”

“I know, Dacha.” Adry gripped his shoulders in return, giving him the elven-style hug. Of course she was aware that the Warrior Foundation provided such services. Her dacha had been the one to ensure that they did. “And I am going to be fine. I will.”

He nodded, but the weight didn’t fully disappear from his eyes nor the tension from his shoulders. He tilted his head in the direction the train was traveling. “It appears we have almost reached our destination.”

She turned. A dark smudge of a large town grew closer on the horizon. The train itself was already beginning to slow, the shuddering of the brakes traveling through the cars into her boots.

The two of them headed for the ladder, climbed down, and re-entered the train car. Inside, the others in their elite guard were gathering their rucksacks and preparing to disembark.

Adry located her items just as the train gave another larger jolt, the brakes squealing. Peering out the windows, she took in the sight of the homes on the outskirts of the town, which currently bustled with Alliance soldiers. The homes and small farms gave way to businesses and warehouses, all in a brick similar to that in any Escarlish merchant town.

Slowing still more, the train came to a screeching, whistling halt beside the platform, which teemed with workers, trucks, and various other personnel and material.

Dacha led the way from the train, stepping onto the platform as Uncle Julien burst from the train car ahead of theirs. Adry paused in the doorway, smiling.

Uncle Julien rushed to the tall, white-haired, gray-skinned Aunt Vriska, who waited for him to one side of the platform. The two of them embraced before kissing, seemingly not caring that so many people would witness it. This was, after all, the first time Uncle Julien and Aunt Vriska had been reunited since the invasion into Mongavaria began. If they wanted to kiss in front of everyone, Adry didn’t think anyone would argue.

Still grinning, Adry forced her legs to move. She climbed down to the platform, striding a few feet away before she halted to take in the bustle.

Farther along the platform, Pip, Mak, and the other mechanics assigned to the Half-Breed Squadron climbed down from another train car. Pip glanced around, her gaze meeting Adry’s. She gave a wave, and Adry waved back, before Pip turned, shouting orders to several of the nearby men and women. She and the other mechanics had to oversee the unloading and transportation of a large amount of gear.