Page 84

Thirty-Two

Crouching behind the low earthworks dug into the dirt of the cornfield, or what had once been a cornfield, Adry drew in deep breaths, forcing herself to let them out slowly. Her fingers were shaking and sweaty as she gripped the hilts of her swords.

The first blush of dawn filled the eastern horizon ahead of her, the land still gray and misty. A beautiful sunrise to herald an even more beautiful, sunny fall day.

A day she was about to destroy with battle and bloodshed.

Not that the constant thunder of the guns and the explosions of the airships and aeroplanes bombing the front lines hadn’t already destroyed the peaceful morning.

“Are you all right?” Uncle Iyrinder halted and crouched beside her.

Not really. But she wasn’t going to tell him that she was so scared she was considering puking up the few bites of breakfast she managed to choke down.

“I’m fine. I’ll be fine.” She flexed her fingers on the hilts of her swords. They were awkwardly tucked basically in her lap, and she probably should have left them in their sheaths until it was time to attack. But she’d needed the reassurance of her swords in her hands.

“You will.” Uncle Iyrinder briefly rested his hand on the armor and leather covering her shoulder. “The guards will be at your back.”

Yes, but they’d be well behind her back. It would be too dangerous for them to come anywhere near her when her magic was unleashed.

For the first time, she’d be striding across that field utterly alone.

This was what Dacha had done for so many years—for all the battles and wars he’d fought. Perhaps the only way to truly walk in her dacha’s footsteps and carry his legacy was to charge into battle as alone as he had always been.

The radio in the truck parked several yards away crackled, and Ithronel answered it. After a moment, he raised his voice to call to them, “The airships and aeroplanes dropped the magical test bombs. There have been no signs of those magic-stealing machines.”

That test wasn’t conclusive. It had been effective right at first, dropping bombs of human-magic to see if it was drawn away in a specific direction.

But now that those bombs had been deployed in every battle since the Wall had come down, the Mongavarians had to be getting wise. If they were smart, they’d wait to turn the machines on until well after the bombs had gone off and the magic dissipated.

She glanced at the sky, where the black shapes of aeroplanes kept a patrol. If any of those magic-stealing machines made an appearance, Merrik would bomb them out of existence.

More indistinct crackling and voices came from the radio before Ithronel called to them, “The general gave the order to start the assault.”

“Whenever you are ready.” Uncle Iyrinder’s gaze still searched her face, a concerned line to his mouth and furrow to his brows.

She wasn’t ready. Strange, given how much she’d longed for battle when she’d been in Estyra.

With a deep breath and a nod to Uncle Iyrinder, she jumped to her feet, yanked on her magic, and blasted it outward into a crackling shield around herself. Gripping her swords tightly, she charged across the field, all alone except for the shells whistling overhead and the aeroplanes far above.

As she raced nearer, the Mongavarian front lines opened fire with their machine guns, the bullets bursting into sparks as they incinerated in her magic.

Reaching the front ranks huddled in their trenches, she reached into the fury that was her magic and unleashed it, holding onto only the barest thread of control. Her magic burst outward, a storm of blue bolts blasting in all directions.

She let herself sink into the magic, the fiery burn of it scorching away any regrets or feelings, leaving only the hard warrior who could burn through a trench filled with enemy soldiers without flinching.

She was Laesornysh, and nothing would stand before her.

Merrik threw his aeroplane into a roll to dodge the stream of machine gun bullets from the enemy aeroplane bearing down on him.

Another machine gun chattered as Lije swooped down from above, his bullets stitching a line across the enemy’s wings.

The Mongavarian roared away before Lije’s bullets reached his fuselage. Lije pursued, his faster and more agile aeroplane easily matching the Mongavarian’s movements.

Merrik came out of his roll and pointed his nose upward once again, tracking the enemy aeroplane from below as Lije chased from behind.

With Fieran gone, Lije flew as Merrik’s wingman while Aylia commanded Flight A now that Rothilion wasn’t there.

Even while focused on the enemy in front of him, Merrik kept glancing around, ensuring that no other enemy aeroplanes were swooping down to ambush him and Lije. Flashes of gunfire pierced the clouds of gunsmoke as aeroplanes wheeled and swooped like great eagles battling across the sky. The red, green, and gray Alliance circles whirled around the white and blue bars of the Mongavarian empire. In his quick glimpses, he couldn’t tell which appeared to hold dominance in the sky.