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She didn’t want to die. She wanted to marry Merrik, have children, raise the next generation of Laesornysh warriors. Or perhaps a generation of half-elves with strong plant magic, who looked at the forest with the same adoration that Merrik did.

Yet her blood dripped through her fingers. Agony speared through her each time she sucked in a gasping breath.

Death might not give her a choice.

Chapter

Thirty-Five

Merrik’s aeroplane roared into the sky, lighter now that he’d dropped all four of the bombs secured beneath his wings.

He glanced over the side of his aeroplane. Had he gotten the machine? Was Adry all right?

There was a twisting tension in his chest. A dread he couldn’t fully explain.

He took in the dogfight in the sky above, reassuring himself that the bulk of the squadron stationed there were holding their own. The Mongavarians had sent several waves of aeroplanes, but so far none had had much in the way of overwhelming strength. They seemed to be sending all they had at the Alliance, but the Half-Breed Squadron with their greater experience and superior aeroplanes could handle the makeshift Mongavarian forces. Most of the enemy pilots flew like they’d barely seen the inside of a cockpit before heading into battle.

“Did you get it?” Lije’s voice rang over the radio, his aeroplane circling overhead below the dogfight.

Merrik tilted his aeroplane to better see the ground. He couldn’t see any blue magic. “I think so.”

Shouldn’t Adry have recovered enough by now to at least shield herself? His gut twisted, his breathing tightening in his chest. He knew—he knew—something was wrong. “But she’s in trouble.”

He didn’t realize he’d said that last part out loud across the radio until Lije’s voice responded, “Then go to her.”

“Yes, Captain. Go to her.” Aylia’s voice had her normal lilt, but a firmer edge. “The rest of the squadron can handle things in the sky.”

The tug in his chest was too urgent—too intense—for him to argue. Besides, General Julien Ardon had given the order that protecting the warriors of the magic of the ancient kings was the primary mission of the aeroplane squadrons all along the lines.

He tilted his aeroplane into a dive. As he skimmed over the bunkers, he still didn’t see Adry or any sign of her magic.

The light for a ground communication flashed, but he ignored it. He was already coming.

With the way the elves had grown a nascent forest up to the foot of the hills, there was no place for him to land behind the lines. The only spot large and flat enough for his aeroplane was the valley between the fortified hills.

He dropped low over the Alliance lines, turning so that his nose faced the gap between the hills. His aeroplane’s wheels skimmed the tops of the trees as he bled off speed, slowing so much that his biplane barely floated in the air.

As soon as he reached the edge of the trees, he shoved his aeroplane down. The wheels thumped onto the dirt with a jolt, and the tail with the tail skid slammed into the ground moments later.

He rolled to a halt near the base of one of the hills, the nearest bunker smoking and blackened. The aeroplane had barely come to a rest before several figures dashed down the hill toward him.

He didn’t even have time to unbuckle himself from the cockpit before his dacha leapt onto the toestep. “Adry has been injured. She needs the hospital.”

One of the elite guards carried Adry, her eyes closed, her face pale beneath her freckles. She had her hands pressed over the bloody bandages wound around her middle.

Dacha leaned down, and the guard passed Adry to him. With a grunt, Dacha raised her higher into his arms.

Adry stirred as Dacha lifted her over the side of the fuselage. “Merrik?”

“I am here.” Merrik helped Dacha situate Adry inside the cockpit on his lap. It took some doing to wedge her in there in a way that her legs didn’t impede the control stick or interfere with his ability to move the rudder bar. He’d have to fly with one hand since his other was pinned around her, holding her in place.

Dacha gave Merrik one last look, that of a guard reluctantly entrusting his duty to someone else, before he jumped down from the aeroplane.

Having been parked only a brief time, the engine was still hot. It roared to life when he switched it on, the propeller spinning up rapidly.

He had no room to turn around. No space to take off headed for the Alliance lines. The only ground available to him was the road leading between the hills. Hills that were still guarded by fully armed and functional bunkers with machine guns trained with a clear field of fire on the very road he’d be taking.

There was nothing for it but to take off into the teeth of those guns.