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“Roger that.” Aylia sounded like she was saluting. “Now take care of your Laesornysh.”

Merrik smiled at that. “Will do. Linshi.”

He dropped the flight cap into the cockpit once again before he lowered himself back to the ground.

Once there, he found several men standing next to his aeroplane. All of them saluted as Merrik turned to them, and one spoke up. “Sir, we’ve been ordered to move your aeroplane.”

Not unexpected. If anything, he was surprised it hadn’t been moved already, given how much it was obstructing a vital roadway.

Merrik returned their salutes. “Yes, of course. Could you please wheel it to a spot near the Laesornysh’s quarters?”

It would need to be wheeled into the road or a field to take off again to return to the makeshift aerodrome. But if it was near where Adry was staying, then Merrik could more easily check in with the squadron.

“Yes, sir,” the men acknowledged and hurried to their task.

Merrik tottered farther away from the aeroplane. He’d only made it a few steps before a voice called from behind him, “Sir!”

It took him several more moments to register that the person was trying to get his attention. He turned, finding the orderly from before standing there with a bundle of bloody items in his arms. The orderly held the things out to him. “Your flight clothes and the Laesornysh’s fighting leathers.”

Right. Merrik glanced down at himself. He still wore the hospital gown over his shirt and trousers. His right wooden foot wore a boot, but his left foot was in nothing but a stocking.

He untied the hospital gown, then he and the orderly exchanged the gown for the bloody clothes.

Merrik took the time to unlace the boot from his right foot to even out his steps before heading down the street in his bare feet. At least his wooden foot didn’t feel the sharp gravel the way his left foot did. The gravel became especially irritating when a pebble worked its way through his stocking and between his prosthetic toes and the rest of his left foot.

After a few minutes, he reached the house where Adry was staying. It wasn’t nearly as grand as that townhouse he’d seen before, instead rising a mere two stories. When he entered, one of the elite guards directed him to the primary bedroom suite on the second floor, which held a large bed and a sitting area near the window overlooking a small garden in the back.

One of her guards took the soiled fighting leathers and flight clothes from him, and he settled into a chair beside the bed.

Adry lay still and pale, her red-gold hair spread across the white pillow. The blankets had been pulled to her chin, and the coverlet rose and fell with her comfortingly steady breaths.

Merrik leaned over, removed his stocking, and dug out that pebble before he settled back into the chair, prepared for a long afternoon.

After about half an hour, Dacha entered the room, carrying two bowls that wafted steam, a sheath of papers beneath an arm. He halted beside Merrik and held out one of the bowls, which held a chicken, bean, and vegetable soup. “You should eat, sason.”

“I do not know if I can.” Merrik took the bowl and rested it in his lap to let the soup cool. With the way his stomach was twisting, he wasn’t sure he could choke down anything.

“You will feel better once you do.” Dacha settled into one of the other chairs facing the bed. He set the papers on the end table before stirring his bowl of soup. For several minutes, they sat in a silence broken only by the scrape of spoons on bowls, though neither of them took a bite. After a deep breath, Dacha eyed Merrik over his bowl of soup. “This is what it means to be a friend of a Laesornysh. There are many long days and nights of waiting at a bedside, standing guard. Those long days and nights will be that much harder when you are in love with a Laesornysh.”

“I know.” Merrik breathed the words out on a sigh. He’d thought he’d been prepared for this. He’d been a friend to both Fieran and Adry, a nephew to Uncle Farrendel, his whole life.

But those years of friendship were nothing compared to sitting beside her now, aching with worry and plagued with the memory of her blood soaking hot and sticky through his clothing.

Nor had anything prepared him for standing at her side while those bullets had been removed. Being told he was risking being burned by her magic to do so.

Merrik cleared his throat. “Did you know? That a Laesornysh needs to stay awake during surgery?”

“Yes.” Dacha sighed, looking down at his soup and giving it another stir. “I should have thought to warn you. Farrendel had hoped it was a reaction confined to him and not intrinsic to his magic. I had not dared ask after…after the crash, and we were both distracted with other things.”

Such as Merrik losing his leg. He shifted that leg, feeling only the ache he always got after hours in the air. If things had been different, then Merrik would have been there. He would have seen firsthand that Fieran had been awake during his surgery. Or if their friendship hadn’t been so rocky for so long, Fieran would have told him.

Merrik released a long breath, trying to release all the would haves and should haves. He couldn’t change what had happened, and what had been damaged in the crash had been repaired for both of them.

Still, it would have been nice to have some warning, so he could have been more prepared for what it would mean to support Adry when she went into battle.

On the bed, Adry stirred, giving a slight moan, before she settled back into a more restful sleep once more.

He and Dacha lapsed into silence. Merrik picked up his soup and forced himself to take a bite. It had cooled to the point that he barely had to blow on it before popping the spoonful in his mouth.