Page 35 of Winds of Death (War of the Alliance #4)

“That’s good.” Fieran could understand that. Those first days after the crash, wracked with pain, had been so hard. And yet going back to Aldon, spending time with his family and finally resolving things with Pip had been so good. He wouldn’t trade that time for anything.

“And you?” For the first time, Merrik turned to him and seemed to truly study him. “Are you all right? You nearly died too. I did not let myself think about how I nearly lost my brother as well as my leg. It was easier to be angry.”

“It took a week of healing at the hospital and even longer to regain my strength, but I’m fine now.” Fieran shrugged and grinned, not wanting Merrik to see how hard it had been. “And I had Pip. She helped. A lot.”

“Good.” This time Merrik smiled, more of a reaction than he’d shown at the tram platform when Fieran first mentioned that he was courting Pip.

Fieran searched Merrik’s face again, holding his gaze. “So? We’re good?”

“Yes.” Merrik seemed to brace himself, a grimace replacing the smile for a moment, before he held up his right hand and spat on it. He held it out to Fieran. “Brothers.”

“Brothers.” Fieran spat onto his own hand and shook Merrik’s hand firmly, their warm spit squishing.

Someday, perhaps, they’d be brothers for real, if Merrik married Adry. A definite perk to his best friend courting his sister. He’d get over a lot of the awkwardness to make that happen.

After a moment, Merrik yanked his hand free and swiped it on the front of his trousers, that grimace twisting his expression. “That is still highly unsanitary and immature.”

“Agreed. I think that should be the last time we do that.” It was high time they came up with something else besides spitting on their palms. Besides, Merrik didn’t like it.

That should be enough reason to find a new brother handshake.

Fieran scrubbed his own hand clean before he braced his hands on his knees.

“Now, are you ready to head to the hangar to greet the rest of the squadron?”

Merrik nodded and reached for his prosthetic. “Thanks for talking them into giving me space for a few minutes. I am assuming that was you?”

“Yes.” And it wasn’t that hard, once Fieran convinced them to throw a welcome back party in the hangar to keep everyone busy. Fieran pushed to his feet and pointed to the folded-up wheelchair. “Will you want this?”

Merrik glanced up from buckling on the prosthetic. “Yes, but I can carry it.”

“I got it.” Fieran picked up the wheelchair once again.

Merrik rolled down his pant leg. “I am not an invalid. I can carry my own wheelchair.”

“I know.” Fieran kept a firm grip on it. “But I wasn’t able to be there for you for the past six weeks. Please let me do this much.”

“Fine.” Merrik sighed, shook his head, and headed for the flap of his tent. “Just do not make a habit of it.”

Fieran hurried after him. They might be good, but he still wasn’t sure what to do with this new, more prickly Merrik.

“I’ll try not to. Besides, this isn’t just me helping.

It’s practical. You’ll need your hands free once we get to the hangar for all the hugs, backslapping, handshaking, and, well, you’ll see. ”

Fieran wasn’t quite sure how to explain the current sourdough situation, except that he was pretty sure the squadron had gone half-crazy in the past few weeks because of all the raids. Too much stress and too little sleep made people do interesting things.

Easing the step down from the platform to the ground, Merrik grimaced more at Fieran’s words than he had at the spit handshake. “I do not suppose we could sneak in and just skip all the attention?”

“Nope. Sorry.” Fieran fell into step with him, the dead grass crunching beneath his boots.

“The only way I could distract everyone long enough to give you these few minutes was to let them go all out in putting together a welcome back party. Like I said, everyone is very glad to have you back. Prepare to be mobbed.”

Merrik heaved another sigh, though a hint of his smile returned. “I guess I can put up with it for a few minutes.”

At the road, they had to pause to let a column of army trucks go by.

Fieran covered his mouth and nose with his sleeve, even as he took in the stretch of grass and the gravel road that lay between the tents and the hangar.

How difficult would those be for Merrik to navigate with his wheelchair?

The grass was dead, the earth hardpacked, but Fieran wasn’t sure how easily the wheelchair rolled over anything that wasn’t concrete.

It was a new way of looking at the world. One Fieran would have to learn, for the sake of his friend.

As the last truck rumbled past, Fieran hefted the wheelchair higher. “You know, it wouldn’t be that hard to add a small magically powered engine to this.”

“Do not even think about it.” Instead of bristling as he’d done earlier, Merrik gave Fieran’s arm a slight shove. “The only ones I would trust to do that would be Louise and Pip. Perhaps Bennett and Uncle Lance. But I would break my neck for sure if you were the one to do it.”

Fieran exaggerated a wince. He had gotten an image of a wheelchair speeding through the hangar. Perhaps Merrik had a point. “You wouldn’t trust Adry? She has the same experience and degree that Louise, Pip, and I have.”

Merrik snorted, true mirth in the sound, as he set off across the road. “Not a chance. I love her, but I would trust her to fiddle with it even less than I would trust you.”

Fieran had to work hard not to react at the casual way Merrik used the l-word in regards to Adry. Yes, she was Fieran’s sister. But it was fine. It wasn’t awkward. Much.

“True. I wouldn’t trust either of us with something like that.” Fieran gestured at the hangar ahead of them. “Ready?”

“Not really.” Merrik shared a lopsided smile with him, braced his shoulders, and stepped through the hangar door.

Grinning, Fieran followed.

“Merrik!”

The shouts came from around the hangar, which had been mostly cleared of aeroplanes to accommodate the party. Flyboys, flygirls, and elven pilots swarmed from every direction, and many of them held jars of the dubious-looking and somewhat noxious smelling sourdough starter.

Lije reached Merrik first and thrust a jar at him. “Please say you’ll adopt George the Twenty-fifth.”

“No, take Trevor. He’s far superior.” Stickyfingers lunged past Lije and shoved a jar at Merrik.

“Don’t listen to him. Beatrice the Beautiful is the best.” Tiny presented Merrik with one of his jars, this one decorated with a scrap of silk from a torn scarf.

Merrik gaped from the flyboys to the jars and finally shot Fieran a glance as if begging for help.

Fieran just waved his hand helplessly. The sourdough situation was well out of his hands at the moment.

The stuff just kept growing and growing and dividing, and a few of the flyboys had become downright obsessed with tending their jars of it.

Tiny’s girlfriend was supplying some of the flour, but Fieran could only guess where the rest was coming from.

He wasn’t quite sure how to get things back to a normal level of crazy.

But Merrik was back. That was all that mattered right now.

A bottle of soda in each hand, Pip wound her way through the various groups of flyboys and flygirls as they lounged about Bay 4, which had been mostly cleared for Merrik’s party.

A large banner made of scrap paper proclaimed “Welcome Back, Merrik” while a table held a bounty of donuts and the sodas they’d scrounged.

To one side of the hangar bay, Lije, Stickyfingers, Tiny, and Aylia stood by the makeshift stove.

Aylia and Tiny dropped coils of dough into cooking oil bubbling in the oil drum pots Pip had created while Lije and Stickyfingers pulled out the finished, fried donuts.

At this rate, they’d have enough to share with the other two squadrons.

Even with their efforts, they’d barely put a dent in the sourdough starter, which formed rows upon rows of glass jars that had taken up one of the workbenches.

Lt. Rothilion and many of the elves had claimed a spot by the large open door, chatting quietly while the night breezes tossed their long hair.

In the center, one of the largest groups of both humans and elves was playing a round of “Guess that quote” with one flyboy reading a quote from a Star Forest novel, and the others guessing who said it.

Nellie Blair must just about have that book memorized since she was shouting out the answers almost before the flyboy finished reading.

The others were talking about banning her from playing.

Pip reached the side of the room where Merrik sat in his wheelchair in the shadow of one of the aeroplanes.

He had ice provided by Tiny wrapped around his stump, his prosthetic tucked in the bag hanging from the back of the wheelchair.

Shadows still lingered in his eyes, even when he smiled, while his face was drawn and thin.

“Hey.” Pip held out one of the sodas to Merrik. “It’s good to have you back.”

“Good to be back.” Merrik took the soda with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

He’d managed the initial round of welcome backslapping, handshaking, and story-swapping well enough. He’d even been persuaded to show off his new wooden leg, gaining oohs and aahs over his ability to wiggle the wooden toes with his magic.

But then he’d drifted to the sidelines, hiding even more from the bustle than he had before.

Pip sank onto a seat on the cement floor next to him. “How are you?”

“Well enough.” Merrik shrugged, not glancing at her as he uncapped his soda.

“Probably getting very tired of everyone asking you that.” Pip opened her own soda before taking a small sip.

“Just a little.” Merrik’s smile returned, a wry curve to his mouth.

“Well, just let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.” Pip took another sip of her soda.

“Linshi.” Merrik sipped his soda, and silence fell between them for a moment. Then he gave her another smile, one that very nearly reached his eyes. “I heard you and Fieran are courting. It is about time.”

“Isn’t it?” Pip grinned, her grin widening as she heard Fieran’s and Mak’s footsteps clomping on the concrete toward them. “Took him long enough.”

“Took who long enough?” Fieran flopped down onto the concrete next to her, his legs sprawled out and his arms braced behind him.

“You to finally ask to court me.” Pip poked his stomach, earning her an oof . “Where did you and my brother get off to?”

Mak lowered himself to the concrete floor on the other side of Merrik. “Installing a few ramps.”

“There’s now a ramp on that hangar bay door.” Fieran pointed at the door of Bay 4 that led toward the tents. “The other side is already level with the dirt for getting the aeroplanes in and out. There’s also a ramp to your tent and to the showers and latrines.”

“Linshi.” Merrik’s smile vanished as quickly as it had come, those shadows deeper in his eyes.

“Now about that engine…” Fieran reached past Pip to tap one of the wheels of Merrik’s chair.

“No.” Merrik sent Fieran a glare, even if his mouth now twitched with a smile. There seemed to be some kind of joke there, but Pip was missing something.

“Fine, fine.” Fieran just grinned before he rested his hand over one of Pip’s. He glanced at her, tilting his head toward Merrik. “Did he tell you that he had the gall to start courting my sister the moment my back was turned?”

“No, he didn’t.” Pip glanced between Fieran and Merrik, not sure if she should laugh or brace herself for an argument. Since she and Fieran had been in Aldon with Fieran’s youngest two sisters, that left only Adriana, the one sibling Pip hadn’t met yet.

“Yep. Kissed her and everything. The cheek.” Fieran gave Merrik a glare just as fake as the one Merrik had given him a few moments ago.

On the other side of Merrik, Mak gave a snort before he burst into chuckles. “Now you know exactly what it feels like.”

Fieran gave a wince.

Pip shook her head, rolling her eyes. Brothers.