Page 37 of The Shadow Wand

Vothe’s concern spikes as he steps back into the hall and Trystan slams the door in his face.

He shouldn’t be here, Vothe rages at the door, conflict roiling inside him.It’s right to try to drive him out. He’s got Her power. Or some approximation of it.

The Vu Trin don’t know what they’re dealing with.

Trystan notes the swarm of spiders crawling in under his door as he sits down at his desk, wondering if this is some new torment devised to get him to leave a place he has no intention of leaving.

Until it’s time to travel back west to fight Vogel. With the Vu Trin army.

As spiders circle him, he gets up, opens his door, and steps into the hallway to find the silent young woman, his Death Fae neighbor, still standing there amidst the thick cobwebs.

The spiders flood back to her and scuttle up her short, slender form.

Trystan and the Death Fae stare at each other for a protracted moment.

“You’re afraid of Vothendrile,” she finally says, her voice a midnight thrum, her dark presence seeming like the calm eye in the storm of the insects’ agitated activity. Her gaze is like deep forest shadow and makes Trystan feel as if he’s facing the very center of the night.

Despite her intimidating, otherworldly presence, scorn rises in Trystan in response to her pointed question. “I’m not afraid of Vothendrile,” he tells her shortly. “I have a fair bit of lightning too.”

She gives a small laugh that doesn’t reach her gleaming black eyes. “No, not of his power. Of his beauty.”

A reflexive fear strikes through Trystan, every muscle tensing over the attraction that would be a crime in Gardneria.

The Death Fae tilts her head, eyeing Trystan quizzically as a scorpion climbs from inside her tunic’s collar to curl around her neck. A small lime-green scorpion.

Trystan realizes, with a small start, that it’s a Deathstalker scorpion, one of the most venomous scorpions in all of Erthia.

“I am Sylla Vuul,” she says with serene dignity as six more black eyes sprout around the two she has fixed on him, a tremor of surprise passing through Trystan.

Part of Trystan is amused by her polite introduction. It’s ironic, really, that the friendliest person here is so terrifyingly odd.

“I’m pleased to meet you, Sylla Vuul,” Trystan replies evenly.

She cocks her head again. “You don’t fear me,” she says, a question in the statement.

“No,” Trystan affirms.

She nods almost imperceptibly as another bright green scorpion scuttles down from inside her pant leg. “You should know, Trystan Gardner,” the Fae says, her voice a lull, “that you are as beautiful as Vothendrile. I can read you.”

Trystan’s throat constricts. “What do you mean?”

“Deathkin can read fear. I know who you truly are.”

They stand there for a long moment, eyes locked as a few spiders lower themselves down near Trystan on silken strands, peering at him through countless eyes.

“They are wrong,” the Deathkin says to Trystan. “They are as wrong about you as they are about us. Be patient with them, Trystan Gardner.” Her multi-eyed gaze turns almost mournful. “They fear the wrong things.”

Trystan pulls in a long breath, feeling an odd solidarity with this Deathkin with her poisonous scorpions crawling over her slender frame. Scorpions thatarea true threat. That could fell him in a heartbeat.

“You’re right,” he tells her grimly. “They do fear the wrong things. There’s only one thing they should all be afraid of right now.”

The Death Fae nods, their solidarity palpably strengthening, and when her words come, they ripple over him like inky mist, thrumming straight through his lines.

“The Great Shadow.”

CHAPTER FOUR

WYVERNGUARD FAE

---