Page 42 of The Demon Tide

And it dawns on me—they hate men like us in the Western Realm.

It’s a surreal thought. Difficult to wrap my mind around. Such a bizarre thing for a religion to hate. But I’ve heard that there are whole passages in the Gardnerian religious book that condemn anyone who loves another of the same gender. Along with passages outlining how hatred against anyone winged or able to shift forms is absolutely demanded by the Ancient One. Hence, Marcus Vogel’s obsession with slaying or breaking every Icaral in existence, as well as all of Wyvernkind.

Such a hellish, fanatically deluded place.

I realize I’ve never once stopped to consider what life must have been like for Trystan over there. Because the idea of such a place is just too bizarre to be believed.

I hold Trystan’s tortured stare, suddenly overcome by the desire to understand.

“I know you’re attracted to me.” My words come in a rush, and the answering look of devastation on Trystan’s face makes me feel as if I’ve hurled a weapon.

Trystan’s lip trembles, and I’m stunned to find his impenetrable veneer of calm so effectively breached. “Everyone’s attracted to you, Vothe,” he shoots back, his voice edged with deep-seated bitterness.

I swallow, my own calm breached as I strive to keep my water aura from leaping straight into Trystan Gardner’s. “Did you have to hide yourself there?”

Ire flashes in his stunning eyes. “What do youthink?”

It’s a blow, this rush of realization that Trystan was even more of an outcast in the Western Realm than he is here.

“They don’t understand,” I breathe, glancing up toward the Wyvernguard, “do they?”

Trystan’s lips tighten with derision, his stare unblinkingly harsh. “And you think you do?”

I draw back from the accusation in his tone as a fuller realization washes over me. I’ve been so thoughtless, kissing Basyl in front of Trystan to push him away, when where Trystan’s just come from, to kiss a man like that would get you hurled in prison. Or worse.

I take a step toward him. “I want to understand.”

“You want tounderstand?” Trystan bites out. “Fine. I’ll help you to understand. If I embraced someone over there...”

His words break off and he looks out over the river, his jaw tensing, his water power churning. “If I embraced someone there like you embrace Basyl...” He stops again and takes a deep breath, then turns back to me, eyes blazing as if he’s willing me to understand from the force of his gaze alone. “If I kissed another man there, like you’re able to here, they would havearrestedus and possiblyexecutedus. Our lives would bedestroyed. Ourfamilies’lives would be destroyed. Unless they disowned us. My whole life I’ve lived like this, and you think I can just...turn it off and go back to beingGardnerian?”

Trystan scowls, and I can feel his vast power quivering with anger. “They tell me to wear Gardnerian clothing. That I’m a Gardnerian. But I never was.” His tone takes on a vicious edge. “Who I really am is unwanted in the Western Realm. Despised. And marked an Evil One.” He glances up at the Wyvernguard Island’s apex, fury in his eyes, then sets his gaze back on mine as a cold half smile forms on his beautiful, green-glimmering mouth.

“I never was Gardnerian,” he says with more emotion than I’ve ever seen him show. “And I never will be. No matter how many times they destroy my Noi clothing. No matter what they do to drive me out. I willneverwear Gardnerian blacks again.” He takes another step toward me, gaze scorching. “And whether the people of Noilaan want me or not, I’m going to stayright here. And I’m going to fight with everything in me for this intolerant, tolerant land.”

I’m frozen, stunned, the tear silently streaking down Trystan’s angular face bringing a sting of tears to my own eyes.

“Step back, Vothe,” Trystan says, his voice steely as his tear-slicked eyes take on a lethal light. His hand moves to the wand at his side.

Alarm whips up my power. “Why?”

And then Trystan draws his wand and throws a violent line of flame at the Gardnerian garb at his feet, enveloping them in a churning ball of fire.

“Min Lo.” I try to reason with my childhood friend and Vu Trin soldier. “Don’t arrest him. It’s more complicated than you think.”

“What’s complicated about it?” Min Lo demands, the streaks of silver and purple in her spiked black hair glinting blue in the terrace’s rune light, a line of silver stars hung diagonally across her uniform. She gestures toward Trystan, who stands motionless by the railing, the clothing smoking at his feet. She’s gripping Trystan’s wand in her fist as her dark gaze bores into me. “He just used Gardnerian wand magery without Wyvernguard permission. Which is enough to get him kicked straight out of not just the Wyvernguard, but the Realm itself. I thought you didn’t want him here.”

My lips tense with frustration. I’m about to step over a line that, once crossed, can never be traversed again. I glance toward Trystan and meet his gaze, our invisible lightning reflexively sparking toward each other.

I turn back to Min Lo. “I smell nothing but truth on him. He’s honestly here to fight with the East. And, Min Lo, he likes men.”

Min Lo pauses, as if she’s searching for the root of what I’m getting at. She’s been like this since childhood. Tough, but thoughtful and fair.

The ramifications of Trystan’s situation seem to dawn in Min Lo’s dark eyes. She narrows a glance back at Trystan, brow knotted, as if seeing him in a new light.

“That’s illegal over there, you know that, right?” she says, gravity entering her tone as her eyes flick back to mine. “The Mages are brutal about it.”

I nod, a bit dazed to be pleading leniency for the grandson of the Black Witch, but a remembrance of that tear sliding down Trystan’s anguished face fills my mind and the desire to truly understand what he’s been through strengthens.

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