Page 40 of The Demon Tide

Because it took the Death Fae to break through all the hatred here and accept him.

It’s predawn the next morning when Heelyn confronts me prior to the start of my post as Trystan’s guard. She strides toward me over the Wyvernguard’s mid-level terrace, a crowd of military apprentices just ahead. Heelyn’s muscular frame is outlined by the overcast sky’s deep gray light, her dark eyes full of zealous heat as a chilly wind rustles the parchment in her hand.

My body lights up with anticipatory tension, the angry purpose coming off Heelyn serving to drive the tension higher, my storm power jostling to life in flashes that sting the underside of my skin.

“Here,” she says, thrusting the paper toward me.

“What is it?” I ask, making no move to take it.

“A chance to redeem yourself,” she bites out.

I swipe it from her, knowing this longtime friend of mine can easily read the lightning flashing in my eyes. My pulse quickens as I spot Trystan’s name in the paper’s leading text. It’s a petition to ban Trystan from wearing his Wyvernguard uniform.

Outrage strikes inside me, swift and hot, as I fist the paper in my hand. “You think you’re somehow aiding the East, doing this?”

“As were you when you tried to keep him out!” she shoots back. “Have you forgotten what you used to stand for?”

I spit out a contemptuous laugh. “Please, tell me, Heelyn. What did I stand for? Condemning someone before even meeting them? Based solely on their lineage? Is that the Vothe you miss?”

I’ve a sudden sense of the crowd ahead stilling, their eyes on us. Their eyes onme.

The angry blaze in Heelyn’s eyes shifts to something impassioned. “I miss the Vothe who put the Eastern Realm first. If Vang Troi needs the Gardnerian so that we can dissect his twisted magic, so be it. We use him for our military gain. Slay him in doing it, preferably. But don’t put the Crow in Wyvernguard clothes. Make it clear he canneverbelong.” She jabs her finger at the paper in my hand. “Get on the right side of things.”

I glower at her. “It’s incredible how sure you are that you’re on that right side.”

That light in her expression whisks away, only a teeth-gritted anger remaining. She steps toward me, fists balled. “He’s an insult to all we’re fighting for.”

I’m unable to suppress the rise of my horns from my head. “How’s that, Heelyn? How is he an insult to every last thing we’re fighting for?”

Her gaze flicks over my horns, her words low and unforgiving. “That you even need to ask shows how far you’ve fallen.” She steps back, a hard glint in her eyes. “We’re going to meet with Ung Li. And mark my words, Vothe, wewillget the Crow stripped of a uniform he shouldneverhave been allowed to wear. And thenwe’llbe the ones to get him thrown out, since you seem soutterly incapableof doing it.”

I’m suddenly so furious I can’t stand there any longer. If I do, I might say something that will destroy any remaining shred of our friendship.

I turn my back on her as my claws extend of their own volition. Then I crumple the piece of paper, ignite it in my palm, and throw its smoking ashes to the ground.

CHAPTER SEVEN

NOI’KHIN

Trystan Gardner & Vothendrile Xanthile

TheWyvernguard

North Wyvernguard Island,Noilaan

EasternRealm

Sixth Month

Vothendrile

“You need to wear this from now on,” Ung Li orders Trystan two nights later, her expression steely as I stand at attention by Trystan’s side in her tower chamber. She pulls neatly folded black garb off a nearby shelf and my breath constricts as I realize what it is.

Gardnerian clothing.

Outrage sparks through me. You’d think the Wyvernguard was in danger of imploding and falling to the bottom of the Vo, so great is the agitation over Gardnerian features paired with Eastern Realm garb. And the strengthening protests are rendered more ludicrous still, because every shifter here is sensing the same thing from Trystan that I am, many of them admitting to me—It seems he’s really committed to fighting with the Eastern Realm.

But they admit this only in hushed whispers where no one else can overhear, so great is the danger of sympathizing with the Gardnerian.

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