Page 60 of The Demon Tide

I watch Vothe stare at the glittering city of Voloi, the tiered expanse lit up by a million purple lights in anticipation of Xishlon. He leans against the Wyvernguard’s sixth-level terrace railing, illuminated by the nighttime glow of its sapphire torchlight.

“I’ve been forbidden from volunteering again with Minyl,” he says. “My brother visited earlier to inform me of this. I suspect that’s coming from my father.”

I look at him in surprise. Vothe never confides in me about his personal life. And he’s talking to me like he’s been doing it all along. It feels disarmingly natural, to let this boundary between us fall. But, why not? We’ve been together almost every waking minute for weeks now. And he’ll no longer be my guard soon.

A pang accompanies the thought, which part of me finds amusing. I remember how incensed I was to have a guard. And such a disconcertingly handsome one. How it threw me so completely off-kilter. How it still does. I lean against the railing alongside him, a single cloud drifting below. The inky river is calm tonight, a thousand stars strewn across the expansive sky.

I turn to face Vothe fully. “What are you going to do?”

He glances at me sidelong, and a spark of palpable lightning flashes between us. Vothe’s gaze flicks over my tattoo. There’s a frisson of want in his gaze, and his smile is subversive when it comes. Desire sparks, along with the urge to kiss him then and there and show him what subversivereallymeans.

He turns to me fully as well, his power rising with striking force. “I’m going to go volunteer with Minyl,” he says, power crackling. “And you and I are going to punch down the Zonor’s undertow.”

Vothendrile

Trystan’s brow lifts in response to my declaration, surprise leaping through his power.

“All right, Vothe,” he says. “Let’s smooth out that river.” His words are lightly conveyed, but there’s nothing light about the magic flaring between us, the breeze from the Vo enveloping us in its balmy caress.

A troubling thought rises. A remembrance of Trystan being dragged into the Zonor River, overcome by his storming magic and devastation.

“Trystan...”

He seems to read my unease, his features tensing. “I’m stronger than I was,” he says, power flashing between us. “And those fleeing here...they likely won’t fear me now.”

I still as it dawns on me in one dazed swoop why he altered his appearance so dramatically. Gardnerian yet not Gardnerian anymore. With his newly sky blue hair and piercings and tattoos which I’ve been told are forbidden by the Gardnerian holy book. All of this a blaring refute of the Gardnerian religion and the West.

But that’s not the main reason he changed his appearance so drastically. It was never solely for himself at all. It was for a larger reason, more important to him than all the others.

To go back to the Zonor.

At training the next morning, Trystan and I link hands, our fingers threading tight as we give each other a weighted look. We stand at the edge of the riverside terrace, sunlight spearing down.

Commander Ung Li and a throng of apprentices and soldiers look on as we ready ourselves to do this revolutionary thing—seeking not to smite Trystan’s vast power, but instead, to join it with mine. To test how much Mage wand magic can amplify Wyvern power.

We’ve informed Ung Li about our secondary motive—to still the Zonor River’s unnatural killing undertow, and have earned her guarded support, along with that of most of the Asrai Fae. So we’re testing our joint power first on the Vo.

I turn and take in Min Lo and Ru Sol, beaming at us amidst the multitude of glowering expressions. Gazing around, I catch the subtle uptick of Ung Li’s lips, as well as scattered supportive looks from a few of the apprentices and Vu Trin. The looks of outrage on so many friends’ faces pains me, but the sense of rightness to be openly aligning myself with Trystan is a wondrous thing.

A black mass on the Wyvernguard mountain’s stony face snares my gaze, and I glance up to find Sylla Vuul, in spider form, clinging to the top of the bas-relief dragon’s head, Tierney and Viger Maul perched beside her.

“Ready?” Trystan asks, calm as always, but I can sense the restless, excited energy sizzling through him.

I nod, and he points his wand at the water and begins to murmur spells, as I draw on my own storming energy and lift my free hand to the heavens.

“Vihlshhri, shuunir, vehlthru,” I count down in Zhilon’ile. “Vheerno!”

We release our joint power, a compact tornado of wind rushing from my upraised hand toward the wispy clouds above at the same time a gusty bolt from Trystan’s wand blasts down into the Vo below. Every cloud in the sky whips back to the edges of the horizon as a centrifugal tunnel shoots down through the Vo, providing a fantastical view of the river’s dark silty bed. The Vo’s waters slowly circle around the tunnel, then slow to a halt.

My body shudders along with Trystan’s as we meet each other’s eyes. Hands trembling, we keep tight hold of our joint magic running from river to sky. My wings fan out behind me, the sensation of our merged power as exhilarating as swallowing a storm, the warmth of his hand in mine sparking a rush of lightning all over my skin.

And then Trystan smiles at me and I know, in that moment, with glittering certainty, that I never want to let him go.

Trystan

Just two days later, Minyl’s rune skiff is diving straight down into the maelstrom encompassing the Zonor. I catch sight of several small boats being sucked toward the river’s killing whirlpool.

“Are you ready?” I ask Vothe as I lift my wand.

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