Page 45 of The Dryad Storm

Chapter Ten

Runic Twinning

Gwynnifer Croft Sykes

Agolith Desert

Twelve days after Xishlon

Gwynn ascends the spiraling red-stone staircase to the Sunlands, the exit bracketed by two grim-faced Smaragdalfar soldiers. Predawn’s indigo light filters in from above, and breathless anticipation wells inside her.

Gwynn was surprised by the ache in her heart and the pull on her lines that took hold when she woke up to find Mavrik gone, her magical draw to him stronger than it was the night before, leading her to rise and follow it through one Subland tunnel and up one spiral staircase after another, past throngs of heavily armed soldiers to where she’scertainshe’ll find him.

Gwynn pauses at the cavern’s mouth before an elevated, scarlet-stone ledge, awe expanding her lungs as she takes in the sight in the distance.

Lightning-spitting storm bands high as mountain ranges line every horizon.

She’s read about these vast streaks of Wyvern-crafted storms that crisscross the continent’s center, the storm bands’ deadly, Wyvernfire-infused lightning magicked to deploy killing strikes at anything unwarded attempting to fly over them. But it’s one thing to read about the storm bands and another to come face-to-face with them.

Gwynn watches the bands, transfixed, as white lightning flashes through their long, roiling expanses. A deep-rose sunrise is forming over the eastern storm band, the Agolith Desert’s startlingly red stars still asserting themselves against a brightening cobalt sky.

A pleasurable tingle rushes through Gwynn’s lightlines, and Agolith-red sparks flicker through the corners of her Light Mage vision as she takes in the great swaths of ruddy stone arcing over the crimson landscape. And the scattered groves oftrees.Some dark and bulbous, some a luminous, buttery yellow that seem to glow from within.

A vision of the Verdyllion pulses through Gwynn’s mind, as if it, too, is caught up in the shimmering pull of forbidden Fae color. The Wand gives a directional tug on Gwynn’s attention, and she slides her gaze that way, searching across the crimson sands and then freezing as she spots a pale, winged figure in the distance.

Wynter Eirllyn is sitting under one of the yellow-glowing yucca trees, her slender form luminescent against the predawn blue, her dark wings fanned out. A ring of suspended silver Alfsigr runes Gwynn is unfamiliar with surround her, as well as countless birds, some of them on the red sands, some perched on the yellow branches above. The Verdyllion a slim, iridescent speck of green held loosely in Wynter’s hand.

Gwynn’s gut clenches over how small and vulnerable the Wand seems. Just a trace of green in a huge, lethal world, Vogel’s Shadow behemoth rapidly closing in around them all.

Fighting the urge to cower in the face of the dangerous unknown, Gwynn forces herself to stride onto the elevated ledge before her. Pausing there, she sweeps her gaze down toward a knot of soldiers gathered around a runic green bonfire in the center of another flat ledge beneath hers, the winding path of red rock at Gwynn’s feet leading down toward that broad, lower ledge.

Her gaze snags on Mavrik, her pulse quickening, a flush heating her face as she remembers hiskiss.

He’s seated amidst the circle of soldiers and talking to them in low tones, the soldiers mostly Subland Elves save for Wynter Eirllyn’s intense brother, Cael, and Cael’s quiet Second, Rhys. Mynx’lia’luure is pressed against Cael’s side in an overly familiar way and sipping from a mug while the commanding Subland soldier with the half-shaved head, Yyzz’ra, glowers at them both. The Amaz, Valasca, sits to one side beside the lavender Urisk woman, Sparrow, both women now garbed in Subland-green tunics and pants, their throats curiously ringed by emerald-glowing Varg runes.

Gwynn’s gaze swings back to Mavrik like a compass finding true north, and she begins to pick her way down the stone path. An almost hypnotic rush of magic sizzles through her in response to the way Mavrik’s green Mage shimmer is so dazzlingly enhanced by his shockingly emerald Smaragdalfar garb, her lines giving a hard, covetous lurch toward his.

As if sensing her magic’s yearning, Mavrik looks up, and their eyes meet.

Gwynn’s pulse jumps as sparks of luminous color flash to life on Mavrik’s lips, mortification dizzying her as her own mouth tingles, likely with matching threads of shimmering color.

Gwynn freezes, one hand covering her lips as everyone in the circle turns their eyes on her and quiets. Yyzz’ra’s belligerent gaze flicks toward Mavrik and then back to Gwynn, the Subland commander clearly having noticed the luminous color stinging both their mouths, an unkind smile forming on her own lips.

An almost unbearable shame swims through Gwynn.

You’re fasted, she chastises herself, a tight anguish clutching at her throat.You threw yourself at Mavrik so shamelessly, and you’re both fasted.

Fasted andSealed.

“Gwynnifer,” Mavrik says, his voice constrained but warm as he beckons her near, “come, have some tea and food.”

Gwynn’s shame is only marginally softened by Mavrik’s air of genuine welcome. Painfully self-conscious over the way her lips are still tingling with light energy, she goes to him and takes a seat between him and Mynx, careful not to touch Mavrik as Rhys quietly pours her a cup of tea from a copper kettle hanging on a tripod over the fire.

“I hope you were able to get a bit of sleep,” Mynx says, pointedly ignoring Gwynn’s and Mavrik’s color-infused lips as she hands Gwynn a plate of steaming, nut-scented cakes, flashing her a sympathetic smile before formally introducing her to Valasca and Sparrow, Cael and Rhys, and some of the others. Gwynn mumbles greetings in return, her gaze drawn repeatedly to the sparkling violet crystal Sparrow is worrying under her fingers like a talisman.

It’s a rebellious act, Gwynn knows—Urisk females are forbidden by their religion from handling their class’s kindred stones, because Urisk women do not possess the “divine gift” of geomancy. Gwynn meets Sparrow’s level gaze, a glint of defiance simmering in the Urisk woman’s amethyst eyes.

“Ready for your wandtesting after you’ve eaten?” Mavrik asks.

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