Page 48 of The Dryad Storm

He stops, appearing momentarily stricken with both devastating remorse and remembered horror.

Contrition tightens Gwynn’s gut. “I’m sorry,” she says, understanding, all too well, a piece of his remorse and horror. And what it is to find your life suddenly spinning out of control, the image of the armory and her family’s home exploding surfacing again and again. Leaving her fastmate and throwing her lot in with the Resistance went against every last thing she was taught her whole life.

As did falling into alliance with a rebel like Mavrik.

But she also can’t shake a series of even stronger images—the frightened Smaragdalfar children fleeing through the Sublands. Bloom’ilya’s and Ee’vee’s terrified faces as their ears were cropped. And from what she’s learned since then, that’s only atraceof the barbarity the Gardnerians have rained down on the world.

“I know how hard it is,” Mavrik says, cutting into her thoughts, his tone and gaze softened with compassion, “to go against everything you were ever taught. And I know what it is to have your heart broken by reality.”

Gwynn pulls in a harsh breath, blinking back the sting of tears as she holds his gaze, the memory of how kind he was to Bloom’ilya and Ee’vee only escalating her draw to him. “I fell into your magic last night,” she admits, struggling not to feel like a criminal. She can tell, from his knowing expression, that he can read the forbidden subtext she can’t bring herself to voice.

I fell intoyou.

“I fell into your magic, as well,” he admits before he coughs out a self-deprecating laugh, biting at the color still forking over his lips. He gestures toward his mouth, an ardent intensity overtaking his expression. “I loved kissing you, Gwynn, I won’t deny it. Our thrall is making that a bit too obvious. The Verdyllion seems to have enhanced the magical attraction between us when it linked our lines. It’s quite adept at creating strong linkages, among other things.”

“Have you tried wielding the Verdyllion on your own?” Gwynn asks, cognizant that he was Gardneria’s premier wandmaster before the Magedom marked him as its enemy.

He nods. “It won’t let me send magic through it. The Wand seems to have a mind of its own. For the moment, only Wynter seems able to wield it as a runic stylus.”

“I feel like...” Gwynn hesitates, biting at her own tingling lips. “My magic wants to leap into yours.”

His eyes sharpen with a knowing light, and she struggles to not fall into the gorgeousgreenof them. “Your magic perfectly complements mine,” he says, his tone low and confidential. “I think that’s why the Wand was able to forge such a strong link between us. I’m a Level Five Air, Wind, Earth, and Fire Mage. I’m only lacking in light magery. And you have averystrong line of light power. Last night, when we...connected... I felt like that link was reforged. Amplified, even.”

He rubs at his lips as Gwynn turns this over in her thoughts, the space between them suddenly crackling with forbidden possibility.

“When we kissed...” Gwynn forces out, an ocean of conflict rising “...Ididthink you were Geoffrey.”

“I’m clear on that,” Mavrik says, his voice and stance hardening. “Gwynn, I’mnot him.”

So much is conveyed in those two words. A tingle races down Gwynn’s spine as she holds his blazingly intent gaze.

No, she considers,you are definitively not Geoffrey.

Caustic misery and guilt and anger dig their claws in.

Did Geoffrey witness slaughter? What atrocities was he party to after he deployed?

Yet, unlike Mavrik, hestayed.

“Geoffrey’s eyes...” she tells Mavrik in a strangled voice. “A few months back, they took on a gray glow. He’s ensorcelled in some way... probably by that Wand of Vogel’s. Perhaps not of his own volition—”

“No, Gwynn,” Mavrik cuts in. “It’s a choice for Mage soldiers to take on Shadow magic. I was offered it, as well. Geoffrey saw what they’re doing. He saw it, Gwynn. But he wantedpower.”

His words are a strike to the heart. A part of her guessed this already. Sensed the change in Geoffrey before his eyes started to turn gray. She remembers him railing against his Level Two earth magery, increasingly bitter over how his low level of power robbed him of rank and prestige.

And as much as she had once loved him, she can see the brutal truth so clearly now—Geoffrey would haveabsolutelytraded in his humanity for power and acceptance. As it was, his humanity was already slipping away, to the point that the torture of children was acceptable to him. And to her parents, as well.

Her misery slides into blistering outrage then reckless defiance, the will to fight resurfacing. She gives Mavrik a hard stare. “Let’s see what I can do with a wand.”

Mavrik’s eyes glint, as if he’s seeing something new in her that he adores. He flips the wand in his hand and holds its hilt out to her. “Try it,” he prods. “Send out a spell.”

Gwynn nods and takes it, a thrill coursing through her as she considers the wand in her hand, noticing its wood is the exact same hue as the tree Wynter is sitting under. There’s a small grove of the same Golden Yucca trees huddled together in the near distance, their bright color gaining ground as the rising sun inches closer to the storm bands’ top edges.

Drawing in a shivering breath, Gwynn lifts the golden wand and murmurs a simple Mage light-orb spell, her light magery flashing to life through her lines and sparking toward her wand hand.

Her magic flashes against her palm’s underside, triggering an explosive ache as it shimmers fitfully there, unable to break through to the wand in her hand. Caught up in the wildly frustrating yearning for magicalrelease, Gwynn grits her teeth, her voice rough when it comes. “My magic is still blocked.”

“Then let’s try the spell with us touching,” Mavrik offers, his tone full of a patient warmth that skims the edge off Gwynn’s frustration.

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