Page 120 of The Dryad Storm

“When he came to,” Fain grimly finishes for him, looking heartsick, “my sister was gone.”

Ni Vin’s tear-soaked face swings to Jules and Fain. “I was the last to see her,” she roughly chokes out.

Their eyes widen.

“Where?” Jules demands, desperation clawing through his tone.

“I was fighting Marfoir beside her when they attacked us with their Shadow webbing,” Ni Vin tells them. “They used it to wrest the wand from Lucretia’s hand. When they closed in on her, she backed away toward a half-dead tree and...disappearedinto its trunk.”

Jules and Fain remain frozen for a moment, blinking at Ni Vin.

“She may yet emerge,” Alder staunchly interjects.

Jules’s gaze swings to her. “How?” he demands.

“The living Forest of Erthia has rootline connections that span the entire continent,” Alder answers, her voice and forest green eyes as steady as those of the small purple eagle perched on her shoulder. “If the Dyoi Forest’s connection to that half-dead tree remains, Lucretia may yet emerge—”

A flash of purple light rays out from two trees at the ledge’s edge, breaking off Alder’s words, and Yvan and I turn toward it to find Sage and Thierren suddenly there, kneeling amongst the trees’ knotty purple roots.

“Sagellyn!” Ra’Ven cries, his invisible green aura blasting into a passionate sizzle as he rushes toward her.

Breathing hard, Thierren and Sage dazedly take us all in. Both are transformed, their ears pointed, Thierren’s skin now a darkened Northern Forest green patterned with purple Dyoi Forest branching, a verdant streak through his short black hair. Sage’s bright violet hue is heightened, a deep-purple branching pattern gracing her skin as well, both Sage and Thierren grasping purple living branches.

“Ti’a’lin,” Ra’Ven exclaims, falling to his knees before Sage and sweeping herinto his arms. My gaze darts to Sage’s and Thierren’s hands and my breath catches.

Their fastmarks aregone.

Dyoi Monarch Butterflies flutter out of the Forest, the color beneath their wings’ black stained-glass lacings a luminous mosaic of every hue of purple. The monarchs light on Sage in a whorl of kindred affection at the same time that an Eastern Peregrine Falcon swoops in from the Forest and lands on Thierren’s forearm. The sleek bird of prey ruffles its night-purple feathers, its lavender eyes shining like two amethysts as they meet Thierren’s with a look of fierce, protective alliance. Tears glaze Thierren’s eyes, his severe face tight with emotion.

“Ti’a’lin,” Ra’Ven rasps, his voice breaking as he reaches down to cradle Sage’s fastmark-free hands. “You’refree.”

Sage’s eyes glisten as she looks besottedly back at him, butterflies decorating her hair, her shoulders. “I’m free in so many new ways,” she says in Smaragdalfarin, lifting her palm to display the image of III marked on it.

Surprise darts through Yvan’s and my bonded fire, the Great Tree marking on Sage’s palm evidence that something of III’s energy still thrums through Erthia’s rootline network.

Sage presses her III-marked palm over Ra’Ven’s heart. “Tia’lin, I need to bring you to the Forest...”

“Sparrow’s trapped.” Thierren cuts off Sage’s words, urgency writ in the severe lines of his face as he pushes himself to his feet, the falcon now perched on his shoulder. “The Forest sent me a vision of her. She was inside III when Vogel struck. She’s imprisoned inside the Shadow abyss that overtook the Great Tree.”

The blow connects with pummeling force. “Ancient One, Thierren,” I gasp.

“We’ve got to get hold of the Verdyllion,” Sage says as she and Ra’Ven rise to their feet. “It holds power that might be able to free Sparrow.”

“Explain,” Vang Troi demands in a harsh voice from beyond our line of division.

Sage meets Vang Troi’s stern gaze. “The Forest showed me that the Verdyllion Wand-Stylus is a counterforce to the Shadow when it’s wielded by powerful light sorcerers connected as Dryad’khin.” Sage turns to me. “Elloren, there’s a reason we were drawn to the Verdyllion as its Bearers. Every one of us holds potent light sorcery.” She looks to Ra’Ven. “The Smaragdalfar myths are true in this—multicolored light is aweaponthat can overtake Shadow, especially when it emanates from seven points, seven Dryad’khin light sorcerers.” Her gaze swings to Gwynnifer. “That includes you, Gwynn,” she says in the Dryad tongue.

An ocean of feeling rises in Gwynn’s and Sage’s formidable light auras as Gwynn’s mouth trembles into a remorseful frown.

“Sagellyn,” Gwynn says in a fractured voice as she releases Mavrik’s hand and steps toward her. “You were my good friend, and Ibetrayedyou. I betrayed you in Verpacia when I pointed the Mage-hunt toward Ra’Ven, and I’ll never forgive myself for that.” She gives Ra’Ven a tortured look, tears streaking down her cheeks. “I waswrong. I’m so sorry.”

Sage and Ra’Ven share a look of intense conflict, a storm of emotion in it before Sage turns back to Gwynn, an expression of resolve on her purple features. She surges toward Gwynn, a cry escaping Gwynn’s throat as the two Dryad’kin fall into each other’s arms.

“You were like a sister to me,” Gwynn sobs into Sage’s shoulder.

“You are my sisterstill,” Sage insists before drawing slightly back from their embrace, holding on to Gwynn’s forearms. “Webothfell prey to the Magedom’s lies.” Sage looks to the tree line, brow knotting. “And we were both ignorant of our Dryad rootlines and our true Forest home. But now,” she says, smiling through her tears as she holds up her III-marked palm, “we are forever united as Dryad’kin. I forgive you, my sister.”

“I forgive you as well, Gwynnifer,” Ra’Ven staunchly assures Gwynn, bringing his hand to her shoulder as she weeps.

---