Page 137 of The Dryad Storm

“There can be no Fae’kin without the Natural World!” Iris shrilly levels back at Soleiya. “All this division, it simply keeps us too powerless to fight back against the Shadow!”

“No, Iris,” Soleiya fires back. “And I will call you that Mage-bastardized version of your name because, apparently, that’s what you are now.” Soleiya slices another glare at all of us, but most especially at Vang Troi. “You will be the ruination of my people,” she snarls. “So, go ahead.Finishthe work the Mages started.”

Vang Troi’s expression remains stoic, her gaze fixed on her clasped hands as Soleiya storms off in a tempest of fire power along with most of our adversaries, save for Freyja Zyrr on our side of the shielding, Alcippe Feyir and another member of Freyja’s Queen’s Guard remaining protectively beyond it, a look of conflict on the Amaz monarch’s face.

Yvan’s eyes are two points of conflagration as he watches his mother storm off, his aura’s churning tension hot in the air, so hot I fear one spark will ignite an explosion.

Iris turns to Yvan. “Yvan’myir,” she implores in Lasair, “I’m sorry for the rift I caused between us.”

Yvan pulls in a deep breath and shakes his head, a compassionate warmth coursing out to her. “Iris’iyl’ir,” he says, heartfelt, “there’s no need. All is forgiven.”

Iris swallows, tears glistening in her eyes as her gaze slides to me, without rancorfor the first time. “Elloren’mysshir,” she says in Dryadin, her voice fracturing. “I’m sorry... for so many things.”

Emotion tightens my throat as the Dyoi Forest’s embracing energy flows toward us both, and I painfully recall how I behaved toward Iris and others in the Verpax University kitchen.

“I’m sorry too, Iris’mysshir,” I tell her in Dryadin. “For so many things.”

“Then let this discord between us end now,” she offers, her fire simmering toward me in a passionate stream as she strides to me and holds out her hand, a slight tremble to the gesture. My heart thudding, I rise, a huff of emotion escaping us both as I take her hand then draw her into an embrace, fire to fire, Forest’kin to Forest’khin.

“The Forest needs such a fierce ally,” I tell her, tears glassing my eyes.

She nods as we draw away from each other, her cheeks slick with tears. She squeezes my shoulder warmly before returning to Sylvan to take a seat, once more, by his side. “Well, Dryad’kin,” she says, turning to him, “it looks like I’m hells-bent on being the worst possible Lasair I can be. So be it. I’ve pledged my full power to your Forest.” She holds up her III-marked palm.

“OurForest,” Sylvan gently corrects her as his power encircles her, the Dyoi Forest’s embracing energy pulsing out more strongly toward us all.

“Traitor,”a female voice snarls from the tree line.

We turn to find Oaklyyn suddenly there, inside the great ledge’s forested rear. She looks haggard, her skin still grayed under the Dyoi Forest’s purple branching pattern. I can sense that the Forest’s attempt to feed elemental power into her lines isn’t enough, and there’s no kindred in sight. Her elemental energy feels perilously unmoored.

One of the animals Yulan is tending to—a young fisher cat with singed, grayed fur—takes a faltering step toward Oaklyyn and sends out affectionate kindred energy to her, but she refuses to even glance at the injured animal.

“My Dryad sister,” Yulan says as she rises to her feet, compassion tightening her lovely face as she takes in Oaklyyn’s battered state, “let one of these unbonded ones accept you as kindred—”

“My kindred isdead!” Oaklyyn snarls as she levels an incendiary glare at Yulan. Her grayed gaze swings to Sylvan, and she jabs a shaking finger at me. “We should have killed that witch the second we took her prisoner! We should have killed every non-Dryad in existence!” She glances toward the leagues of destroyed land, hereyes wild with grief. “That Shadow was brought down on our Forest by the Black Witch’s people, and now you’ve become an ally to them! I renounce youall! I hate youall!”

With that, Oaklyyn disappears back into the Forest, her severely depleted aura soon untraceable on the air.

A heavy silence descends in her wake. It’s as if a cyclone has departed, devastated looks on Sylvan’s and Yulan’s faces, Raz’zor’s fire giving a troubled flare in the direction Oaklyyn stormed away to.

“We need her,” Sylvan comments grimly, meeting Yulan’s anguished stare.

“I know we do, Dryad’kin,” Yulan agrees.

Sylvan glances up at our dome shielding, Vogel’s barely visible trace of Shadow webbing coursing over it. “I’m a power empath,” he tells us. “I can gauge the power in our shielding. It may be enough to hold off the Magedom for now, but it’s not enough to break through that Shadow net and draw our shielding over the entirety of the East. We need the power ofeveryoneunder this shield to do that.” He glances toward our adversaries, grouped together in the distance. “Or we’ll remain trapped here until winter descends, our magic goes dormant, and the Magedom strikes down our dome-shield and levels all the remaining Forests. Which will unleash the complete destruction of the Natural World.”

“We cannot afford to lose even one more half league of Forest,” Yulan agrees, grave warning in her moss green eyes. She reaches up to caress the grayed sparrow with a splinted wing perched on her shoulder. “Nature’s Balance is held by a weakening thread.”

“I’ll try to convince my allies to simply listen,” Iris quietly offers, glancing toward Vang Troi’s forces before turning to Yvan with an expression of grim concern. “It’s going to be difficult with the widow of ‘the Great Icaral Who Saved the East’ so set against Elloren.”

“I’m quite clear on that point,” Yvan responds, voice clipped, an angsty motion to his fire that has me reaching for his hand, a fervent look passing between us as he grips hold of me.

“We need the Verdyllion,” Yulan chimes in, looking at Gwynnifer and Mavrik. “Great Balancing energy is said to lie within III’s Verdyllion branch. Perhaps enough to make up for what we lack in power. Gwynn and Mavrik possess a trackable link to it that we can follow.”

Naga’s form abruptly contracts, and my eyes widen as first Naga and then almostour entire horde, including Raz’zor, morph to human form.

Yvan and I gape at Naga, now a tall, black-scale-armored woman, her green eyes overtaken by golden fire. The ear that Damion Bane tore from her head is a slash of a wound, and her skin is the same onyx hue as her scales, her short, tightly curled black hair tipped in gold. Horns rise from her head, dark claws grace her fingers, and the Mage CouncilMcruelly branded on her side stands out in relief. She shoots me a bemused look as I gulp, my shock ratcheting up to roaring heights as my gaze swings to Raz’zor... who is now a striking, snow-hued young man with eyes of vermillion flame. Alabaster horns rise from his tousled, chalk-white hair, his body covered in white-scale armor. His head tilts with inhuman, serpentine rapidity as he considers me.

Well, you’re full of surprises,I send out to him via our mind-link.

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