Page 146 of The Dryad Storm

And then he flies off, leaving a trail of lightning in his wake.

They close the gap in their shield and watch him soar away, a tense quiet descending before Vothe’s great-aunt breaks it with a hissing stream of Wyvern epithets.

“Well, that went well,” Vothe snarls, staring toward the top of the Vo Mountain Range.

“Your brother always was a stubborn fool,” she growls.

Vothe levels a glare at her. “You were ready to incinerate my mate or bite his head off when you first landed.”

Sithendrile returns Vothe’s glare in spades. “Yes, and I’m theopen-mindedone of the family.” She lets out a long, teeth-gritted growl. “Please tell me you two have a larger force on your side.”

Trystan brings one hand to his hip and rakes the other through his Vo-blue hair before leveling a hard look at her. “All of our potential allies are fighting with each other.”

Sithendrile looks to the heavens and curses again before visibly gathering herself, jaw set tight. Her eyes fix on Trystan once more, an edge of apology entering their fierce depths. “Welcome to the family, Dryad’kin.”

Pained emotion shivers through Trystan’s power before he reins it in, and Vothe is swept up in the almost unfightable urge to kiss away any doubt left in Trystan that his place is by Vothe’s side. Then Trystan gives Sithendrile a returning jaded look, coolly collected once more as his eyes flash power.

Sithendrile smirks as she holds Trystan’s gaze, her eyes crackling with obvious approval. “Well, then,” she hisses in Wyvern as she lifts her hands and gathers gold-and-blue lighting around them, her fingers and wrists flashing bright with it, “we’ll just pray to Vo on High for a miracle. And, in the meantime, we’ll find out just how much power we can throw into our shielding.”

Chapter Eight

Deathbonded

Tierney Calix

Northern Vo River

Tierney swirls her hand through the Vo’s night-dark purple water, her vulnerable River’s returning ripple of affection squeezing her heart. She can sense Or’myr, Fyordin, and Viger just behind her, the four of them grouped on the rocky riverbank, their joint power so intimately bonded, any boundaries between their intermingling auras have frayed.

“I can sense the Vo’s elemental magic gaining importance as more of the Natural World in the West is destroyed,” she murmurs. Her eyes widen as a new reading flows in from the Vo’s connection to all of Erthia’s waterways. “I sense something else, as well. A shield has just been sent up around the Zonor.” She looks at Fyordin, who strides knee-deep into the Vo, as well.

“Can you sense its origin?” Fyordin presses, sliding his hands into the water.

Tierney nods. “Trystan’s power is in it... along with Zhilaan Wyvern magic. Can you feel it? And the aquifers of the East... they’ve just been linked to a Dryad with strong water magic.”

Fyordin’s Vo-dark stare meets hers. “I’ve a sense of this, as well.”

Astounded by this development, Tierney lets the unexpected magic rush over her for a long moment as she studies her River, her immediate surroundings illuminated by the purple light emanating from the shield-amplifying runes Or’myr has marked on the stone wall beside them. She lifts her gaze toward the Xishlon moon Or’myr crafted in the sky, still hanging just above their dome-shield.

Like a purple battle cry.

Tierney’s blood warms, a wave of affection escaping her hold to rush towardOr’myr. Instantly abashed by this surge of emotion she knows will flow right into him through their bond, she frantically tries to reel it back to no avail.

Her surge of feeling connects with Or’myr like a wave crashing to shore, and she catches him stiffening, their gazes flashing toward each other. Violet lightning flashes through Or’myr’s eyes as he gives her a look of such pureardor, a hot flush blooms over Tierney’s skin.

They wrench their gazes away, Tierney’s pulse cast into a tight, rapid rhythm, as Fyordin’s water power lashes around her in an aggravated swirl, her Asrai’kin clearly picking up on what’s going on between her and Or’myr.

Viger’s line of Dark suddenly courses through it all in a disquieted vibration.

Tierney startles and flicks her gaze toward Viger. He’s defying gravity, as he’s wont to do, his tall form suspended against the broad trunk of a towering Noi River Elm above their heads like a great spider, his back to the bark, his full-Dark predator eyes set onher.

“That’s good news, that we have help in protecting the East’s waterways,” Or’myr states rigidly, drawing Tierney’s attention back to his intent, lightning-spitting stare. She can sense him fighting off the bond’s pull to her, sense him attempting to keep his emotions from crackling through it. He peers out over the Vo. “I’ve always known on an intellectual level that this river is one of Erthia’s major arteries. But I neverfeltit like I do now... connected to you all.”

Tierney gulps as Or’myr casts another pained, ardent look her way, prompting a stronger rise of Fyordin’s power to roil through them both. Tierney struggles to ignore it. She can feel the way they’ve all been fighting to see past the bond’s pull, wrenching their focus toward the Vo again and again—they’re all clear that there are more important things at stake than the tumultuous, impassioned feelings simmering through this binding.

“I feel more fullyFaethan I ever have before,” Tierney confides, keeping her gaze firmly on the Vo, “with so much at stake.”

“I also feel more Fae than I ever have,” Fyordin admits, his voice gruff, conflict jostling through his power. “When my family arrived here as refugees, they were so desperate to assimilate.” He pauses, grimacing as he shakes his head before he glances at them all. “At times, after I pledged allegiance to the Wyvernguard and the Vu Trin, I wrestled with the pull to be Faefirst. But I realize now, my decision to put the Waters of Erthia aboveall elsewas the right path all along.”

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