Page 154 of The Dryad Storm

Viger’s teeth elongate as he snaps them at Gethindrile, his snakes flashing fangs. “Doyouhave any idea how close I am to being drawn into a Reckoning, Noi’khin? How closeallthe Deathkin are? Do you have any idea of the cruelty involved in trying to right evenone sliceof a destroyed Balance?”

“I think you have your answer,” Or’myr calmly states.

Gethindrile cuts them all an outraged look. “The Easttrustedyou. We let you all into ourWyvernguard.”

“You did,” Tierney shoots back. “To protect the East. And we’re going to dojust that. By protecting her largest rivers and adjacent forested land.”

Gethindrile’s face twists with disgust, lightning leaping through his eyes. “You’re no longer Vu Trin,” he growls.

“So be it,” Fyordin growls back, ignoring the pain Tierney senses strafing through his power. “But we areAsrai.” He exchanges a look of ferocious alliance with Tierney before pointedly glancing at Or’myr and Viger. “And they are our Asrai’khin.”

Fierce emotion strikes through both Viger’s and Or’myr’s powers, straight through the bond as a surge of love for all three men rises inside Tierney, the power of the Vo swirling around and through them all.

A look of cold reappraisal tightens Gethindrile’s features. “You can’t fight us off forever.”

A laugh escapes Or’myr. “We’ll sure as hell try.”

Gethindrile hisses at him, baring his teeth. “We should have known better than to let the grandson of the Black Witch into Noilaan.”

A dart of anger sparks through Or’myr’s power, Gethindrile’s cruel words roiling Tierney’s internal tempest as Gethindrile thrusts his wings down and takes to the air, soaring toward the shield, angry crackling threads of lightning trailing in his wake.

Or’myr briefly opens an exit for him, and Gethindrile soars through it, then hovers in the air above the shield for a moment to confer with two other Wyvern-shifters, before the entire unit of soldiers fly back west. Throat tight, Tierney watches them wing toward the half-destroyed peaks of the Vo Mountain Range, likely assembling a large military force there to magic their storm band into being.

Holy all the hells.

Tierney turns back to her three Asrai’khin, the strength of their bond pulsing with troubled force. “What now?” she asks, at a loss.

“I will travel to the continent’s central lands,” Viger states grimly, turning his abyss-like eyes toward the half-decimated Vo Mountain Range. “And get a closer look at these storm bands Vogel has set in motion.” Viger’s gaze collides with Tierney’s, those three words that live at the base of his line of fear suddenly escaping his hold to pulse through her with heart-striking force.

A knot of emotion tightens Tierney’s throat, her internal storm rearing, surprise welling to find herself loath to be separated from Viger, despite all her anger and confusion over his actions.

“Viger...” she starts, but before she can get out another word, he bursts into multiple crows made of mist and takes to the sky.

Winging west.

Or’myr, Tierney, and Fyordin watch him leave in tense silence.

“He certainly has a flair for the dramatic,” Or’myr notes, bringing a hand to his hip before spitting out a few Noi curses under his breath.

“Can we push our shielding west somehow?” she asks him. “To join it to Elloren’s and Trystan and Vothendrile’s shielding?”

Or’myr glances at her sidelong. “That’s what I’m thinking. We’ll need two runic focal points of Asrai power to accomplish that, placed north and south.”

“Give me a rune-marked stone, and I’ll carry the focal point south,” Fyordin volunteers, a quiver of fierce reluctance eddying from his power to rush around Tierney. He looks straight at her, a current of love for her streaming through their joined magic and flowing to both her and their River as Tierney struggles to bite back her rise of reciprocal feeling.

“I need to be the one to go,” Fyordin insists. “I can more easily evade Vu Trin capture, since I have the most knowledge of how they operate.”

Tierney nods, grasping the truth of his words. And as much as she was angered by Fyordin’s domineering attitude toward her earlier, she can’t help but be impressed by how they’re all putting aside their differences and jealousies to save the East.

“Goodbye, Asrai’ir,” Fyordin says, holding his forearm out to her.

Tears stinging her eyes, Tierney reaches out to grip him. She can tell from the pained reluctance streaming through his power that he’s saying goodbye to more than just their proximity.

Visible lines of their water power flow around each other’s forearms, and Tierney blinks back tears, steeling herself as she murmurs the traditional Asrai farewell she’s overheard both Fyordin and her other Wyvernguard Asrai’kin use again and again—“Asrai’ir m’yor’ith’illian.”May the full flow of Erthia’s Waters go with you, Asrai’ir.

“Asrai’ir sil’thrier,” Fyordin responds.And with you, Asrai’ir.

Then Fyordin gives her a bittersweet smile, releases her forearm, takes her hand, and lifts it, tenderly kissing its back, a knot of emotion tightening the base ofTierney’s throat. Fyordin releases her and strides into the Vo, raising a hand to both her and Or’myr in farewell, before diving underwater and dissolving into their Vo, streaming south.

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