Page 176 of The Dryad Storm

I meet Yvan’s fiery eyes, alarm crackling more intensely through our bond because my uncle is right—we’re running out of time. And it took more time than we have left just to unite the people under this dome.

Chapter Fifteen

Unbroken Dragon

Elloren Guryev

Northern Dyoi Mountain Range

I climb up to the Dyoi Forest canopy that night and surveil our surroundings with my Errilor Ravens, my flock silently soaring over the Dyoi Forest. The strengthened soles of my bare feet rest on the bumpy surface of the small woven-vine platform I’ve conjured, two upthrust branches supporting it.

My hand pressed to one branch’s bark, I survey the Forest’s canopy, my gaze sliding over our dome-shield. A line of my power is feeding directly into it via Oaklyyn’s runes, the multihued, brightly charged runes she marked flooding the shield with our collective magic. My gaze narrows past the runes, snagging on the Shadow net encasing our shield. Like a soldier sizing up a disastrously worthy opponent, my gaze traces the imprisoning net’s faint gray lines, exhaustion bearing down.

You’re lying in wait, aren’t you, Vogel?I glower.Ready to spring on us once our power dips...

The affection of the huge ash tree beneath me swoops around me in a wispy embrace. A loving ache squeezes my heart, my awareness of the Forest’s fragility surging. Worry lancing through me, the feel of Yvan’s incoming fire suddenly blazes through our bond. He bursts up through the Dyoi Forest canopy, violet eyes aglow, his silhouette night-darkened as he lands on the platform before me, the verdant strength-amplification rune Oaklyyn marked on us all burning bright on his chest.

He gives me a close look and brings his warm palm to my shoulder, his wings arcing around me. “Get some sleep, Elloren,” he offers. “I can sense how tired you are. There are more than enough people on watch tonight.”

“I’m scared, Yvan,” I confide as I gesture toward the leagues upon leagues ofShadowed land. “Wrenfir’s right. Even withthisstaring us in the face, there’s a good chance that the East will choose infighting rather than coming together to defeat it.” Choking back my sudden rise of emotion, I hold his gaze. “When we blast this shield over the East,” I say, “our power will be greatly depleted. Just when we could be faced with avery hostileEast quickly followed by avery hostileMagedom.”

He lets out a breath, giving me a grim look. “We’re short on options, Elloren. We’re just going to have to quickly convince the East to fight with us.”

Frustration churns through my fireline as I look over the Shadowed land once more. “Sometimes I think of everything that’s happened,” I confide, “and wonder how we got here. How did so many people allow things to get somonstrouslyterrible?”

Yvan gives me a weighted look. “Not realizing the stakes,” he suggests, a hard look entering eyes. “Letting ourselves be divided byreligion.”

I take in his condemning gaze, his violet eyes simmering with long-burning outrage. I’ve understood for some time that Yvan hates religion. Holds it squarely responsible for the majority of the world’s ills and for the Shadowed wasteland before us. And I agree with some of his conclusions. To a point.

But not past that point.

Because I can’t shake the feeling that he’s missing something vital, the Watchers coming to mind, along with the Verdyllion Wand and III.

“Religion isn’t all bad,” I carefully suggest.

He huffs out a refuting breath, his hands coming to his hips. “It’s a way to separate and control people.”

“It can be,” I agree, “but Jules Kristian had me read multiple religious texts at Verpax University and it got me thinking. Perhaps Erthia’s faiths hold teachings in their center that can help us in this fight.”

He gives me an incredulous look. “Elloren, I’m part of a group reviled by practically every religion in the Western Realm. Almostevery single one. I’ve been hated my whole life because of one god or another’s ‘teachings.’ Look what the Alfsigr did to Wynter. What the Gardnerians did to Ariel and Pyrgo. So, forgive me if I have a jaundiced view of religion. It can turn evil in a heartbeat—”

“When people worship their religion’s flawed parts instead of the things they all have in common,” I insist.

He coughs out a sound of derision. “You mean mindless prejudice and hate?”

“No. The things that lead us into connection with each other that seem to be present in all of Erthia’s faiths—the Watchers. The Source Tree. The Verdyllion—”

“Elloren,” he says, his fire aura whipping agitatedly around me, “the forces of division and hate are proving to be much stronger than that Wand that abandoned you.”

“I’ve seen the Watchers, Yvan. I’ve seen them again and again—”

“Oh, I have too,” he counters. “On the Mage flag. On their priests’ robes and soldiers’ uniforms.”

“Yes,” I concede. “But that’s their image, notthem. Did you see the Watchers when you went into III? I did. And they felt connected to something real and true. Something vital to this fight.”

He blows out a harsh breath, his brow knotting as he shakes his head, giving me a conflicted look. “I saw them,” he admits. “And I still don’t know what to make of it.”

We stare at each other for a loaded moment, our magic unsettled as his eyes spark, heat rising on my cheeks as his expression flickers from conflict to desire, our Wyvernbond heating.

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