Page 197 of The Dryad Storm

Hizar’drile nods. “Our legends have it that this Forest fought back and drove the Alfsigr out.” He gives us all a grim look. “For centuries now, if anyone who is not Fae Dryad’kin tries to step into its depths, they’re fought off with every means possible—spearing branches, Zhilaan Fire Ants, Lightning Salamanders, Fire Hawks—the trespassers promptly set aflame and exploded.”

Witch’kin.The Forest shudders through me, the frequency of the word bone-deep and embracingly hot around my lines, fire to fire. Erthia’s last sizable stand of old-growth Forest.

Ourlast stand.

“Vogel will be coming for this Forest,” I warn, taking in the trees’ towering potency. “Valasca’s right. Everyone needs to bind to it and link to its power before foliage season ends.”

Yvan takes my hand and draws me toward the tree line until we’re just inside it, an instant realization of his intent dawning. He turns to the non-Dryad’khin massed before us and gives them a fervid look. “I’m bonded to this Forest,” he calls out, holding up his III-marked hand. “It accepted me and named me Guardian even though I am a Keltish-Lasair Wyvern.”

Vothe turns to his father, a thread of his invisible lightning crackling outtoward Hizar’drile. “This is the moment we go on faith, Fav’vyar,” he offers, his arm and the rest of his power tight around Trystan. “We need to show this Forest that we can be its allies instead of its destroyers.”

Trystan suddenly breaks away from Vothe and strides toward Hizar’drile and Gethindrile, stilling before them and holding out his III-marked hand to Vothe’s father. “Join with us,” he stridently offers, his eyes alight with purple-and-white lightning.

Vothe’s father stills as he holds Trystan’s forthright stare, seeming as if he’s struggling with a rise of powerful emotion, lightning spitting through his dark eyes. “I’m sorry,” he finally manages, his expression tightening with obvious remorse. “I can scent your sincerity, Trystan Gardner.” He briefly glances at me, then Rafe. “And I can sense the sincerity of your kin. I should have gotten to know you first, Trystan Gardner, before shunning you based on your lineage.”

“I’m sorry, as well,” Vothe’s brother offers, a tortured look on Gethindrile’s face.

Trystan and Vothe exchange a quick look, and Vothe draws up to my younger brother’s side.

“We forgive you,” Trystan says to Hizar’drile and Gethindrile, an emphatic strength crackling through his power.

“We forgive you both,” Vothe seconds before they draw both Hizar’drile and Gethindrile into embraces and the potent truth strikes home—there’s no time left for anything but forgiveness and alliance.

“Welcome to the family,” Rafe comments wryly, grinning at Vothe’s father and brother, his arm slung around Diana, Hizar’drile and Gethindrile looking a bit dazed by the turn of events.

“You’ll soon have the Icaral of Prophecy as your full kin, as well,” Ariel teases, shooting Yvan and me a sly look, a welcome glint of amusement in her fiery eyes.

“A few Lupines, as well,” Diana adds, grinning wolfishly at Vothe’s father and brother as she casts a pointed glance at Jarod, Aislinn, and the rest of our extended kin, my heart filling with so much love for my family and friends, even in the face of what’s bearing down on us all.

“It’s time to break downallthe barriers,” Valasca offers, growing serious. “And unite as one Dryad’khin people.”

Yulan rises, her tresses now made up entirely of deep-purple blooms. There’s renewed strength in her stance, the power of the Zhilaan Forest rising with her,her heron ruffling its multihued feathers. “Come,” Yulan says, beckoning all of the non-Dryad’khin toward the tree line, “let’s bring youallto the Forest.”

The entirety of our accompanying Vu Trin forces, both Zhilon’ile and Noi, along with our entire horde, enter into the trees and join with them, the Zhilaan Forest able to handle our horde’s fire, Naga, Raz’zor, Ariel, and the others gaining smatterings of purple leaves and slim branches amidst their wing feathers along with the III mark on their palms.

A transformed Hizar’drile immediately sends soldier envoys out to beckon all of Zhilaan to come to the Zhilaan Forest’s trees simply to listen. And then, if they freely choose a Dryad’khin bond, to enter into the Zhilaan Forest for the first time in their lives, embraced and strengthened by the combative Forest as its newfound allies and army.

Hours later, Yvan and I pause, just above the Zhilaan Forest’s canopy, my feet supported by one of the Nightwood Pine’s uppermost huge, dark branches as I search for any trace of Vogel’s incoming power. Unbalanced storms boom against the dome-shield above, held back by Valasca’s geo-channeling of the Forest’s purple-hued might.

“Peak foliage is almost here,” I say, light power flooding my lines as I turn to Yvan. “We have just a few days, at most, to gather power and move against the Magedom.”

Yvan nods as we both turn our sights toward the slender, conical mountain that rises from the Zhilaan Forest’s center, a Vu Trin military base built into the obsidian stone of the mountain’s pinnacle, all of us to convene there once everyone emerges from the trees.

“I’m not picking up any trace of Shadow power,” I say, giving him a sober look. “Not yet.”

Yvan’s violet-fire eyes hold mine, courage blazing through our bonded fire. Because we both know it’s coming—Fallon’s wintry Shadow cold rising against Yvan’s Forest-linked fire.

“It turns out this was your fight, all along,” I say, my voice hitching. “And I never was the Black Witch. But the Prophecy... it will likely prove to be true. Alder is still reading it in the trees.”

Yvan’s jaw tightens as he glances back toward the West. “If I’m meant to be Erthia’s Icaral of Prophecy, then so be it. I’m ready to fight for all of you.”

A rush of love burns through his fire, so much emotion in its incandescent blaze that for a moment I can barely pull in an even breath.

“I love you,” he says, turning to me, a hotter band of his invisible fire sweeping in around me.

“I love you too,” I say, tears sheening my eyes as I’m swept up into a longing for him that’s so intense I can barely get the words out. “What happens... when a Wyvernbonded couple fully pair?” I venture. “I’ve seen the bite marks. Trystan has one. So does your mother.”

Yvan’s eyes spark, ardent energy crackling through his power. “Our initial kiss was like a wandfasting in some ways. Connecting us and our fire magic. When we pair, it’s like a Sealing in that we’ll gain a more intimate grasp on each other’s magic.” He hesitates, swallowing, as his gaze briefly flicks toward the base of my neck, the yearning in it so obvious it makes my skin tingle. “The bite opens up a full sharing of fire power between two Wyverns—to the point where they can deploy each other’s fire. But, Elloren, I don’t know what the Wyvern bite would do to our balance of magic, since we’re both so uniquely powerful and you’re not Wyvern’kin.”

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