Page 214 of The Dryad Storm

“Useyoureuphemisms, then,” Or’myr prods. “That’s sure to be a good distraction for us both.” He glances up through their shield at the surrounding,lightning-pulsing storms. “Clearly, I could use one, as well.”

Tierney gapes at him. “Myeuphemisms?”

He shoots her a dry look. “You mentioned one before. They must have quite a few in the West. Every culture does.”

“Well,” Tierney hedges with a shrug. She gives him a sheepish look, suddenly all too aware of his dauntingly attractive, verymaleform. “Swords and so forth.”

Or’myr’s eyes widen.“Swords?”he sputters, seeming instantly scandalized.

“Youknow...” Tierney prods, rolling her hand in the air, her embarrassment reaching epic proportions.

“No, I really don’t,” Or’myr states, emphatic.

She loosely motions toward his groin, barely able to look at him. “Your... your ‘sword of manhood.’?”

“My ‘swordof manhood’?” Or’myr sputters. “Like... for fencing? That’s bringing an incredibly bizarre picture to mind.”

“Not likethat.”

“You useweaponsfor sex metaphors? That’s horrifying. No wonder none of you Westerners can speak of this.”

“Well, what doyoucall it?” Tierney asks, growing exasperated. “Your ‘magic wand’?”

Or’myr flashes her a wicked grin. “See, you’re good at this.”

“Okay,” Tierney sharply returns. “You’re completely mortifying me, but go ahead.” She swipes out a hand in invitation. “Tell me your Eastern Realm metaphors.”

“Well,” he says, growing thoughtful, “we have the ‘staff of delight.’ You must have seen one or two on Xishlon. People dancing around them and trying to land wreaths of violet seashells atop their pinnacles.”

Tierney coughs out a laugh. “Staff of delight? Like arunic staff?”

Or’myr throws her a look of mock censure. “Not like aweapon. You don’tjoustwith it. Sweet Holy Vo, you probably would in the West.”

“Likely,” Tierney concedes.

Their eyes meet and they both burst into much-needed laughter.

“You know, it’s good luck on Xishlon,” Or’myr says, wiping the mirthful tears from his eyes, “to send a wish out to the Goddess Vo for your beloved. You send the wish into the shell wreath and toss it onto the Vo’vish’luure staff. You can just about imagine what the wreaths represent.” He waggles his brow suggestively.

Tierney can barely bite back the laugh. “Did you toss a seashell wreath onto thestaff for Xishlon?” she jests, barely believing she’s daring to joke like this.

Or’myr shrugs, tossing her a grin. “I might have thought of you and laid one.”

“To get hold of my seashell?” Tierney asks, grinning, unable to contain the laughter that’s bubbling up once more.

Or’myr’s grin widens. “With my ‘staff of delight.’?” They break into uproarious laughter once more. But then Or’myr’s laughter fades, his gaze on her suddenly serious. Pained almost. “I really like you,” he says. “We’re poised before what actually could be the end of the world, and all I can think about in this moment is how much I like you.”

Tierney gives him an answering smile, joviality still dancing in it. “I like you too.”

“No,” he says, firm, as he motions between them. “Ireallylike you. This is hard. Because I want to be your closest friend. I want to be the first person you want to come to with... withanything. And yes, Tierney, Iwantyou. I’m so in love with you, it’s tearing me apart. And the fact that these could be our last days together...”

A knot of emotion forms in Tierney’s throat, his words striking way too close to home. “These won’t be our last days together,” she doggedly insists, knowing, as her inner storm strains to break free and fly toward him, that it’s her turn to be strong. “Our allies are going to drive Vogel back.”

Or’myr nods stiffly, shooting her an impassioned look, and Tierney senses, through the flow of their magic around each other, how she’s bolsteringhimin this moment. Groundinghim.

Which makes her frustrated urge to embrace him even stronger.

“And even if we had hundreds more days together,” she says, attempting to suppress her growing want, “it wouldn’t matter. Our magic won’t allow us to be together, and there’s no sense pining for what can never be.”

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