Page 239 of The Dryad Storm

So many Mages.

A stunned shock rolls through me, an upsurge of grief close on its heels as I take in the poisoned landscape all around us and our scattered dead at the front lines, my blood beginning to boil as anger rises like a tide.

Theydidthis.

The Magesdidthis.

“Elloren,” Yvan says, a cautionary weight to his tone that I ignore as power floods me—Black Witchpower. I step toward Vogel’s forces, overwhelmed by the vicious Black Witch urge to slay them all and watch them burn.

To make every last Magepay.

Ignoring Yvan’s cautioning flow of fire, I draw up magic, knowing I now hold enough Zhilaan-fortified power to incinerate themall.

The Verdyllion tingles against my palm, its urgent energy halting my steps.

A flash of verdant color blasts over the sea of Mages and Marfoir, and I startle, surprise coursing through Yvan’s and my restored fire as the vast majority of Vogel’s Mage soldiers take on a deep, Dryad-green shimmer and the Marfoir transform back into Alfsigr men, their salt-white hue gaining a greenish tint, the bound Shadow creatures falling into gray dust.

A flash of the Verdyllion’s light shocks through me, and the scene before me cuts out.

I’m overtaken by visions of my entire story, from my first sighting of a Watcher in Halfix to my time at Verpax University, initially mistrusting every non-Mage... to where I stand right now.

In a split second, I relive it all.

The Verdyllion shifts the vision, images flashing through my mind of what I might have been, had I cast Ariel out when I had the chance, had my uncle Edwin not hidden my power from the Magedom, had I not listened and learned from my former adversaries who are now my allies.

Including a rebellious Icaral who became the father of my spark of a child.

Pain courses through me, remorse shearing through my heart. Because I know what I might have been had I chosen differently.

I’d be one of the Mages massed before us.

But I wouldn’t be down on my knees, listening to the Forest.

I’d stand at their gray, leading edge, the Shadow Wand clutched in my hand.

And I wouldn’t have needed Vogel’s control to put me there.

With one inescapable bolt of reckoning, I’m struck by the realization that we all hold the possibility of being drawn to the Shadow or the Verdyllion. We all hold both the pull toward hatred and cruel fracture and the opposing pull toward the loving, unifying path of the Watchers deep inside us.

And it’s up to each of us to choose which pull to follow.

Trembling and painfully chastened, I lower the Verdyllion at the same momentAriel, morphed into Icaral form, takes to the sky and arrows toward Wynter while Thierren sprints toward Sparrow.

I scan the Mages, distantly registering that the Mage who seemed to resemble Damion is nowhere in sight as our forces set about taking those few Mages who haven’t joined with the Forest into military custody.

“Dryad’kin!” Sylvan shouts as he runs toward the opening to the Sublands.

My empathy picks up a sizable mass of depleted Dryads sheltering just beneath us, Alder and Oaklyyn rushing toward the opening as well, as Dryads begin to filter out of it. Yulan pauses to lash out a bolt of sapphire power at the bound pyrr-demons, the creatures shrieking as Ironflowers suddenly wind around them and the demons sizzle away to gray stream.

Dazed, I watch the Dryads embrace their kin and Thierren and Sparrow fall into each other’s arms, their powers swirling around each other with ardent force, while Ariel zooms in and lands in front of Wynter, dropping to one knee before her, her horned head lowering in supplication, wings fanning out.

“My beloved one,” Ariel says, in a clearer voice than I’ve ever heard from her. “Ealaiontora of Alfsigroth and Dryad’khin warrior. I give myself up to you as your Second. To protect you and ally with you.Forever.”

Tears spill from Wynter’s silver-fire eyes as she tears a strip of cloth from the emerald tunic under her armor and carefully wraps the Shadow Wand in the fabric then slides it into her tunic’s pocket, only a trace of the Shadow Wand’s power remaining. Wynter then lowers herself to Ariel’s level and cups her face in her hands. “No, my beloved one,” she says, her voice suffused with affection. “You are not my Second. You are my Great Love. My Forever Love.”

Ariel’s head rises, moisture sheening her gold-fire eyes. She chokes out a strangled sound of emotion before she and Wynter pull each other into an embrace, then into an impassioned kiss. Emotion tightens my heart as they burst into gold and silver-green flame, love burning bright in it.

And then the flames die down and Wynter rises and steps back, the Ironflowers singed away. Silvery lightning limns the edges of Wynter’s branch wings, and a beatific smile lifts her lips as she holds out her hand to Ariel. Ariel takes it and rises, as well.

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