Page 261 of The Dryad Storm

“You were right, my son,” his mother says, drawing his attention.

He turns and meets his mother’s dark gaze, her face, decorated with its Amaz runic tattoos. She’s turned toward him with a look of both deep love and remorse. “You were right to push me toward being open to new ways,” Astrid admits. “This festival... it’s a good one.”

His eyes widen a fraction over the Xishlon moon’s ability to loosen his rigidly reserved mother’s tongue and help her speak from her heart... and offer what he knows is a difficult apology.

“The Amaz have many admirable ways, as well,” he suggests.

“They do,” Astrid agrees, her voice tight with emotion, the black metallic beads decorating her braided black-and-purple hair glinting in the Xishlon light. “But Queen Alkaia knew... sheknewthat the path forward is diverse. And that it was time to change more than a few traditions.”

Andras considers this. “Will you join Queen Freyja’s Amaz faction now?”

Queen Freyja Zyrr has set up a new Amaz homeland, with close to three-quarters of the Amaz, in the Northern Vo Forest, establishing a new, more liberal approach toward having men in their midst, including the queen’s love, Clive Soren. The remaining Amaz faction has split off under a new queen and is readying to journey to the continent’s harsh northern reaches.

Away from all men.

“Freyja’s faction will allow you to embrace both me and your grandson without being cast out,” Andras offers, clear how painful this separation from her people has always been for his mother—a separation caused by her wildly rebellious decision to let her son live.

And to love him.

Astrid peers back up at the moon, a slight, melancholy smile on her lips as a huge firework detonates into the shape of a purple Xishlon rose. “I love my people, it’s true,” she says, “and I always will. But I’ve decided to join the Lupines.”

Andras pulls in a harsh breath while Konnor lets out a delighted gasp at the display, fireworks now exploding into the shapes of two herons flying joyfully around the moon. But Andras is only half-aware of the Xishlon display. Because... his mother joining the Lupines isn’t just a breaking of boundaries. It’s aflat-out rebellion. A rebellion of the best kind.

In defense of love.

Andras’s thoughts careen back to Sorcha, his beautiful Amaz love, and his breathing grows uneven and tight.

When he and his Dryad’khin allies returned to the Eastern Realm last fall and Andras first caught sight of Sorcha in the front lines of a combined Amaz, Smaragdalfar, Lupine, and Keltish force, his heart had leaped in his chest, hope rising that there was some chance Sorcha’s rigid adherence to Amaz ways had softened.

Days later, as she retreated into a closed-off area north of Voloi claimed by the traditional faction of Amaz resistant to working with men or joining with the Forest, he tried to seek her out only to be harshly rebuffed by a line of battle-hardened Amaz soldiers. They’d informed him that Sorcha was planning to travel north with them where Andras could never follow.

Devastated, Andras struggled to hold on to the shred of hope Valasca had given him after her own visit to those same Amaz, during which she sought out Sorcha.

“Don’t lose faith,” Valasca urged him the evening she returned as he battled a wave of longing so acute, he wondered if his heart would fully shatter from its force. “Sorcha needs time,” Valasca insisted. “She loves you still. I’m sure of it. But every single member of her family, save her son, is goingnorth. The type of break with family, religion, and culture that being with you would require of her... it’s more than most people can withstand.”

“Yet you say to have faith,” Andras spat out, glaring at her.

Valasca’s forthright stare didn’t waver for a second. “There are no guarantees for any of us,” she responded, a pained look tensing her brow. “But if you’re going to hitch your wagon to some heavenly body, Andras, I’d go with the Xishlon moon. Choose love every time. Even if it breaks your heart.”

Andras chews over the memory of her words as more fireworks burst and sizzleinto the shapes of hundreds of small Xishlon moons, and Konnor lets out a delighted shriek.

His longing for Sorcha surging to unbearable heights, Andras turns away from the sparkling moons and the large Xishlon moon hanging bright over them all.

Because he can’t take one more moment of the damned moon’s pull.

And then, his gaze caught by an approaching figure, he blinks and stares, then blinks again, not quite sure what he’s seeing is real. As if summoned by the Xishlon light, Sorcha is walking toward him through the purple-clad crowds, eyes full of what looks like a distraught yearning, strong enough to match his own.

Their gazes meet, and Andras’s heart explodes into a pounding rhythm. Everything surrounding Sorcha’s scarlet-clad form fades into a violet blur, her lake-blue skin tinted purple by the moonlight, her long, sapphire hair swishing behind her. Her pointed ears are rimmed with cascading silver hoops that flash the Xishlon moon’s light, the dark Amaz runic tattoos swirling over her lovely face accentuating her dazzling golden eyes.

Andras’s pulse grows even stronger, a million emotions firing in him all at once with more power than every firework in existence.

“Sorcha,” he rasps, his voice hitching around her name, and she pauses a respectful distance away.

Tears pool in her eyes as she stares at Konnor, a look of agony tensing her features, her lips starting to tremble.

“Who is she, Papa?” Konnor asks, clearly sensing the heightened emotions riding the air, worry in his child’s crimson eyes. Sorcha gives Konnor a wavering smile, tears spilling over her cheeks while her lips part then close again.

“She’s your mother,” Andras answers, firm, so much pain and yearning and remorse in those words that he feels his heart may break around them.

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