Page 274 of The Dryad Storm

“You said you had something to show me,” he murmurs against my lips as he lightly presses his forehead to mine, his fingertips trailing sparks over my skin.

My breathing erratic, I nod and lift the cloth-wrapped gift. “Wynter made this for us. She wanted us to open it here.”

Curiosity lights in Yvan’s eyes as I untie the purple string and fold back the cloth.

We both draw in emotional breaths as we take in what Wynter has crafted for us. It’s a small statue, carved from purple stone. A statue I envisioned during Shadowed times—a revolutionary reimagining that Wynter read from a single touch of my wrist. A new Prophecy to replace all the others.

An Icaral and a Dryad Witch embracing, Watchers perched on their shoulders.

A trace of peace settles in my heart as I take in the impassioned nonmartial vision. Because Erthia can’t take any more martial visions. Erthia can’t take any more Realm Wars. We need a future free of that type of conflict, if there’s going to be any future at all.

It’s time for new visions and new statues.

Yvan lifts his hand and wraps his palm around the statue’s edge, running his thumb over my stone form in a way that mirrors the mesmerizingly deft way he runs those hands overme.

His mouth slants into a smile as he lets out a short laugh. “Well, that’s an incredible improvement.” We exchange an intense look, this statue feeling like the turning of a corner. Like a story ending and a new, better one just beginning.

Pocketing the statue, I reach up and trace a teasing line of heat down the center of Yvan’s bare chest. He shivers, giving me an inviting look, the violet fire in his eyes glowing hotter.

“It’s our last night in Noilaan for a while,” he comments, his eyes and fire suddenly full of so much love that my heart can barely hold it. Drawing me closer, he leans in and gives me another heated kiss. “Be my Xishlon’vir, Elloren Guryev.”

I laugh, grinning at him. “I think I’m already your Xishlon’vir about twohundred times over. Maybe more.”

Yvan shoots me a wicked look that quickly takes a turn for the adoring, affection for him warming my every rootline.

“I’m ready for us to return to Zhilaan tomorrow with Tessla and your mother,” I say, our bonded fire-Forest always tugging on our Wyvernbond, beckoning us home. “I’m ready to build our home there and raise our daughter. And take up my work as an apothecary and luthier, while we work to safeguard our Forest.” A tingle races through me, so much possibility opening up with the lifting of war, so many former goals reasserting themselves. I glance toward the West, growing serious, even the Xishlon moonlight unable to dampen our awareness of the urgent Forest-saving work ahead. “And you?” I ask, turning back to him.

“Physician,” he states without hesitation, his gaze taking on a meaningful light. “Along with raising Tessla and building our home together. And safeguarding our Forest with our Dryad’khin.” The fire in his eyes intensifies, brighter than the moon above. “I never want to be parted from you again, Elloren,” he hisses in Wyvern, as everything we’ve been through circles around us and tears sheen my eyes.

“I love you, Yvan,” I say in Wyvern, the hissed words sliding easily off my tongue.

“I love you too,” he says in Dryadin, smiling as he draws me into another rootline-heating, toe-curling kiss that leaves me wanting and breathless. He trails his lips along my neck, then runs the hot tip of his tongue along the edge of my ear before kissing me there, his fingertips tracing a spiral of sparks along my waist, desire firing through our bond.

“Are you looking to ‘find the moon’?” I tease.

He flashes me a smile that’s feral and loving at the same time. “Oh, I’ve already found it.” His wings fan out to their full breadth, his lips brushing mine once more before he lifts me into his arms, eyes aflame. “Now, let’s fly out of here, my Dryad Witch, find a mountaintop cavern... and set each other on fire.”

Epilogue

The Next Great Mage

Valen

Almost a year ago

Six-year-old Valen falls out of his mother’s arms and to the Valgard ground, tendrils of Shadow curling around him as panicked Mages rush by.

“My son!” his mother cries, as she’s whisked from his sight by the press of fleeing Mages. “Help me get back to my son!” he can just make out her screaming. “He’s ournext Great Mage!”

“Mamma!” Valen screams as the booted foot of a fleeing Mage connects with his shoulder, his leg. The poisoned sky overhead is full of low-hanging, nightmarish Shadow clouds spitting curling black lightning, Valen’s Level Five Magelines sizzling terrified fire through his whole body. Roughly jostled on every side, Valen breaks into heaving sobs just as a Gardnerian woman grabs rough hold of him and yanks him into her arms.

The terrifying scene surrounding them comes back into full view as Valen and the stranger-Mage are swept forward by the sea of black-clad Gardnerians, all in desperate flight toward a series of glowing arches made from prismatic runes situated at the plaza’s far end, the interiors rippling silver.

Valen glances around frantically, no sign of his mother anywhere.“Mamma!”he screams again and again as shrieks split the air. Valen’s eyes widen in horror as Mage soldiers with multitudes of glowing gray eyes fly in on dragonback, their multi-eyed dragons possessing six or even eight limbs, huge gray wraith bats soaring in beside them.

One dragon lands a few paces away from Valen with a ground-shakingthump, crushing an old woman under its huge body. The multi-eyed Mage astride itdismounts, fast as a blur, then grabs a screaming woman and latches his elongating teeth into her throat. Valen’s gut clenches with terror as tendrils of Shadow course from the Mage-thing’s body, and the woman goes limp in his Shadow-clawed hands.

“MAMMA!”Valen screams again, as the woman holding him suddenly throws him straight into one of the prismatic arches.

---