Page 273 of The Dryad Storm

“Do you think there’s hope for the Natural World?” I ask Jules as purple fireworks detonate over the river, sizzling into the shapes of hundreds of Xishlon moons.

Jules frowns and draws in a deep breath. “I don’t know if there’s as much hope as we would like.” He meets my gaze. “A slim ecological chance, perhaps? Erthia is not what it was, Elloren.” He holds up his hand, unfurling his fingers to reveal the imprint of III on his palm. “I think a lot depends on us staying connected to the Forest and letting it change us. Trulybeingwith the Forest.” His kestrel ruffles her feathers, and Jules reaches up to absently stroke the bird’s side, tension knotting hisbrow. “It’s a new paradigm. A whole new way.”

He’s right, I consider. A whole new, often difficult, Dryad’khin way of life.

Living simply.

Counting riches in trees planted and wilds restored and protected, not in wealth or power accrued. Embracing sustainability.

EmbracingLife.

“There’s so much discord,” I say, casting him a worried look, thinking of the infighting going on among the new Dryad’khin Conclave, of which he’s an elected member along with Vang Troi, Soleiya, Lucretia, Naga, and Ra’Ven, among others. “I know a great many people here think we made a mistake in striking down the runic border and letting the Mage and Alfsigr refugees in,” I rue. “Especially since so many Mages have refused to join with the Forest. There are arguments over such a multitude of things, it’s... daunting.”

Jules tilts his head. “Thereisdebate and conflict. But that’s what the road to a better world looks like—everyone finally getting their say, especially the recently oppressed. Full disagreement and reckoning. Difficult dialogue.”

“Confusion?” I venture, shooting him a fraught look as I remember our conversations in Valgard.

He laughs, a knowing gleam in his eyes. “Especiallyconfusion.” His expression grows serious. “But then, a healing of the fracture. The old cycles can’t stand. They brought this Shadow to our gates and almost destroyed everything.”

III’s promise comes to mind, an ethereal thing, fragile and gleaming.

The story is not yet over.

Jules’s hand comes to my arm in gentle support. “Elloren... I believe time will prove beyond a doubt that breaking the cycle of hate and letting the Mage and Alfsigr refugees in amongst the others was theright thing to do.”

I nod, clinging to a thread of hope that the vision III sent to me in its depths was right—that the unexpected can come when division is healed.

“Ah, my beautiful daughter and granddaughter,” a familiar voice says from just behind us. “We’ve found you.”

Jules and I turn as Soleiya and Lucretia make a beeline for us, the two of them meeting me here as promised, to care for little Tessla for part of Xishlon eve.

They’re crowned in wreaths of purple flowers and wearing clothing dyed violet for the festival, like Jules’s and mine. Their arms are jauntily linked as they beam at us, Soleiya’s eyes like Xishlon beacons, burning Zhilaan-violet bright. I grin,pleased that the two of them surprised Yvan and me by becoming fast friends over these past few chaotic months.

Soleiya coos at Tessla, and I transfer my sleepy babe into her arms along with a cloth sack of baby-care items while Jules sweeps Lucretia into an embrace and kisses her with a Xishlon fervor that heats my cheeks and has me glancing away, her water aura swirling ardently around him.

Tessla settles against Soleiya’s chest, and Soleiya smiles at me as I’m struck, once more, by the heartwarming awareness of how much Tessla is going to look like her and Yvan.

She’ll bebeautifullike them both.

Another thought strikes home, and I still. The face of the Black Witch potentially ends with me.

Could it be that the Gardnerian line of Great Mages is finally, truly over?

With that momentous thought reverberating through my mind, I nod farewell to Jules, Lucretia, and Soleiya and silently walk through the gardens and throngs of revelers. Eventually I step into the grassy, moonlit clearing that used to be the Voling Gardens’ largest plaza. IV’s great trunk rises from its center, right where the old statue of the Great Icaral slaying the Black Witch used to stand.

IV’s purple mist envelops me, the Great Tree’s embracing love pulsing through my rootlines, and I smile at IV. Xishlon moonlight caresses the Great Tree’s every leaf, and a multitude of revelers continuously stop by to press IV-marked hands to the trunk and spend time in IV’s loving presence.

I reach into my tunic pocket and pull out the wrapped gift Wynter gave me earlier, telling me, with a shy smile,It’s for you. And Yvan. And Baby Tessla. Open it near IV on the night of the purple moon.

Walking to a more isolated edge of IV’s vast trunk, I study the present’s wrapping—a swath of lavender cloth on which Wynter painted a glowing Xishlon moon, the package bound with artfully tied purple string.

Warm arms slide around my waist, and Yvan’s fiery aura encircles me. I smile, the feel of his body pressed against my back immediately tugging on our mating bond. Warmth races over my skin, our melded fire power giving a hard flare.

“Happy Xishlon, my beautiful Dryad Witch,” he hisses in Wyvern, then kisses my neck with an affectionate slowness that sends hot shivers of delight straight through my rootlines.

I pivot to face him, my heart tripping into a faster rhythm at the sight ofhis beloved, angular face, sultry affection burning in his eyes, his wings arcing around me.

His crimson hair is tinted reddish-purple by the moonlight, the Xishlon moon’s thrall swiftly revving our mating bond up to such molten heights that I can feel the flush blooming on my skin. Yvan cocks a brow and smiles, his knowing look quickening my pulse as he draws me into a slow, deep kiss, a more intense desire for him firing through my every line as I surrender to his enthralling heat.

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