Page 43 of The Dryad Storm

“Walk with me,” she orders Clive, beckoning him with regal coldness and a flick of her hand, ignoring both the effect his proximity has on her as well as her guards’ hostile silence at her back.

The Noi soldiers before them convey permission to pass through their ranks, andFreyja strides briskly through the black-clad and equally silent Vu Trin and away from the Amaz’s tenuously claimed territory, not daring to turn and glance at Clive behind her.

Her heart thuds along with every one of his heavy booted steps as Clive follows her away from both the Amaz and the Vu Trin, then around a long curve in the Vo River’s bank, his fierce love for her seeming to thrum through the very air.

Like a firestorm at her back.

Freyja veers into the purple wilderness, and he follows, thunder rumbling overhead, the storm closer now. Still not looking at him, Freyja presses deeper into the forest, the voices sounding from the riverbank behind them growing fainter as she steps over a tangled mass of dark purple roots and weaves around trees, eventually striding toward a large, rocky hillock, then around it.

She ducks into a stone alcove, a robust wind beginning to lash against the violet canopy above as tension mounts between herself and Clive, strong enough to rival the brewing storm.

Freyja stops and turns to him, Clive’s searing gaze like a thunderclap.

Their storm breaks, his lips crushing down onto hers. She lets out an impassioned cry against his mouth, her back meeting stone as she grabs fierce hold of his military tunic’s sides, pulling him toward her, their mouths and tongues desperate and devouring, a sob of joy tearing through her to find him suddenly here,alive.

“My love,” Clive rasps as he finally breaks the kiss, bringing his forehead to hers, tears escaping both their eyes. He reaches up to cup her cheek, his mouth tilting into a bittersweet smile. “Queen Alkaia chose you, then.”

Freyja nods tightly. “She did,” she chokes out, her bottomless, soul-crushing grief for her queen breaking free, her chest pummeled by it as the grief sparks a vengeful fury that could level mountains. She yearns to portal back to the Western Realm this instant. To wield her axe and cut down as many Mages as she can before they strike her from this life.

Seething with rage, she holds Clive’s fervid stare as he keeps hold of her in turn. And she knows, from the compassion in his eyes, that he understands the full force of her fury.

“I’m not worthy of this,” she grits out as lightning cracks above, her mouth twisting into a grimace. “I’m not worthy ofher—”

“Youare,” Clive insists, emphatic as the thunder rolling in.

“I’m not,” she bites back, motioning between them. “Look at where I amrightnow. I’m at full odds with my people surrounding this mostcentral part of my life. This secret I dare not speak of.”

Clive’s jaw tenses, a wild defiance in his mahogany eyes. “Sheknew,” he growls out. “Queen Alkaiaknewwhat was coming. She also knew that there isno hope, no path forwardwith all of us divided.That’swhy she chose you. What did she say to you when she made you queen?”

Freyja swallows against a painful knot of unbearable sorrow. “She said...” She blinks hard against the tears. “She said ‘lead my people into the future.’?”

“Sheknew, Freyja,” Clive insists, his voice rife with passion. “She knew about the alliances that will be needed to bring down the Mages.”

“Clive,” Freyja cautions, her jaw tightening, “I am not completely against Amaz separation from men. To coexist with the bulk of malekind requires a firm hand. And a ready axe.”

She glowers at him, almost daring him to refute her, knowing, in this moment, that her reflexive flare of anger toward him as a male is misplaced even as it rises. But she also knows that, on some level, Clive understands. That he’s cognizant of the evil done to femalekind in every land. Evil that Freyjacannotinvite into Amazakaraan’s new territory.

But she also knows her people can’t stand on their own against the Magedom.

“What’s the state of Noilaan’s governance?” she presses, wanting the unvarnished truth.Demandingit. Trusting him more than the Vu Trin to tell her.

Clive’s hands come to his hips, and he spits out a breath as if it’s an epithet. “The Noi government is in shambles. Most of the former Conclave members are dead. Noilaan is under emergency military rule while they cobble together a full Conclave. Noilaan’s reactionary Vo’nyl political movement is poised to take control of it, and they’re bent on quickly rebuilding and enlarging their runic border and forcing all Westerners out of the East. No exceptions.”

Freyja curses, her mouth tensing with frustration. “Who’s in charge right now?”

“As high commander of Noilaan’s military, Vang Troi is, effectively, the de facto leader for the moment,” Clive answers flatly. “But Vang Troi is dealing with more than a decimated capital city. Vogel’s Shadow tide is clinging to the land around Voloi, graying the sun and moon, poisoning crops and fisheries. It’s a real threat to Noilaan’s food supply. And now, Vogel’s forces are deploying east of the Verpacian Spines. The only thing that seems to be keeping the Mages from deploying farther east are the Wyvern-crafted storm bands crisscrossing the Central Desert. And, ina completely unexpected turn of events, a Selkie-led army has invaded Southern Noilaan and managed to drive back a massive Shadow attack Vogel sent in from the south sea. But now, the Ocean Peoples have imprisoned Southern Noilaan under a runic dome the Vu Trin can’t get through, and the Magedom has sent a net of Shadow over that dome.”

“So, the Vu Trin are fighting a war on two fronts?” Freyja asks, stunned.

Clive nods. “Asrai Vu Trin just deployed south, along with a large number of Weather Wyvern Vu Trin, to break through both Vogel’s and the Ocean People’s shielding to retake Southern Noilaan for the Noi.”

“Avenging Goddess,” Freyja huffs out, mind spinning. “What of Voloi? What’s going on beyond the Noi’s cursed wall?”

He shoots Freyja a jaded look. “Most of Voloi’s survivors of the Mage attack, including the refugees trapped outside the runic border, fled to Voloi’s Sublands. The ironic crux of this is that many of Voloi’s civilians are now Subland refugees, dependent on the largesse of the Smaragdalfar, who have the skills and magic to live underground.”

“An ironic turn of events, indeed,” Freyja cuts back, just as jaded. She knows, as well as he does, that much of Noilaan’s rune-stone-based power is dependent on Alfsigr-mined lumenstone. Mined by imprisoned Smaragdalfar in the West.

A fact not lost on the Smaragdalfar refugees here in the East.

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