Page 46 of The Dryad Storm

Gwynn’s pulse kicks up and she turns to him, the glow of forbidden color still dancing over his lips drawing her eyes like a thrall. They exchange a loaded glance.

“Ready,” she staunchly returns, even though she feels like a fish cast clear out of a familiar pond and flung leagues away. Famished, she wolfs down the food, her gaze snagging on the Varg runes necklacing Valasca’s and Sparrow’s throats oncemore, her confusion gaining ground as she identifies the spell work at play. This combination of Varg runes gives anyone possessing the rune stone used to mark them the power to cut off the air to Valasca’s and Sparrow’s lungs at any moment.

“Why are you marked with imprisonment runes?” she asks them.

Yy’zzra gives Gwynn a confrontational look. “I marked them. They’re both wanted by the Vu Trin for being allied with the Black Witch. They helped Elloren Gardner Grey escape Valgard so she could go on to raze Voloi.”

Valasca’s dark eyes flash at Yyzz’ra. “We were allied with EllorenbeforeVogel took control of her.”

“She wasalwaysVogel’s Black Witch,” Yyzz’ra bites back.

“No, she really wasn’t,” Valasca emphatically counters. She shakes her head, looks to the heavens as if praying to the Amaz Goddess for strength, then spits out what sounds like a curse before setting her grim gaze back on Gwynn. “We underestimated Vogel. And it’s best if none of us ever do that again.”

“We might yet give him a run for his money,” Mavrik says, a lethal edge to his tone.

Valasca raises a brow at this. “That you may, Glass. Appreciate your deft rune work with the spiders.” She raises her teacup, toasting both him and Gwynn with it before narrowing her gaze on Gwynnifer. “And kudos to you for keeping the Verdyllion Wand-Stylus away from the Magedom.” Valasca looks toward Wynter’s distant, still figure, and Gwynn follows the Amaz warrior’s line of sight.

Surprise shocks through Gwynn.

A dome of silvery runes now encases both Wynter and the bright yellow yucca tree she’s meditating under. Multiple thin lines of silver power flow from the Verdyllion toward the dome’s undersurface, giving the dome’s interior magic a dandelion-puff appearance with Wynter at its epicenter.

“How did you know I had the Wand?” Gwynn asks Valasca, thrown by the shrewd look the Amaz is giving her.

“I’m well acquainted with Sagellyn Za’Nor,” Valasca answers.

Gwynn stiffens, guilt rising. “Then you know I wasn’t a very good friend to her.”

Valasca’s piercing stare doesn’t waver. “Well, you seem set on a decent path now, Gardnerian, which is what’s important in this life.”

Yyzz’ra snorts, leveling an unkind smirk at Gwynn. “I don’t know about decent,” she says, exaggeratedly eyeing the chromatic energy still stinging over Gwynn’s and Mavrik’s lips. “You fasted Mages get on with it rather quickly, don’t you?”

Another stab of remorse spears through Gwynn, and Mavrik lowers his mug to his knee, his piercing gaze homing in on Yyzz’ra, his lips curling into a cutting smile. “Jealous, Yyzz? Secretly pining for me?”

Yyzz’ra laughs, jabbing her thumb toward Gwynnifer. “Well, at least I could do more than kiss you, unlike this one here. Such a pity she’s fasted, isn’t it? Sealed too.”

Mavrik’s eyes turn cold as Gwynn’s remorse turns suffocating.

“You couldn’t take each other if you tried, could you?” Yyzz’ra continues. She flicks her finger at Mavrik. “Well, I supposeyoucould without consequence, being a man.”

“Silence yourself, Yyzz,” Mynx cuts in, silver eyes incensed.

“Why?” Yyzz’ra protests as she sweeps a hand at Gwynn. “I’m just pointing out the barbarity of their wandfasting traditions.”

Outrage lights in Gwynn, every nerve bristling to hear Yyzz’ra commenting so assuredly on something she doesn’tlive, wandfasting so trussed up with conflict and joy and pain and confusion, it’s like a choking force lodged in the center of Gwynn’s chest. And increasingly like a prison cage around her heart as well as a potential route for Shadow horror.You don’t understand, Gwynn wants to lash out at Yyzz’ra.You’re only right in a shallow, skirting-the-surface sort of way.

Mavrik has gone very still, his gaze pinned on Yyzz’ra.

Gwynn’s guilt rears its head once more, over having approached another man as if he were her fastmate. The nightmare of Geoffrey’s gray eyes shudders through Gwynn’s mind. His unyieldingbelief. His heart-shattering descent into Shadow...

“When did they fast you?” Yyzz’ra challenges Mavrik, as if he’s somehow to blame for the invention of this tradition that was foisted on them both. “You’re both Styvian,” she presses, leaning forward. “Was it at thirteen?”

Gwynn winces, hyperaware of her own fastlines.

Placed when she was thirteen.

“I know what it is to have a binding forced upon me,” Cael cuts in.

Gwynn’s eyes snap toward Cael’s intense silver gaze.

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