Page 77 of The Dryad Storm

Northern Forest

Eighteen days after Xishlon

“Ancient One...no...”

I throw my palms to III’s bark, desperation burning through my core. Because my Wyvernbond to Yvan has beenseveredby III, Yvan completely absorbed into III’s huge expanse.

Every nerve lit with concern, I claw the wall of bark before me with newly sharp, deep-green nails, fearful that III will douse Yvan’s Icaral of Prophecy fire and slay him, mistaking his power for Vogel’s. The sudden absence of my bond to Yvan is an excruciating thing, like a crucial piece of me has been torn away.

“Release him!”I cry, pressing my palms to III’s trunk, wanting to dive in after Yvan, even if it means the obliteration of us both.

My surrounding bonded Forest is disturbingly still, its elemental aura like a trapped breath. And more intimidating yet, III’s energy and encircling green mist are gone, only a residual tang of monumental power reverberating in the air, as if the Great Tree has drawn every last trace of its elemental might and focus inward.

Toward Yvan.

A gentle hand comes to my shoulder. I turn to find Yulan beside me, a deeply concerned light in her lichen-lashed eyes, her heron kindred hugging her side.

The dam holding back my flood of heartache shatters.

“Ican’tlose him,” I tell her as the tears break free. “I’ve already lost my fastmate, Lukas. Ican’tlose Yvan too.” I draw my wand hand toward my chest, as if searching for a cinder of Yvan’s Wyvernbond there. But findnothing.

I slump, begging III through tear-soaked lips, begging the entire Forest, to spare Yvan, to no response.

Only silent, immovable bark.

Errilith lowers his giant raven head to my arm and nudges me with his midnight beak, his power coursing around me in protective ropes of pitch-hued mist, an otherworldly stillness flowing into my lines via our kindred link. But Errilith’s eerie Deathkin reassurance does nothing to assuage my wild fear. Two obsidian snakes slither onto my lap, then another, dawn’s light momentarily dimming.

I turn and meet Hazel’s black stare. The slender Death Fae-Dryad has lowered himself to one knee beside me, branch-horned Sylvan just behind him. Hazel’s coal-black eyes are focused on mine, horns rising from his short, midnight hair. He holds up his III-marked palm. “The Forest aligns with unlikely ones,” he reassures me, his subterranean voice vibrating over my skin as more dark snakes slither up from the ground and curl around his lower body.

A sudden thought strikes. “How much of a lag did your portal have?” Fear spiking, I look to Sylvan and meet his penetrating, pine green stare. “And how long was I in III?”

“Our portal held a fifteen-day lag,” Sylvan answers. “You merged with III for three.”

My mind whirls, my time in the Dryad portal having seemed to span a matter of seconds, notfifteen days. An unmooring sensation grips hold. Because I’ve just made a horrible mistake. Even if Yvan survives, time has been on Vogel’s side. Vogel’s forces are likely almosthere, poised just outside this Forest. And if Vogel strikes while Yvan is still caught in III...

“Are there other Dryads in this Forest?” I question Sylvan, Yulan, and Hazel, my alarm burgeoning.

“Our Dryad’kin live in the Forest canopy to the north,” Sylvan says, giving me a severe look. “We are soldiers who protect the Heart of the Forest.”

“Vogel iscoming,” I warn them. “He warred with III to keep hold of me. He knows where I am. And he’s coming for Yvan and for me...”

“Well, he won’t get through our warding!” Oaklyyn spits out, her fists tight around her branch weapon, her wolverine growling as she glares daggers at me along with mushroom-tressed Lyptus and the huge Dryad with the bear kindred, who they call Larch. “Our wards have stood for generations,” Oaklyyn cries, “keeping all non-Dryad’kinout. Especially those who wouldburn down our Forest.”

A flash of defiance blazes through me. “The Forest iswrongabout Yvan,” I snarl back. “The trees think Yvan’s and Vogel’s fires are one and the same, but they’renot.” I swiftly explain Vogel’s brief theft of our Wyvernbond.

I give Sylvan, Yulan, and Hazel an imploring look. “You have to convince III to spare Yvan.Please.”

Feeling as if the world is spinning off its axis, I turn and press both palms against III’s dark trunk once more, desperate to sense even atraceof Yvan’s fire.

“The Forest aligned with you despite your fiery lineage,” Yulan says, her melodic Dryadin shot through with vast compassion. My tear-blurred eyes swing to hers as I grasp the trace of hope in her tone like a lifeline. “Over the past few days,” Yulan softly continues, “I gained a sense of your Icaral’s valor. III will get to the root of who he really is. And III will accept him.”

“III willnot,” Lyptus snaps, like the lash of a whip. The expression on her face is unforgiving, her words a blow, devastating in their finality. “Forest binding magic requiresconnection,” she stresses and glances pointedly at her silver panther, who lets out a low, resonant growl at me. “The kindred bond is aconduitfor that connection.” Lyptus nods brusquely toward my flock of giant ravens, a merciless light filling her green eyes. “There isno Forest creaturethat can withstand an Icaral of Prophecy’s fire.”

“Then what will happen to him?” I demand, feeling like the ground is giving way.

“Dryad’kin, listen to me,” Yulan prods, the sympathy in her gaze willing my attention. “To dwell inside the Natural Matrix is a journey of faith.”

This doesnothingto assuage my fear.

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