He turns to me fully as well, his power rising with striking force. “I’m going to go volunteer with Minyl,” he says, power crackling. “And you and I are going to punch down the Zonor’s undertow.”

Vothendrile

Trystan’s brow lifts in response to my declaration, surprise leaping through his power.

“All right, Vothe,” he says. “Let’s smooth out that river.” His words are lightly conveyed, but there’s nothing light about the magic flaring between us, the breeze from the Vo enveloping us in its balmy caress.

A troubling thought rises. A remembrance of Trystan being dragged into the Zonor River, overcome by his storming magic and devastation.

“Trystan...”

He seems to read my unease, his features tensing. “I’m stronger than I was,” he says, power flashing between us. “And those fleeing here...they likely won’t fear me now.”

I still as it dawns on me in one dazed swoop why he altered his appearance so dramatically. Gardnerian yet not Gardnerian anymore. With his newly sky blue hair and piercings and tattoos which I’ve been told are forbidden by the Gardnerian holy book. All of this a blaring refute of the Gardnerian religion and the West.

But that’s not the main reason he changed his appearance so drastically. It was never solely for himself at all. It was for a larger reason, more important to him than all the others.

To go back to the Zonor.

At training the next morning, Trystan and I link hands, our fingers threading tight as we give each other a weighted look. We stand at the edge of the riverside terrace, sunlight spearing down.

Commander Ung Li and a throng of apprentices and soldiers look on as we ready ourselves to do this revolutionary thing—seeking not to smite Trystan’s vast power, but instead, to join it with mine. To test how much Mage wand magic can amplify Wyvern power.

We’ve informed Ung Li about our secondary motive—to still the Zonor River’s unnatural killing undertow, and have earned her guarded support, along with that of most of the Asrai Fae. So we’re testing our joint power first on the Vo.

I turn and take in Min Lo and Ru Sol, beaming at us amidst the multitude of glowering expressions. Gazing around, I catch the subtle uptick of Ung Li’s lips, as well as scattered supportive looks from a few of the apprentices and Vu Trin. The looks of outrage on so many friends’ faces pains me, but the sense of rightness to be openly aligning myself with Trystan is a wondrous thing.

A black mass on the Wyvernguard mountain’s stony face snares my gaze, and I glance up to find Sylla Vuul, in spider form, clinging to the top of the bas-relief dragon’s head, Tierney and Viger Maul perched beside her.

“Ready?” Trystan asks, calm as always, but I can sense the restless, excited energy sizzling through him.