I nod, and he points his wand at the water and begins to murmur spells, as I draw on my own storming energy and lift my free hand to the heavens.

“Vihlshhri, shuunir, vehlthru,” I count down in Zhilon’ile. “Vheerno!”

We release our joint power, a compact tornado of wind rushing from my upraised hand toward the wispy clouds above at the same time a gusty bolt from Trystan’s wand blasts down into the Vo below. Every cloud in the sky whips back to the edges of the horizon as a centrifugal tunnel shoots down through the Vo, providing a fantastical view of the river’s dark silty bed. The Vo’s waters slowly circle around the tunnel, then slow to a halt.

My body shudders along with Trystan’s as we meet each other’s eyes. Hands trembling, we keep tight hold of our joint magic running from river to sky. My wings fan out behind me, the sensation of our merged power as exhilarating as swallowing a storm, the warmth of his hand in mine sparking a rush of lightning all over my skin.

And then Trystan smiles at me and I know, in that moment, with glittering certainty, that I never want to let him go.

Trystan

Just two days later, Minyl’s rune skiff is diving straight down into the maelstrom encompassing the Zonor. I catch sight of several small boats being sucked toward the river’s killing whirlpool.

“Are you ready?” I ask Vothe as I lift my wand.

Vothe grins at me, teeth elongating, horns up, wings rigid behind him. We reach for each other in tandem, lightning jumping between us as our combined power forks toward both my wand hand and his upraised palm. I thrust my wand down toward the Zonor River and Vothe raises his palm skyward.

Two blasts of lightning-lit storm magic course from us in a heated rush, one toward the Zonor’s whirlpooling undertow, the other toward the angry sky above. The rain halts and the Zonor’s waters even out to a sloshing froth, rapidly calming, the storm now a muffled roar against the dome of power we’ve sent up to encase a wide swath of river.

Minyl’s gaze darts around in obvious wonder, then zeros in on the flimsy boats now gently bobbing on the calm river, the voices of the passengers ringing out clear. Three Wyvernguard rune skiffs dart toward the boats as Vothe lowers his arm and I relax my wand hand, our joint magic holding.

I marvel at the scene as lightning from the pushed-back storm crackles over our protective dome, its staccato bursts reflected in the silvery waters of the Zonor. It’s so beautiful.