I lean my head onto his shoulder. “I love you, Trystan.”

He leans his head down to mine and gives my hand another bolstering squeeze. “I love you too. And we’ll fight Vogel, no matter what it takes. We’ll fight him together.”

CHAPTER NINE

ALLIED

Trystan Gardner & Vothendrile Xanthile

Noilaan
Eastern Realm
Two days prior to Xishlon

Trystan

I step out onto Fain and Sholin’s rune-lit terrace, every muscle tense, feeling bound up by fierce concern for Elloren and fear over Vothe’s reaction to this evening’s revelations.

Vothe stills as I approach, his arresting features washed in the terrace’s sapphire light, his silver-tipped hair gently buffeted by the breeze.

But there’s nothing tranquil about his gaze.

It’s all wild lightning—so discordant and white-flashing that it triggers a stinging rush of answering power through my lines. I note that his horns are unfurled, spiraled up as they so often are whenever he’s swept up in powerful emotion.

Cast into a more tumultuous apprehension, I glance over my shoulder, toward Elloren’s bedroom. I can just make out her shadowy form in the darkened window, so small and vulnerable from this vantage point, her fate resting entirely in Vothe’s hands.

I turn back to Vothe, my breath suspended, clear that what I’m asking of him is staggering in its audacity and full of a devastating level of risk.

“Vothe,” I implore, the word cut off by the storming look he gives me.

“I’ll help you keep her safe,” he bites out.

I huff out a shuddering exhale as my water power surges toward him.

Vothe’s eyes flick up and down my form, clearly reading my emotional flare. His jaw ticks as some of his confrontational energy draws down to be replaced by a fraught look. “If Vogel can strike down runes,” he says with a glance toward the city’s translucent dome, “he’ll decimate the Vu Trin.”

I nod in grim assent—the Vu Trin army’s weapons are just wood and steel and stone when stripped of their runic power.

“But your sister’s power isn’t fueled by runes,” Vothe says pointedly, and for a moment, the explosive words hang in the air between us.

“No, it isn’t,” I affirm, just as pointed.

Vothe shakes his head and rakes a hand through his silver-tipped hair. The motion is halted by a horn, which he absently grips as he spits out a curse under his breath. He casts me another loaded look and sets his hands on his hips.

“She’s telling the truth,” he admits. “Just like you were, when you first arrived at the Wyvernguard. I knew you were. I knew it, Trystan, right from the start. But I fought against that knowing. And that could have cost the Wyvernguard a powerful ally.”

His shoulders tense as he glances once more toward Elloren, as if he’s fortifying himself against the ramifications of it all.