Elloren Grey

Smaragdalfar Sublands
Eastern Realm
The night before Xishlon

I stare at the rainbow-streaked hair of the Elf down on one knee before me, Rivyr’el’s rune stylus pressed to the center of my palm. Opal stalactites hang low from the circular cavern’s ceiling, glittering in the lantern light, most of our group encircling us, Or’myr’s and Wrenfir’s backs to the glistening walls.

Yvan stands a bit removed from me, his wings fanned out against the stone to his back.

Rivyr’el’s rainbow-glitter-painted eyes meet Sage’s. “Well, the trees have bound her up quite tightly.” His mouth twists into an irreverent sneer. “Clever Forest.”

“What’s the structure of it?” Ra’Ven asks from beside Sage.

Rivyr’el lightly traces his stylus’s tip along my palm in a slow oval, a prickle rushing over my skin. “The trees basically sent barrier magic over her lines,” he answers, “then worked a chaos spell into it that’s tangling her power inward.” He lifts the stylus’s tip and sweeps it toward my abdomen. “Thus, orienting her magic toward her center.” He looks to Sage once more. “The Forest is using her lack of Dryad balance to pull her off-kilter. She has dominant fire and earth magic, but weaker water and air, and almost nonexistent light. We’ll need to strengthen her weaker elementals before we can drive off the Forest’s bindings.”

Sage nods. “Then we’ll feed warding power into her to shield her from another magical attack before anchoring a straightening spell to reconnect her magic to her wand hand.”

“There is one issue,” Rivyr’el cautions. Sage cocks a purple brow. “We’ll need to veil what we’re doing from the Forest until the last moment, or it could stage a counter siege. It’s hooked into her power enough to do it.”

“All right, then,” Sage rejoins, a stubborn light in her eyes, “then we veil her. For as long as we can. And jointly drive the Forest off if it comes to that.”

“Will you be able to locate my fastmate when you’re finished?” I press Rivyr’el. Yvan’s power contracts, my throat tensing in response to his flash of distress.

“You’ll be able to locate him yourself,” Rivyr’el amends, “via a tracking rune I’m going to place on you.”

“How long until Elloren is freed?” Diana asks from where she stands with Rafe and the other Lupines.

“A day,” he answers without hesitation. “At the most.”

My breath tightens, Yvan’s fire flashing through mine, perhaps reading my upending sense of destiny bearing down. Freed. In a day’s time. With access to Black Witch power.