“No, Division Commander Lir,” Tierney replies with a caustic and pointedly exaggerated military formality. “Asrai’lir Tierney Calix, reporting for duty.” She strides across the distance between them, hating how Fyordin’s mesmerizingly handsome face is the same rippling deep blue as the Vo. The same hue as hers.

Sometimes, like right now, Tierney wants to tear her hair out over how drawn she is to Fyordin Lir. Because he’s an arrogant ass of a Fae.

Even if he is... Tierney is loath to admit...a passably competent division commander.

Fuming and battling her exhaustion from weeks of rigorous weapons training, Tierney grabs a Noi rune stone from the outdoor weapons stand and takes her place in the line of Water Fae between Asra’leen and willowy Ra’in.

I’ll be damned if I let you see how close to the breaking point you’ve pushed me, she privately snarls at Fyordin. Because push her he does, in every conceivable way. Seems to relish it, even, singling her out more than any other Asrai.

Fyordin stalks in front of them, his stride long and purposeful, his expression military remote. But Tierney can sense his attention on her, as it always seems to be lately, his water power lapping against hers with singular focus. Frustratingly, her own power is also drawn toward Fyordin instead of where it should be—toward the Noi rune stone in her hand.

“Asrai’kin,” Fyordin booms, a gravity in his lake-blue eyes that kindles Tierney’s nerves, her attention sharpening. “The Vu Trin have received intelligence from the Western Realm. The Mage forces have begun massing along the Central Desert’s western border.”

A ripple of tension streams through the entire division’s water-power aura.

“Their push east is imminent,” Fyordin states, his posture combative. “But when they advance toward our realm, we’ll be there to meet them alongside the Vu Trin legions gathering along the desert’s eastern edge.” He stills, his eyes narrowing on them with lethal intensity. “We’ll blast their dragons from the sky. We’ll meet them with storm and fury.” He straightens. “Asrai’kin, we deploy the day after Xishlon. Let us commence.”

Fyordin strides to one side, his movements strong and fluid as Tierney’s muscles tense, the will rising within her to go head-to-head with the Mage forces and send killing waves over every last legion. But then another, even stronger pull eddies conflict through her.

She glances toward the Vo River’s huge expanse, a pang gripping her heart. Because as much as Tierney wants to go West and fight the Mages, she doesn’t want to leave her kindred river unprotected. Increasingly, the idea of leaving the Vo feels like surrendering her heart.

“Draw on your Asrai’myyr!” Fyordin bellows, wresting Tierney’s attention back to him.