Viger turns into dark smoke and begins to drift into the night as Tierney’s emotions scrabble for purchase.

“Viger, come back,” she calls to the trace of misty black.

The mist vanishes, and an inexplicable sadness wells up in Tierney as she drops from the sculpture.

“Asrai.”

Tierney pivots to find Viger leaning against the dragon sculpture, his expression guarded.

“Viger,” Tierney offers, feeling awkward yet firm in what she needs from him. “It may be true that...well—” she fidgets, a flush blooming “—that we have some thoughts of interest toward each other.” She levels her gaze at him, ignoring her unbidden rise of feeling. “But I need you to be my friend right now. Nothing more. Can you be that for me?”

Viger moves toward her in one smooth, languid movement. He snaps his claws and the entire terrace blinks out of sight, the darkness lit only by a silver mist encasing them. He waits, silent, a slight edge to his hypnotic gaze. But Tierney can tell he’s setting aside his feelings for her, and she’s impressed by this.

And drawn in.

“I find you deeply alluring,” Tierney says. “I’m just going to flat out admit that.”

The mist blackens then abruptly silvers into suspended, ill-defined ropes encircling them both. Viger’s horns arc up, a wicked gleam entering his eyes. He reaches up, and Tierney draws in a shivering breath as he traces her cheek with one claw tip, light as a feather’s brush.

“I don’t want to spend Xishlon kissing,” Tierney says as she’s swept into his thrall, feeling as if the ground is giving way as she tilts toward his dark-clad form. “I want to spend it surveying the waterways.”

“I would survey them with you, Asrai,” Viger offers, his deep, beckoning voice seeming to come from everywhere at once.

Tierney nods. “I’m worried, Viger. I sense a bigger battle brewing underneath the obvious one.” She pauses, suddenly choked up by a swell of emotion for her river. “My bond to the Vo...it might have to come before my desire to fight with the Wyvernguard.” She pauses again, scared by her subversive flare of honesty.

Viger’s palm comes up and stills over her cheek, his claws a light, sharp pressure on her scalp that sends a blessedly distracting shiver down her spine. “You can tell me, Asrai,” he says, voice surprisingly compassionate.

“There’s something bigger at stake than dominion over the Realms,” Tierney manages as the sense of being suspended in his mist deepens. She takes hold of Viger’s arm to gain some sense of purchase, and he slides a hand around to the small of her back, steadying her as he floats her nearer, her body responding to his proximity with a flush of warmth, their lips so close...

What would it be like to kiss a Death Fae?

“Have we disappeared in the mist?” she asks, her breathing uneven.