Trystan ignores me, not slowing as he strides past a smattering of military apprentices who glare at him, then around the terrace’s curve toward a deserted edge. Stopping just before the stone railing, Trystan throws the garb onto the damp stone.

Alarm sparks through me.

“You need to wear those,” I caution, “and stop trying to look Noi’khin.”

“I seek to be Noi’khin,” Trystan throws back, green eyes blazing.

Outrage rises in me over his audacious declaration. He’s deluding himself. He can never be a true citizen of the East. It’s a stretch for Trystan to expect to be tolerated, let alone become an intrinsic part of this land.

I tense my brow. “Trystan, you need to accept reality. You’re the grandson of the Black Witch. You can never be Noi’khin.”

Trystan steps toward me, his water and fire power lashing through his lines in a surging tempest. “What am I, then?” he demands.

I step toward him in turn, my lightning forking out toward his. “A Gardnerian.”

The smile that forms on Trystan’s lips is dark and cutting. “So, I should just go back to the Western Realm? To be welcomed back into the fold?”

A chaotic disturbance courses out from Trystan’s magic, cutting through my power. My eyes widen. Because I can feel the jagged pain in that disturbance, leagues wide.

And it dawns on me—they hate men like us in the Western Realm.

It’s a surreal thought. Difficult to wrap my mind around. Such a bizarre thing for a religion to hate. But I’ve heard that there are whole passages in the Gardnerian religious book that condemn anyone who loves another of the same gender. Along with passages outlining how hatred against anyone winged or able to shift forms is absolutely demanded by the Ancient One. Hence, Marcus Vogel’s obsession with slaying or breaking every Icaral in existence, as well as all of Wyvernkind.

Such a hellish, fanatically deluded place.

I realize I’ve never once stopped to consider what life must have been like for Trystan over there. Because the idea of such a place is just too bizarre to be believed.

I hold Trystan’s tortured stare, suddenly overcome by the desire to understand.

“I know you’re attracted to me.” My words come in a rush, and the answering look of devastation on Trystan’s face makes me feel as if I’ve hurled a weapon.

Trystan’s lip trembles, and I’m stunned to find his impenetrable veneer of calm so effectively breached. “Everyone’s attracted to you, Vothe,” he shoots back, his voice edged with deep-seated bitterness.

I swallow, my own calm breached as I strive to keep my water aura from leaping straight into Trystan Gardner’s. “Did you have to hide yourself there?”

Ire flashes in his stunning eyes. “What do you think?”