And then Trystan draws his wand and throws a violent line of flame at the Gardnerian garb at his feet, enveloping them in a churning ball of fire.

“Min Lo.” I try to reason with my childhood friend and Vu Trin soldier. “Don’t arrest him. It’s more complicated than you think.”

“What’s complicated about it?” Min Lo demands, the streaks of silver and purple in her spiked black hair glinting blue in the terrace’s rune light, a line of silver stars hung diagonally across her uniform. She gestures toward Trystan, who stands motionless by the railing, the clothing smoking at his feet. She’s gripping Trystan’s wand in her fist as her dark gaze bores into me. “He just used Gardnerian wand magery without Wyvernguard permission. Which is enough to get him kicked straight out of not just the Wyvernguard, but the Realm itself. I thought you didn’t want him here.”

My lips tense with frustration. I’m about to step over a line that, once crossed, can never be traversed again. I glance toward Trystan and meet his gaze, our invisible lightning reflexively sparking toward each other.

I turn back to Min Lo. “I smell nothing but truth on him. He’s honestly here to fight with the East. And, Min Lo, he likes men.”

Min Lo pauses, as if she’s searching for the root of what I’m getting at. She’s been like this since childhood. Tough, but thoughtful and fair.

The ramifications of Trystan’s situation seem to dawn in Min Lo’s dark eyes. She narrows a glance back at Trystan, brow knotted, as if seeing him in a new light.

“That’s illegal over there, you know that, right?” she says, gravity entering her tone as her eyes flick back to mine. “The Mages are brutal about it.”

I nod, a bit dazed to be pleading leniency for the grandson of the Black Witch, but a remembrance of that tear sliding down Trystan’s anguished face fills my mind and the desire to truly understand what he’s been through strengthens.

“Minyl,” I say, voice low, drawing on our friendship with my use of her familiar name. “Please. Make an exception. Don’t turn him in.”

Trystan

I wait as Vothe and the spiky-haired soldier deliberate, barely able to think through the tornado of emotion and volatile power that’s wrested hold of me as I watch the Gardnerian blacks smolder, wishing with everything in me to be with family or Tierney right now. I draw in a long, shaky breath, desperate to pull myself together. Unable to pull myself together.

The soldier, Min Lo, sends me a conflicted look as she slices the air with her hands, the terrace’s sapphire lantern light highlighting her razor-sharp features. Vothe and Min Lo grow quiet, regarding each other with deeply serious looks. Then they turn toward me.