“I lie awake sometimes...thinking of you, as well,” she admits. “With thoughts of...drawing you down to the base of the river and...” The words trail off as her face heats.

Fyordin’s eyes blaze. “Then let’s go there, Asrai'lir. Right now. And fully merge our power as Asrai’lure.”

Tierney’s eyes widen. She knows what that means—Asrai marriage.

A forever bond of two Asrai, joining their water-bonds, joining their guardianship over those waters as one. She realizes, in that moment, just how lost Fyordin is to their feverish draw, like a stream stirred up, everything hopelessly clouded.

Tierney shakes her head to force clarity. The distance helps, dampening his watery pull as the room solidifies. She rubs the bridge of her nose as her breathing evens out. “Our Asrai pull is overriding all sense. We don’t even get along.”

“Asrai...”

“Fyordin,” Tierney counters, “please...hear me out. I think our thoughts are drawn toward...being with each other at the base of the river because we don’t want to leave it. Because we sense a threat.”

Vulnerability crosses his expression, cutting through the desire. “You sense it too?”

“I do,” she admits, her latent fear ramping up. “It’s subtle, but it’s been preying on me. I didn’t want to come to you for help because... I was so mad at you and...” She pauses, reluctant to voice the admission. “You were right. I wanted the Vo all to myself. I didn’t want your aid. But...” She pauses again, heartbeat quickening, knowing what she’s about to say could get her disciplined or possibly kicked out of the Wyvernguard. “Fyordin, I don’t think we should leave the waters of the East.”

They both grow silent, eyes riveted on each other, gazes stark with the ramifications of such insubordination.

“Vogel’s forces are to the west,” Fyordin says with measured emphasis. “The Vu Trin need our power to fight him there.”

“I know that,” Tierney says shakily. “I struggle with that, but...you feel it, too, don’t you? The unnatural power, pressing in at the edges? I think the Vo needs us. If the waters fall...life unravels. There’s no winning any war then. It all ends.”

Fyordin exhales, steps back and rakes his fingers through his hair. His fierce eyes cast about as he spits out a series of Noi epithets, then meets her gaze once more, his strong blue hands coming to his hips.

“I want you to go down to the bottom of the Vo with me, right now,” Tierney says, serious. “But not to merge as Asrai’lure, because you’re truly not thinking clearly. Neither am I. We’re mirrors of the Vo...we’re feeling the river calling to us.”

“The As’lorion,” Fyordin breathes, giving her a weighted look.