Page 122 of Lore of the Tides

Suddenly, Lore’s breath caught in her throat as a flash of russet darted through the undergrowth. Could it be? A heartbeat later, a sleek orange fox emerged from behind a mossy boulder, its eyes shimmering like amber in the dappled moonlight.

Time seemed to stop as Lore and the fox locked gazes. The fox’s bushy tail swished excitedly, its entire body radiating an energy that echoed Lore’s own, as she could swear she heard the fox within her mind say,you are here at last you are here. It was Ember, her coconspirator, whom she’d thought lost to her a month ago.

Lore sank to her knees as she felt a wave of emotion surging between them. Ember yipped and pounced onto her lap, pressing her snowy paws to Lore’s chest and nuzzling her cheek. She smelledlike damp earth and moss, sun-warmed leaves and blooming herbs. Lore pressed her face into the fox’s coat, inhaling deeply.

“I thought you were lost,” she murmured into Ember’s fur. Lore sensed the connection with Ember weaving stronger between them. She didn’t know what it meant to feel such a kinship to a shapeshifting fox, but it felt right in her bones that she should be here to meet her upon her return.

“Will you stay by my side this time, little one?” she asked with a smile, trying to calm Ember’s vibrating body by stroking her fur.Always, the fox seemed to say as she yipped excitedly before racing away and then back again. A moment later, Ember was sniffing at Finndryl’s boots and then Hazen’s, waiting for them both to give her a scratch on her tufted head.

* * *

It might be a trap—how easily they arrived in Duskmere.

There were no sentries guarding the forest, no signs of fighting, and the portion of woods right outside of home—she could pinpoint the exact moment the woods changed. It was the malice interlaced within the spell—it was a dark thing, oily and wrong. It sent shivers down her arms, but her shield protected her body and mind; she could sense the spell, but it slipped from her like water on a seal’s back. One word from Lore, and the dark woods that had been the Alytherians’ most useful tool for keeping them trapped would dissipate. It would be nothing but a forest. But Lore had better wait. She didn’t want to break the spell; it might announce her presence to the king.

Ember seemed to feel her unease, and she shifted into her moth form, fluttering around Lore’s head for a moment before settling onto her shoulder, soft wing beats tickling her jaw.

But even if it had been a trap, Lore didn’t know what it hadbeen set for, because they walked into Duskmere without a hitch, although Lore was so exhausted by the time they entered the village she wanted to crawl.

It was a ghost town. Eerie how quiet it was. There weren’t any shops open. The burg’s tavern was closed. The morning was heavy with fog and the promise of rain; the clouds were thick, the sunlight weak. Lore had a moment of pure fear that everyone was gone. That she was too late. But then she spied candlelight within one of the sagging cabins that had survived the shake. She could see movement inside. A figure in a window peered out before shutting the curtains tight.

People were here, but they were inside.

As if they were scared to come out. She was planning on telling the first person she saw to call the village elders. To gather everyone in the town.

Lore frowned. There weren’t any sentries out here. Why was everyone shut away? Lore was with two fae, but they should recognizeher.

She spied a sliver of Amaha’s farm, which was the closest to the village center. Lore slowed her steps. It looked like there was snow on the field, but why would there be snow only here and nowhere else?

She hurried off the road and slipped behind the buildings to walk to the field. Amaha owned this land and the only two cows in Duskmere. He and his four sons should be out here now, despite the weather, to tend to the field. Spring was coming, and it needed to be turned. And yet... Lore knelt and ran her hand across the soil, picking up the white substance and rolling it between her fingers.

This wasn’t snow. It was salt.

The Alytherians had salted the field, which would cause the plant roots to wither and die. Not only that, but this much salt would ruin the soil foryearsto come.

The Alytherians were starving them.

“How could anyone do this?” Hazen asked, his voice quiet. You didn’t have to be a lander to know that this field had been purposefully ruined.

“The king has had no problems keeping my people under his thumb for centuries. Now that we have a chance to fight back, he will do everything in his power to weaken us before making his final move.”

“We will flay the putrid flesh from his bones.” Finndryl’s words were a promise.

* * *

Salim and Eshe’s vineyard was salted as well. The grapes they had so carefully cultivated for decades had shriveled up and died. Their grain and vegetable plots, as well, were covered in salt. Salt was precious, expensive. Wars had been fought over salt. Entire trade routes were founded on salt. Empires had clawed their way to power in the past because of salt. It kept meat long after it would have festered and decayed. It gave flavor to food during poor harvests when there were no other spices to be had.

The Alytherians had decimated any chance for the people here, with a product more valuable to those of Duskmere than gold.

The insult was repulsive. The results devastating.

The door to the shelter, her childhood home, was barred shut from the inside. Lore struck the bell and pressed her forehead to the door, closing her eyes.

She was so afraid of what she would find behind it.

Right now, she was on the other side of the door, and everyone she loved was alive and whole, but in a moment the door would be opened, and her greatest fears could be realized: that for all her trying, she recovered the book too late. That there would be no one that she cared for left to save.

But she heard a noise, and when she looked at the window, a small face appeared, accompanied by a distinct cry. Within a moment, answering shouts could be heard inside.

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