Page 130 of Lore of the Tides

Exhale.

Lore raised her chin, turning back to the commander. “If he is truly our king, then he will meet with his subjects.” She clenched her fists at her sides. “We have come todemandan audience. We will not leave until then.”

Commander Arelas’s face went red with anger, and he sputtered, “Ifhe is your king? Little girl, you speak treason quite boldly for a human.” He pointed a long finger right in her face; it took every ounce of strength in Lore not to flinch away. “Let me clarify this for you, since you seem to be too stupid to understand even simple commands.You‘demand’ nothing because youarenothing.” He raised his voice once more. “Go home, all of you. Before I set the dogs on you.”

There were indeed a few vicious-looking dogs to the side, strong, bulging necks pulling at their leads. A few snapped their jaws like they were eager to take a bite out of them. A shiver of fear rolled through Lore.

It had beenyearssince the king had used his hunting dogs on them. She’d never personally been a witness to it. But she’d heard the stories.

She’d seen the scars. The disfigurements.

Anyone who was lucky enough to avoid having their throat ripped out and only suffered a bite was lucky to survive the infection, let alone keep the limb.

With so many eyes on them, the dogs whined and began to paw at the frozen ground, pacing back and forth. Then they began to bark.

Lore was afraid. If they let the dogs loose, she wouldn’t be able to protect everyone from them, and someone would be hurt.

“We demand an audience with the king,” Emalie, an old friend and one of the women she’d rescued from the tower, called out, taking up for Lore. Her voice pealed through the frigid air but could barely be heard over the howling of the dogs.

“We demand an audience with the king!” Lore recognizedUncle Salim’s voice, though he was a calm man. A quiet man. She’d never heard him raise it before.

Others took up the cry until they were all chanting in unison, their voices drowning out the barking of the dogs and the howling of the winter wind.

Lore glanced at the gates. Surely their cry would reach the fae ears of the king. They would open, and he would treat with them now.

Commander Arelas seemed unsettled. He had obviously expected them to turn and race for home, trying to reach Duskmere by sundown. He’d probably imagined they would run over one another, pushing others out of the way to get to the front, to be the first home.

For he was aware, just as they were, that at this distance, even if they had left themomenthe’d demanded it of them, sprinting theentireway, only the fastest of them would make it home by sundown.

If the soldiers acted on their threat, almost every last one of them standing here right now would be slaughtered, no matter how much they tried to comply.

Hope stirred in Lore’s belly as a small, seemingly insignificant door cut into the wall swung open, spitting out a messenger like an olive pit. The messenger hesitated for a moment, almost tripping over their feet, clearly alarmed by the size of the crowd. They had probably never seen a human, let alone two hundred of them, but they had a job to do and hesitated for only a moment before running straight to the commander and handing him a note. They waited, bouncing from foot to foot. When a confirming nod came from the commander, they raced back, slipping once more through the door.

Commander Arelas crumpled the piece of parchment in his hand and placed it into one of his many pockets before spitting once more on the ground.

“Witch.” He pointed at Lore, his finger stabbing toward herface like he wished it were a knife. “Your king will meet with you.” He spat. “Your... people may wait for you here without being harmed until your return.”

This was one of the scenarios Lore wanted to avoid. She didn’t want to leave them. Without her, the few knives and cudgels hidden under their coats would only delay the inevitable—if they were lucky and could delay it at all. With the way the soldiers and some of the townspeople looked at them, they might be better off turning their knives on themselves before the soldiers could get to them.

But they had known this was a possibility, and they had planned for it.

That was why there were not truly hundreds of humans who had marched with her here, but only fifteen. That had been all she needed. The rest, she had memorized their clothes, their faces, their footfalls at the church. She had replicated them in her mind, then formed the glamour like clay, multiplied them until she had an army behind her, but only fifteen, really, to protect.

She’d begged Salim and Eshe to stay back, but they had insisted.

She reached behind her, feeling for Finndryl’s hand. He grasped it between both of his. They said all they could to each other with that one short clasp.

Lore’s gaze pierced the commander’s. She would take him out this day, if she had the chance. She would bend him to his knees and make him beg her for mercy, and then she would give him the same “mercy” that his exalted king offered her people. But for now, she just gave a stiff nod. “Take me to him.”

Chapter 44

Lore knew this castle. She knew these halls, torches, and polished floors... until she didn’t. She’d had no reason to visit this wing of the castle and would have been punished by the steward if she had snuck in, even if only for a peek, even if it were empty. Lore reached forAuroradelin her mind and told it to hold the stored power for her. Afraid there was a spell that would alert the king in the throne room, she would not enter with active magic. So she promised to use it again, knowing that it hated to be cut off from her, and she cinched the connection closed, tying once and then twice the knot in her mind.

Stepping through the double doors of the Wyndlin Castle throne room felt like being doused with frigid water. But still, she reminded herself, this was not the first throne room she’d entered. She’d infiltrated Queen Riella’s, saved her best friend, and survived that ordeal. And she’d beeninvitedinto Queen Naia’s and left her throne room with a new friend.

She would survive this one too.

Her footfalls echoed in the cavernous space, making her feel so incredibly alone. She brushed the grimoires with her wrist. Yes, they were there, she reminded herself. Both books nestled in their satchel on her belt, tucked in beneath her coat. The guards hadn’teven searched her. They apparently hadn’t cared if she carried a sharpened axe to their king, for they never in a thousand years would think that she would use it on him. And they apparently didn’t care if she carried deadly grimoires on her person either.

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