Page 137 of Lore of the Tides

Chapter 50

Lore’s face itched.

She didn’t bother to scratch it. If her face was itchy, then she was still cursed to be among the living.

“Wake up, Lore, we are running out of time.”

She knew that voice.

For some reason, she’d thought he had been lost to her too.

Death. What sweet relief.

Lore thought about scratching her cheek again. The thought was nagging at her, a fly buzzing around her, insistent. But she couldn’t be bothered to alleviate the irksome annoyance.

“Lore, please, open your eyes. Look at me, Mouse.”

Something else was nagging at her. Something she should be recollecting. Remember? Lore didn’t want to recollect anything. She didn’t want tobe.

Gods, her eye was stinging too. Her lips burning.

Something pressed to her mouth. Something cold. She coughed, sputtering, as she choked on water. She would have ignored this, too, if her body hadn’t rebelled, as instinct made her rise, hacking until she cleared her airway.

She wiped her mouth, coughing more.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t trying to cause you to choke, but hey, it got you up.”

Lore looked around, eyes bleary. Her face still godsdamned itched. She scratched at her cheek. Her nails were cracked, her fingertips shredded, bruised, like she had clawed against something coarse. A reaction like surprise flickered through her mind. Hadn’t there been something wrong with her cheek? Something dark and awful... But no, she wouldn’t think of that.

That way lay madness.

Detachment and emotional agony had synchronized within her now, and she did not wish to disturb this cocktail of safety.

A ghost came into focus. He was crouched on the ground beside her, clasping a cup of water.

“You look like shit for a ghost.” Lore’s voice was hoarse. She swallowed painfully.

Syrelle smiled, running a hand through his hair. His hands were covered in dried, flaking blood. So was his face. It was splattered with it.

“I look better than you.”

“Probably not hard to do.” She closed her eyes, leaned against a shelf behind her. She felt a few books slide back under the pressure of her weight.

“Lore, you can’t go back to sleep. We have a battle to win.”

“Not sleeping.”

“Why are your eyes closed, then?”

“Waiting to die.”

“I just healed most of your injuries with a pilfered vial of phoenix elixir. You’ll be waiting awhile.” Why had he healed her injuries? If given enough time, they would have festered. She would grow hot with fever. Then weak with infection. She could slip away like Mama had.

That wouldn’t be so bad.

Something heavy landed on her lap. “This might cheer you up.”

She failed to reach for it, and it slid off her thigh, landing on the floor with a soft thud.

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