Page 143 of Lore of the Tides

“Oh, I think I will,” he murmured, his voice thick with emotion as he took another step toward Lore. He gently lifted a stray curl, twirling it around his finger as if savoring the last strands of their connection. “The world doesn’t feel quite as bright when you are not here to add your light.”

A bittersweet smile played on Lore’s lips, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “I’ll send a letter once we’re settled. We still have those trade agreements to negotiate...”

“Please don’t tell me you will only write to me of exports and imports, Lore,” Syrelle pleaded, a playful lilt returning to his voice.

“Perhaps I’ll slip in a note about Ember’s latest antics,” Lore replied, a warmth spreading through her chest as Ember, the sly thing, wove her way in and out of Syrelle’s legs.

“She really is rather like a cat, isn’t she?”

“I have a theory that she was once a plump bookshop cat who dozed off in a mushroom circle that gave her the ability to shapeshift,” Lore shared, her voice filled with fondness for the animal that she’d begun to think of as her familiar.

“That seems probable,” Syrelle agreed, his laughter echoing through the harbor. “I believe I can feel her purring through my boots.”

“Oh, you most assuredly can,” Lore confirmed. “She purrs louder than any fox ought to. That is, at all. I don’t think foxesdopurr.”

A poignant silence settled between them, the weight of their unspoken feelings hanging heavy in the air. This was goodbye, if not forever, then for a few years at least.

Syrelle, his voice catching in his throat, whispered, “I will love you until they put me in the ground, and even then, my love will endure.”

Lore swallowed a thick lump in her throat. In another life, on another world, maybe he would be climbing the gangway along with her and Finndryl, and they would be heading for their new home together, the three of them. But they both knew that too much had happened. Too many lies. Too much hurt and pain. Syrelle had grown so much, and Lore had grown to love him, even as she had Asher... But his place was here, leading his people to greatness.

Her heart ached and rejoiced at the same time.

She pulled his hand between her own and held it “And you, who stubbornly refused to leave my heart, though I asked it quite nicely to let you go... well, a piece of it will always belong to you.”

And she belonged to the people formerly of Duskmere as much as she belonged to herself. In a few years, when they had settled, and their fledgling empire could stand on its own feet without her magic to prop it up, she could leave and travel... but for now, they would be half an ocean apart, and that would just have to do.

“Safe travels, Archivist, First of Her Kind, First Grand Witch, Lore Alemeyu. Be well.”

“Be well, King Syrelle Asher Gylthrae of Alytheria.”

They embraced. She breathed him in, his blackberry and honeyed scent. She felt her power long to mingle with his, to dance, her light with his dark, and she let it do so, one last time, for just a moment, one moment more.

Then she stepped back from him and went to meet Finndryl on the gangplank.

“I don’t think he’ll last a month without you here to keep him humble,” Finndryl uttered softly, his eyes filled with warmth as they gazed at Syrelle. They weren’t friends, exactly, but they shared a mutual respect.

“Oh, he’ll be fine. Besides, he’s got Isla to do that.”

“Chief Royal Advisor... what a career my sister landed for herself.” Finndryl bent down and scooped a waiting Ember into his arms. She settled in her favorite spot—propped on his shoulders, concealed beneath his locs, and curled around his neck. “Never would have seen it coming,” Finndryl said as he placed his arm around Lore, tucking her into his side—Lore’s favorite spot.

Lore brushed her hand along the ship’s railing as they stepped onto the boat, their strides in sync. She couldn’t believe she was willingly stepping onto another boat. “I think it suits her. Isla’s got a head for strategy, she’s cunning enough to survive any court politics they try to throw at her, and she can travel. She’ll never grow bored—I can’t wait to see her next month.”

“You make a good point.”

“The only kind I ever make,” she remarked with a laugh as she shut the door to their cabin. This would be their dwelling for the next four weeks as they sailed to their new home.

Home would be a cluster of five islands on the far eastern edge of Queen Naia’s realm. Queen Naia had initially offered them as a “housewarming present,” a ridiculous proposal. Lore insisted the humans purchase the land outright. It took Prince Consort Jaladri’s pragmatic intervention to convince the queen that her grandson might one day have wanted the islands for himself. Hazen, of course, was laughing in the background—he and his grandfather had obviously conspired to help Lore, who was beginning to sweat at how Queen Naia was not giving in. A compromise was finally struck, and the islands were sold for a nominal fee, a fraction of their worth. Lore tried her best, but the queen was as stubborn as they come.

It was great practice in diplomacy, honestly. As far as Lore was concerned, the weapons Queen Naia had supplied for their rebellion had been payment enough for Lore’s help with Anuya’s pearl.

As Archivist, one branch of the six councils the humans had elected, she could not advocate they start their civilization in anyone’s debt. Help from her neighboring empires was wanted and welcomed; handouts from them, however, were not.

Of course, the gold she’d purchased the islands with had come from Alytheria’s immense reserves. Reparations for four hundred years of subjugation of every single human who’d lived and died in Duskmere under the demon king’s rule.

Lore kicked off her boots, placed a treat in Ember’s bowl, and collapsed onto the bed.

“I think I could sleep until next autumn,” she mused into the blanket. Which, she just realized, was her baby quilt. “When did you put this on here?”

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