Page 35 of Lore of the Tides

It didn’t help that her hands, bound at the wrists behind her back, ached with a numbing cold that had little to do with the frigid wind that penetrated the torn fabric of her dress, and everything to do with the lack of blood in her fingertips.

Whatever shit-wit, inbred sailor had tied these knots had been heartless.

There seemed to be no blood flow to her wrists at all, and she thought—wildly—that it must all have collected in her head, which pulsated with a relentless throbbing, the pounding so strong that her brain itself thumped in tempo with the frantic thrashing of her pulse.

Thadrik’s grip on the rope was the only thing keeping her from tumbling forward into the sea.

Lore’s gaze skittered away from the choppy water just below her.

He was yelling something at the sailors. She couldn’t make out the words over the pounding of her pulse. It didn’t matter what lies he was spewing; she had pleaded with them to let her go, begged them, and all it had gotten her was a fierce slap across the face, adirty, stinking rag shoved into her mouth, and the ropes around her wrists tightened.

And here she was, bleeding from a cut on her cheek, gagged and tied, barely balancing on the decorative edge of the ship’s railing, less than a mile, but still a mile too far, from shore.

The docks of Galjien were lined with lanterns that twinkled cheerfully into the night. Welcoming, even. Her fingers, devoid of sensation, twitched in a futile attempt to break free.

If only her hands were untied. She could’vepossiblyswum to the docks. It was dark, but those lanterns could light her way to safety. She could find Syrelle or Maple, and they would keep her safe until the sailors were punished for their mutiny.

But the facts were: Her handsweretied (andnumb), and the temperature of the water was glacial—if the cold didn’t stop her heart in moments, there was the other glaring problem. Lore wasnota strong swimmer.

There was virtually no chance she could kick all the way to shore without slipping under too many times.

And then, the last shred of hope of reaching land was ripped from her numb grasp as someone sloshed a bucket of something over the railing. At first, she didn’t realize what it was. Her mind foolishly thought...red paint?But then, as bloody scales flashed in the light of sailors’ outstretched lanterns... she realized what it was.

Chum.

Bloodied decapitated fish heads and entrails and everything that sea monsters loved to eat.

Within seconds of theplop plop plopof fish guts, large jaws with rows and rows of pointed teeth snapped them up, red eyes glowing in the moonlight, their thick bodies slipping and sliding over one another in a frenzy as they fought over every morsel.

“Slice her up before we toss her in, so the razorfins know that whore-witch is what’s fer dinner,” a voice bellowed from the other side of the deck.

Cries of support rose up from behind her. Lore watched as the razorfins consumed the last vestiges of her hope.

Lore struggled against her bonds, panic engulfing her mind, before she remembered—if she tore free from Thadrik’s grip on her bonds, she would slip off the railing and into the water below.

That creepy fucking cousin of Syrelle’s grip on the rope was the only thing between her and a bloody, violent end.

Salty tears mingling with ocean spray burned the cut on her cheek as she prayed to the gods for Syrelle or the captain or anyone with a fucking brain to show up and put a stop to this. For Finndryl to hear the commotion from where he was locked away so he could break free. Save her.

Finndryl could cut through every sailor and guard in a matter of moments, before slicing through the rope on her wrists, commandeering the dinghy—rowing to safety.

But Finndryl sat three decks below, and if he was aware of what was happening, he would’ve gotten out to save her by now.

Nobody was coming to save her.

Lore needed her grimoire. She needed her grimoire to make sure she wouldn’t slip—she wouldn’t fall.

“Deeping Lu—” She called to it by name, though the muffled sound barely carried past the vile, stinking gag shoved into her mouth, her call morphing into a scream as someone took a dull knife to her flesh.

Immediately, blood began to stream down her arm to drip onto the railing.

“Again!”

Another cut delivered with a sinister laugh doubled the blood flow, and it dripped from the railing into the ocean. The sea beasts went into a frenzy again, frantically searching for the source of blood.

The razorfins began to bump against the side of the ship.

Lore lost all reason.

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