Page 44 of Lore of the Tides

The ship stuttered again, groaning under the pressure of whatever was holding the vessel immobile in the water.

Agitation shot through her as a whispered “Lore” warbled through the keyhole.

Hope and fear twisted within Lore’s trembling frame. It was a lifeline, yet the familiar voice held an edge of desperation. What was happening on the other side?Shouldthe door be opened?

“I’m here! Is it safe to come out?” Lore hissed back. She picked up the nearest candlestick, plucked the tapered beeswax free from the sconce, and held her weapon high, edging closer to the locked door.

“The lock is stuck, hold—” Cecil’s voice choked off, and the handle stopped jiggling. Lore heard the sounds of a muffled scuffle followed by a soft thud.

Footsteps.

“Cecil?” Lore tried the knob. It didn’t budge. She knelt and looked through the keyhole, but a key blocked her view.

With a silent cry, Lore scrambled backward away from the door. Blood pooled beneath, running in rivulets along the floor, blooming like constellations on the rug.

Cecil’s blood?

Lore stilled. Whoever had wounded Cecil was still outside, and the key was now in the lock. A moment ago, she’d desired nothing more than to escape this room, and now the last thing she wanted was for that door to open.

Lore’s fingers were beginning to ache for how hard she was clenching the candlestick. Cecil was a trained guard who possessed a sharp sword, and she’d been wounded. By the amount of blood slipping under the door, most likely the wound was lethal.

She watched the door, pulse thundering in her ears as she waited for the knob to turn.

But the hall was silent; the muffled battle sounds were far away, up on the deck, and still, she waited for the knob to twist. It felt like an eternity, but whoever had hurt Cecil appeared to have moved on.

What about the window?

She glanced at it. The attackers had climbed up the sides of the ship, and—there was a thick rope butting against the window in the wind.

She’d looked for weaknesses in and around the windows before but never outright attempted to break the glass. She could break the window and grab the rope, using it to climb up to the deck. She would figure out where to go from there.

However, smashing the window would be so fuckingloud.

Lore cast a quick glance at the door, candlestick poised in the air, before stilling, flesh pebbling with shivers. There was somethingoffabout the blood.

It should still be darkening into a stain and yet... the blood that had soaked through the bottom of the door was no longer red, thick. Streams of it were still leaking through, the color now weak, muted.

Lore stepped down from the bed, crossed the room, and bent down to see.

The sharp smell of iron reached her nose, but it was tainted with another smell. Something much worse.

Salt.

Salt water.

The ship was sinking.

And Finndryl was on a deck beneath hers.

Raw terror flooded her senses. Lore raced to the window. Hurled the candlestick at the glass. Picked it up and pounded again and again.

What should have shattered easily refused to break. There was not even a crack in the glass to show for her effort.

It was spelled or something. Reinforced to prevent her escape.

This room had been her prison for weeks, and now it would become her tomb.

Lore waded through water that was up to her knees now. Her skirt absorbed the water, slowing her down. She tried not to think of Cecil’s blood. If she went down, her layers would restrict her movement. With shaking fingers, Lore untied the strings of her simple cloth corset. She stripped until she stood in just her dress. The water was rising at an alarming rate. The table she’d broken to pieces floated around her.

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