Page 7 of Lore of the Tides

Syrelle had brought Finn on this journey for no other reason than to “protect his assets.”Deeping Lune—the grimoire that he insisted was his, though it belonged to Lore as much as the blood thatfilled her veins belonged to her. And though Syrelle didn’t say this, he didn’thaveto: Lore herself had been reduced to one of his assets. He felt he’d made her what she was: a human with the ability to cast spells—to harness magic, known asSource—and so she, and all her abilities, belonged to him. Now all Syrelle had to do was successfully mold her into exactly what he wanted her to be: a compliant puppet to be used in whatever way he chose.

In his demented mind, anyway.

“LocateAuroradelfor me, and you can have just about anything you desire.”

He was a stubborn musician, piping the same notes over and over.

Lore rolled her eyes.

“My magic is more accessible when he’s around,” she lied. “Something I discovered when you left me in Tal Boro.” Syrelle’s mouth twitched, he didn’t like that she kept mentioning Finndryl or her time spent in Tal Boro, the town beneath the Canaan Mountains that bordered the Alytherian Empire and the Queendom of Rywandall. “You must’ve known, somehow, that he could teach me what you could not. It will make it easier to—”

“Perhaps a more potent spur is required to inspire the human’s cooperation.” Coretha’s cruel, lyrical voice butted in from where she leaned on the edge of a carved wooden stool in the corner of the room.

Gods, Coretha was a constant plague.

“If you wish to findAuroradelbefore we arrive on the shores of Ma Serach...”Ma Serach? Had Coretha just let slip their destination?“...it’s clear that pain will motivate more than whatever... this is.” The female gestured to the desk, the bowl of water, and the open grimoire.

Lore stiffened.Pain?

Syrelle bared his teeth, his sharp canines flashing, before closing his eyes momentarily to gather himself. Composed, he addressed his cousin, “As I’ve said before, Lore is not to be harmed.”

Lore met Coretha’s sneer with a glare of her own.

She may have been afraid of her all those months ago in Duskmere, but Lore was no longer the scared human. She’d been personally responsible for three fae deaths. She wouldn’t lose any sleep over increasing that number by one.

Syrelle’s wings unrolled slowly until his feathers covered the entire length of the bay window behind him and the tips of the feathers brushed the low cabin ceiling. “Coretha, if you or anyone else on this ship so much as touch a single curl on her head, I will bind your arms and wings and throw you over the railing of theLavender Lark. We crossed into the Dread Abyss last night—how long do you think you’ll last in the ocean before Takuma swallows you whole?”

Coretha rolled her eyes and pushed off the stool, shaking out her own pair of wings, though they were a songbird’s compared to Syrelle’s predatorial breadth. “I’m sure the king would love to hear that his heir has been thrown to her death by his least favorite nephew... Need I remind you that you aretenthin line?”

Syrelle’s lips drew into a hard line. “You aren’t heir yet, Coretha. You’ll do well to remember that. And either way, Takuma doesn’t care what your proximity to the throne is, he will eat you all the same.”

“Your idle threats grow stale. You promised our king results, and all you have so far is—what,” she scoffed, tossing her hair, “a book that burns you when you touch it and a human who spits on not just your orders but the commands of her king. Her refusal to submit is high treason.”

“She isn’t to be touched.” Syrelle slammed his hand on the desk, making the water in the bowl jump.

Coretha paused by the door, twisting a braid around one finger. “You’ve made that clear,” she deadpanned, “but I was talking about a more imaginative way to inspire pain.”

Apprehension stippled Lore’s arms with goosebumps, but shetried to push the feeling down. Lore refused to show Coretha that she was making her nervous. The creature was a predator, she salivated at the smell of fear. Whatever this sadist suggested... Lore could handle it. She’d been in pain before. She wouldn’t bow to it.

“I don’t wish to know the twisted things you’ve conjured in that head of yours. This discussion is over,” Syrelle said, his voice quiet, lethal.

Coretha blinked slowly as if perplexed. “Syrelle, why else did you drag that halfling barkeep along with us? Surely you plan to use him in more creative ways than keeping them apart?”

The world tilted on its axis. Terror flooded Lore, icy and suffocating.

“Leave Finndryl out of this!” Lore snarled at Coretha, the sound raw and desperate. She ripped the grimoire off the desk and surged to her feet. Her hands exploded withSource, magic crackling around her like lightning. “You hurt him, and I swear, I’ll unleash everything I’ve got. This room, this whole damned ship, won’t hold to the tempest I’ll summon.”

For the first time since Lore met her, Coretha dropped her pompous attitude as trepidation flitted across her features, her eyes dipping between the grimoire in Lore’s hands and the fury on her face. Wide-eyed, Coretha glanced at Syrelle, who stood by the window, his arms crossed over his broad chest. Coretha’s voice trembled with unbridled fury. “Syrelle, get control of your pet!”

She dared not take her eyes off Coretha to gauge his reaction. If Syrelle wanted to, he could stop Lore in her tracks. She was still not powerful enough to best him.

A drip of sweat slid down Lore’s back. Syrelle made no move to take the grimoire from Lore, nor to intervene.

Coretha, seeing this, addressed Lore once more. “If you would just do as you’re told, you wouldn’t have to worry about your friend.”

“You are foolish in your privilege.” Lore took a step closer to Coretha, where she stood by the door. “I’m sure you’ve never hadto worry for anyone’s safety, not even your own.” Lore cocked her head to the side. “You aren’t in charge of me, and neither is your despicable king. I will not sit idly by while you threaten those dear to me. One more word from you about hurting me—or him—and it will be your last, Coretha.” Lore raised one ink-stained hand, making sure that Coretha saw the strands of silvery light threading through her fingers. “That is a promise.”

“Syrelle, aren’t you going to punish her for threatening me?”

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