Page 12 of Lore of the Tides

For all of Cecil’s kindness, the guard still slammed the door to Lore’s chambers and latched the lock to her nautical prison with a decisive click.

Loneliness rolled over Lore, an oppressive pang that crammed itself into the hole her magic left behind.

She’d been away from home for too long. Her loneliness was palpable. She’d never felt this isolated in her life. As a child, Mama was always a few steps away. When she was older, and Mama and Baba were gone, Grey was there. And if not Grey, then any of the kiddos at the shelter, Aunty Eshe, or Uncle Salim. When she turned twenty and moved out of the shelter and into the attic above the apothecary, she may have had a few hours between obligations where she was alone... but then, she’d never felt loneliness.

Lore’s entire life... being alone was a prize, rarely tasted.

Now, she would do anything to be surrounded by loved ones, even the young ones fighting and screaming. Or... gods, even just being near someone who wasn’t using her or actively wishing she were dead.

The washbasin had been cleaned and replaced while Lore was with Syrelle. She splashed cool water onto swollen, bloodshot eyesbefore pressing her face into a fluffy towel that smelled of lavender and rosehips.

A tray of food and drink was set out on the table. She drank the cider in one go. Immediately, the effects of the cider warmed her belly and dulled the unsettled impression lingering from the wine-red sea of the Dread Abyss.

Lore wondered what Aunty Eshe, Uncle Salim, and the kiddos were doing in this moment, though it hurt to think of them. Hopefully, the babies were letting everyone sleep, as the day had barely begun.

Lore chewed on a slice of dried apricot and forced it down, wishing she had more cider. Her appetite fled the moment she’d awoken on theLavender Lark, along with her ability to sleep, and more cider would probably remedy at least one of those problems.

Maybe she could ask Cecil for another cup; she was likely posted on the other side of the door, keeping watch.Eh, she couldn’t be bothered. Begging a favor through a locked door was humiliating.

Lore lay back on the bed, fists clasping the quilt.

A few months ago, Lore risked everything by entering the cursed library in order to rebuild a devastated, shattered Duskmere. Now, rebuilding was the last thing she would do. When Lore led her people from their prison, she would light a fire and burn that slum and all the horrible memories to the ground.

They would settle far away from any fae—and if the walls they built weren’t enough to keep them out, she would spend her life setting wards and spells that would do it. The humans of Duskmere would never be plagued by the fae again.

She turned on her side, pulling her knees up to her chest. Restless, she turned again onto her back, biting her lip. She hated this feeling of helplessness. Of not being in control.

Maybe tonight, when she was brought to Syrelle’s office and forced to scry, she would pick up her grimoire again. Only this time,she wouldn’t hesitate; she would utter a single word and eviscerate Syrelle with moonlight.

Then what, Thadrik would stab her in the throat?

Or worse, make good on his threats and take his time carving her up before tossing chunks of her into the sea? And anyway, if she killed Syrelle, what would happen to Finndryl? Thadrik would probably kill Finn in front of her before setting in on her.

But what if she killed Thadrik too?

Lore raised her hands up, palms facing the ceiling, and wiggled her fingers.

Her fingertips were still stained black with ink or magic, or whatever it was that had gotten inside her when she’d made the deal with the grimoire. Free the grimoire from Wyndlin Castle and be gifted with magic. The grimoire had made good on its bargain; it had given her the ability to harness the power of moonlight, the knowledge to craft potions and cast spells. But that magic had left its mark on her, staining her fingertips a deep black, which now had bled like ink covering her palm and the backs of her hands, stretching up her wrists. Lore didn’t mind it so much; in fact, it was growing on her.

Let the power stain her hands, her arms, her face; what did she care, if she could only wield it?

She imagined calling on her power now. Remembering how it had felt that first time she had used this gift to drown those guards in moonlight. To direct it into them, down their throats while they clawed at their skin with bloodied fingernails. She could do that again. All she would need to do was touch the grimoire.

But no.

Lore snapped her hands into fists.

She would be more likely to blast a hole in the ship than to direct the power where she wanted it to go. And then she would have to search the entire ship for Finndryl. And if she didn’t find him in time? Finndryl would drown. And then, so would she.

Of course, even if she managed to locate him, how could she repair the ship—after vanquishing guards and crew?

It wasn’t like the two of them could flee or swim to safety. They were in the middle of the ocean. There were a few rowboats secured to the side of the ship, but... what had Syrelle said? Takuma would eat them, rowboat and all. With her luck, she couldn’t trust that the monster was truly a myth.

Regardless, she didn’t know where they were. She peered through the window at the endless wine-stained sea.

A glimmer of silver flashed in the water.

A curious whale? She’d seen one two days ago, heard its mournful cry even through the walls of the ship. In another life, Lore might have marveled at the splendor of a being so vast choosing to share its song with her. But in this life, she didn’t have it in her. To marvel.

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