Page 3 of Lore of the Tides

Lore hadn’t known much about Lord Syrelle before. Of noble birth, he’d seemed important, important enough to allow for the transport of a human outside of Duskmere for the first time in living history. She’d thought him a scholar maybe, that his interest in thecontents of the cursed library was simply to appease curiosity or a thirst for the sequestered knowledge. The high steward’s deference to him hadn’t seemed out of the ordinary; Wyndlin Castle was devoid of all other nobles. She hadn’t realized that he was a commander.

She hadn’t known anything at all, though, had she?

Syrelle rubbed the back of his neck. “Ah yes.Commander, though you, of course, need not address me as such.Syrelleis just fine. Or”—he hesitated—“Asherif you prefer—”

Never would she call him by that name again. The name of the kind soldier who had risked everything for her. The name she’d whispered against his lips.

“Commanderdoesn’t suit you.” She raised her chin. “It seems as though you missed your calling. With acting like this, you clearly belong in the theater.”

“It wasn’t all an act,” he voiced quietly.

“Oh, thank the gods. Is this the act, then? I was afraid you had lied to me for months, that you had tricked me into being your pawn—risked my life for your gain. But if it wasn’t all an act, then I suspect you’ll let me off at the next port? I should like to go home.”

He winced, managing to twist his face into a perfect semblance of regret. Lore wanted to clap at his performance, but she still had the vase in a vise grip. The cool porcelain might be the only thing keeping her from screaming like a banshee and clawing his eyes out.

“I admit, I waited too long to tell you the truth, but I can explain—”

She wanted nothing more than for him to explain this all away. To change back into Asher, to pull her into his arms and tell her that this was a bad dream. That he hadn’t made her fall for a lie.

But she couldn’t stand to listen to any more of his dishonesties; it would only carve his betrayal deeper into her bones, and the burn was already excruciating.

Since waking up, she’d had time to think as this ship sailed farther and farther from home, from her people. She’d decided that she would not give him the privilege of lying to her ever again.

No matter what he had to say, it could only be more untruths.

“—I’m sure you’ve a perfectly reasonable list of fabrications ready in that irrational mind of yours, but I would prefer to skip all that. Where is Finndryl? Where is my grimoire? What happened to Grey, Isla, and the women and children?”

She wanted to ask if Isla knew, if she knew the truth about “Asher,” but she was too cowardly. Afraid the answer would damn another friendship. And she wouldn’t trust it anyway, not if it was him who spoke it.

“Finndryl, I imagine, is still resting. We had to dose him with more of the solace-root than you.” Lore’s mind reeled. Finndryl was here? On the ship?She wasn’t alone!And yet, that meant like her, Finn was captive. Syrelle continued, “And Grey and Isla have safely returned with all the prisoners to Duskmere. All accounted for.”

Safely returned.

Safe.

Syrelle took a step toward her, though his large form still blocked the exit, she noticed bitterly. “I am glad to say that my uncle, the king, has given his word that he will make no move upon Duskmere until we have returned with the sister book toDeeping Lune—Auroradel. You need not worry for them while we search. And it will give us enough time to devise a plan on how to dissuade him from any sort of retaliation—”

“How benevolent of you, to pretend to care what happens to those in Duskmere.” Lore’s eyes burned with tears. She yearned for the luxury of trust. Hungered to collapse with relieved sobs that she had been victorious in this at least, in getting them all home. If only she could confirm his claims that while she’d been putrefying under the effects of solace-root, the women and children were back with their families. That right now, through community, they could begin to heal from the ordeal.

“I have always cared. Not many Alytherian nobles realize thehardships your kind have faced, sufferings caused by my uncle. I’ve always longed to make things better.”

Lore rolled her eyes. “I remember when you came into the shop that time—looking for my aunt. Searching for a pawn to enter your cursed library. Now I know you were truly after... what did you call the grimoire?Deeping Lune? You didn’t care about us then, and you don’t now.” She huffed a bitter laugh. “You certainly didn’t care formywell-being when you made the deal with me—you couldn’t have known that the library’s curse would spare me. You risked my life on a whim.”

“I had beenmostlysure that you would not be harmed—yes, I know how bad that sounds—but I also knew that it would be worth the risk.” Syrelle looked around the room then. As if afraid someone might be listening in, he closed the door behind him, softly, as though he were forbidden to be alone with her... and Lore wondered: If he was her puppeteer, pulling her strings, who was pulling his?

“‘Worth the risk’? I could’ve been slaughtered just by entering the library—sacrificed merely to appease your avarice. But what is the sacrifice of one human when the inherent power, innate privilege, and many,manyfreedoms you wereborn withweren’t enough to subdue such... suchrelentlessambition?” She seethed, rage erupting from her despite her commitment to remain levelheaded. Lore risked much by letting anger cloud her judgment, and she still felt encumbered by the persistent fog of the solace-root. She exhaled a shaky breath, extinguishing the heat in her voice, until she knew that her words would crackle with ice. “Yes, I suppose it was worth the risk foryou, who bore none of it.”

Syrelle winced as though her words cut like knives. “The risk...” He ran a hand through his cropped coils and glanced at the closed door, as if making sure it hadn’t opened behind him without his knowledge. “The risk was never for my gain, but something far bigger than me... than you...”

She wanted to scream at him to stop talking, to end these lies,but she resisted. The more Syrelle talked, the less he reminded her of Asher and the more knowledge she gained. Instead of begging him to stop talking... she needed to keep him talking, so that she could harden her heart so she could survive this.

He continued, his voice heavy, “My uncle, the king, has lived far longer than any dark fae should, and his power...” He trailed off, a flicker of fear like burning embers showed in the coal black of his eyes. “It surpasses even my grandfather, who created two grimoires that defy the very laws of alchemy.” His voice lowered even further, until Lore could barely make out what he said. “There are things in play you cannot fathom, things I couldn’t share with you as Asher, because Asher wouldn’t have known them.”

“And, what... you wish to enlighten me now?”

He shook his head. “Not just yet; the threat is too great. Lady Coretha or her guards could be listening.”

Lady Coretha—the person the guard had gone to inform about Lore waking. Wait,herguards?

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