Page 26 of Lore of the Tides

He held the box out to Lore, and she thought about not taking it, leaving his offering suspended in the air just to make him feel awkward, just to spite him. But being difficult just for the sake of it was exhausting. And anyway... this was a welcome change in routine.

She’d exhausted the maps and still waited for the books to arrive—she truly didn’t want to spend another day trapped in her cabin.

She took the box and shoved the door with her hip, slamming it in his face.

She laid the package on her bed and lifted the lid. Inside was shimmering paper so thin and delicately folded that she was afraid it would tear just by untying the ribbon. She untied the bow with diligent care—it seemed as though some law would be broken if she ruined this lovely paper—and spread the thin sheets, revealing a dress.

Lore pulled out the frock and gently laid it across the quilt.

The outer layer was a see-through gossamer fabric adorned with delicate flowers that appeared real as she rubbed a petal lightly between thumb and finger. The fresh scent of the flowers reached her nose. The cream color of their petals was bright against the gray-blue of the fabric.Real flowers pressed into the fabric of a dress?If she moved wrong, they would bruise, wouldn’t they?

Then she laughed as she remembered that there was magic, and they were likely spelled to resist damage and aging.

The inner fabric was a shade darker blue and had quite a low cut on the bodice. The sleeves were puffed and short; they would end right at her shoulders. The dress was picturesque, clearly costly. She withdrew a new pair of thick woolen stockings and reached for a rectangular box tucked into the corner.

Lore opened it to find a pair of ankle boots with a raised heel.They were made of buttery-smooth leather, the warm brown color of chestnuts. The laces were quite impractical, as the strings were a latticed lace the same color as the flower petals. If these were Lore’s only boots or if she had to run for a long distance in them, the laces would surely fray.

Beside the shoebox was a slim velvet pouch. Lore withdrew a golden chain with a round pendant. The pendant was glass with a small moon moth embedded in the center, its tails so delicate Lore could see through them. Surrounding the moth, studded in the deep blue fabric right above it, was a circular diamond.

A reminder from Syrelle ofDeeping Lune, the thing she craved... but could not have?

The necklace was beautiful, but Lore did not want to wear it if it came from him. She fisted her hand around the cold metal and squeezed, wishing she could break it. Wanting the glass covering the moth to shatter and cut into her hand. If she were bleeding from a physical wound, then maybe the gaping wound inside her would not hurt as badly.

But the necklace was well-made, and the glass did not break. She slipped the necklace back inside the velvet pouch and put it away in the drawer of the bedside table.

When she escaped, she could sell it and feed the kiddos for a year.

Lore washed her face; refreshed her curls with water, drops of almond oil, and cream; and assembled her hair into a bun on the crown of her head, leaving a few curls to frame her face, before slipping into the stockings and gown. The boots, though brand-new, were easy to pull over her stockinged feet, and when she took a few tentative steps, they did not pinch at all, nor feel stiff like fresh boots usually did.

Lore regarded herself in the mirror.

The dress’s neckline was cut low, and the bodice pushed her breasts up in a lovely way. The puffed sleeves slipped off hershoulders. The dress was beautiful and skillfully made. It fit her like a glove, showing off her thin waist and curvy hips.

The change in her was startling, and weariness settled over her like a storm cloud. Lore knew that stress was taking its toll, but apparently it had been a while since she’d studied her reflection in daylight. The nocturnal lifestyle had lightened the warm brown of her skin more than she was used to, and her freckles, which were usually unremarkable, were prominent. Dark shadows smudged beneath her eyes, looking as though she’d smeared charcoal on her face and rubbed it in. Her cheekbones were sharp, and her usually full cheeks looked hollow. She traced her fingers along jutting collarbones that a few weeks ago had been less evident.

She wanted to rip this dress off and go back to bed, sleep until the sun swallowed the earth and she crumbled to dust.

She raised her chin instead. She might be weary and stressed, but despite it, she looked beautiful.

Syrelle waited in the hall, leaning against the wall. He had one leg bent, a boot pressed to the wall behind him, his head thrown back, his eyes closed. He swallowed, and Lore followed the bob of his throat.

For a moment, memories of Asher waiting for her outside the library flashed through her mind, superimposing the visage upon Syrelle.

Syrelle, then Asher, then Syrelle once more.

Lore swallowed, trying to dislodge the thickness in her throat. Her chest ached, missing a person who didn’t exist. He stood the same, but that was where the similarities ended.

Lore cleared her throat, and Syrelle opened his eyes, heavy-lidded as they swept over her, taking in her form.

Lore told her body to settle; she wanted to hate the raw desire visible in his eyes as he perused her from curls to boots, lingering on the swell of her breasts. She told herself he was not admiring them, only checking to see if she had chosen to accept the gift of thenecklace by wearing it. The necklace could only have been designed with her in mind, a token of... something... she wasn’t willing to consider. She knew that her choosing to wear it would send a message to him, one she wouldneversend.

But her body did not settle. Not surprisingly—when had it ever done what it was supposed to? Her cheeks flushed as warmth pooled within her, reacting to his dark desire, completely against her will.

“I knew that color would look lovely on you,” Syrelle said, his voice a purr.

“What is all this for, then?” Lore asked, gesturing to the dress.

Syrelle closed the distance between them and his hands were around her waist before she could protest. “You aren’t eating enough; I’ll have the cook double your provisions.”

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