Page 140 of Lore of the Tides

“I wrote a note on the back and sent her to Finndryl. He knows that I have you, that you are coming back to him.”

Lore’s mind was reeling. That voice was trying to sow doubt in her again. But here was Syrelle, in front of her.

He was warm, his face flushed with emotion. He was very much... alive.

And he’d come back for her. And he’d brought her grimoires. If there was good in him... if he had hope that she could free him, free her people...

“Maple!” Lore gasped. “The children?”

“I have a small group of loyal soldiers. They smuggled them out yesterday. They are in a safe house in town.”

Lore wiped the last of the tears from her face. Her fingers lingered on a raised ridge of flesh. A worthy scar for a worthy cause. She didn’t care what she looked like, only that Syrelle had healed her at least enough to see... because she couldn’t wait to see the look on the king’s face when she annihilated him.

Chapter 51

Lore knelt on the floor of the library, flipping throughAuroradel, her eyes skimming over pages and pages of looping script, drawings, spells, recipes, notes, everything that made this book as powerful as it was. She muttered under her breath, urging the grimoire to show her what she needed. It listened; the parchment fluttered and then warmed to the touch. Lore ran her fingers along the vellum. Animal skin of some kind. This page had a hole in the bottom-right corner, where the arrow had shot the beast whose skin was used to make these pages.

A spell to go from here to there.

She memorized the spell as best she could in the span of a few breaths. She need not have it perfectly, just enough to know that performing the spell was possible. Once she knew that, she need not recite the spell at all, only form it to her will.

“Hold on to my arm, Syrelle. We are going to the woods.”

“Are you sure this will work?”

“It has to.”

He nodded, his jaw firm. His eyes held no fear as he gripped her arm, his fingers wrapping around her bicep with care.

He trusted her, and she him.

She looked around at the library. She’d done a fine job fixing itup, and now it had saved her life, providing sanctuary for her and Syrelle.

Lore uttered a word, evoking the magic from the book. She blinked. A flood of power filled her being; she pushed it to flow through Syrelle as well, from his bloody boots to the tips of his hair. The world went sideways; it dipped, swirled. Her stomach lurched, and Lore clenched her teeth together, focusing on the spell.

To go from here to there.

She opened her eyes.

Syrelle and Lore were no longer kneeling on the marble floor of the Wyndlin Royal Library, but upon the earth, shaded beneath an ancient spruce.

She could hear the murmurings of her people, where they huddled in the forest against the cold, trying to figure out what to do next.

She’d done it.

The vivid orange of Ember was a blur as she raced to close the distance, heryip yipexcited as she neared Lore. Lore snapped the grimoire closed and squeezed the wriggling fox, who’d saved her again. She pressed a kiss to the fox’s head.

When she opened her eyes once more, they landed on him.

Him.

Finndryl. Was alive. Alive, alive, alive where he knelt, tending to the wounds of a man, though his hands had stilled as he saw Lore appear in the forest. His face was stricken, and the haunted look in his eyes, worry for her, she knew was because nothing had gone to plan.

Finndryl murmured something to the man he was helping, excusing himself. Lore didn’t have time to blink before she was in his arms. Before his heartbeat, his beautiful, perfectbeatingheart, was thrumming against her ear.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” She cried into his shoulder, clinging to him, barely letting herself believe that this was real, that he was real.

He lifted her up, pressing her to him as if he, too, couldn’t believe she was really here in his arms. He kissed her, briefly, before murmuring in her ear, “No time for pointless apologies, my love. Your people need to hear from you.”