Page 21 of Lore of the Tides

Nothing.

The bare minimum someone should feel for another person isnot wanting them to die. Unless... that person was an egotistical prick of fae nobility whose own ends always outweighed his capacity for empathy.

Lore could get lost in that loop of uncertainty if she let herself.

Syrelle was quiet. He neither confirmed nor denied. Lore didn’t need him to; his nonanswer was answer enough.

And more importantly, it changed nothing.

Syrelle extended a hand toward hers, where they clutched the edge of his desk. She must have reached for it when she awoke, needing something solid to ground her. The joints of her fingers protested when she opened them. Releasing the desk, she pulled away and folded her hands into her lap.

Her message was clear.Don’t touch me.

“Let me bid Cecil to take you to your room. You need to eat something. Rest.”

“I don’t need a watchdog. I’m not going to run away or escape.” Lore stood up, too fast. All the blood rushed from her head, disorienting her. Her vision grew tunneled, dark. She staggered, stumblingbackward, and bumped into the chair. It toppled over, landing on the ground behind her with a clatter.

Lore shook her head, trying to clear it.

Her legs felt shaky, and she realized that she was freezing cold; her teeth started to chatter.

“No,don’t,” she said sharply. Or tried to. Her voice came out weak. Her throat was still raw, and her voice rasped out as if through gravel. “I’m fine. Really.”

She needed to pull herself together, or he would resume the discussion about whether or not it was safe to scry again. She bent down and lifted the chair, setting it to rights before he had a chance. If he started down that road again... then any chance of obtaining the other grimoire before Syrelle managed to... would be lost.

And she wouldn’t be able to meet with Finndryl.

“I think I just need some air.” She clenched her teeth together to stop them from chattering and squared her shoulders, though her head still felt woozy, and her body felt off.

Foreign.

She hadn’t realized scrying could be dangerous. She’d done it just fine back in the Wilds with Finndryl. Then again, she hadn’t left her body before. She’d just looked at the bowl of water like it was a mirror.

What would have happened if Syrelle hadn’t shaken her out of her trance? Could she have beenlostto the darkness? Had she detached, separated, her body and mind so thoroughly that she truly risked being forever trapped in that demonic place?

A shiver rose up her spine at the thought, and she had to clench her teeth even harder together to stop the shivering.

Her head began to pound.

“I’m sending for Cecil, either way. You have a guard for your protection, not because I think you have anywhere to run to. We are on a ship in the middle of the Dread.”

Lore blinked.

The walls began to pulse, contract. Like they were closing in. Terror made her stomach heave. Lore swallowed bile.

“Take me to get some air yourself.”

It was the least he could do after she’d almost been devoured by a dark entity of some kind trying to findhisbook. And was apparently still suffering the adverse effects of it. Lore fixed her vision on the gleaming doorknob and avoided looking at the walls, though they continued to pulse just on the edge of her vision.

“It’s best if we aren’t seen together outside of our work.”

Lore edged forward on wobbling legs toward the door handle. “Our work? Seems like I’m the one doing everything.”

“You aren’t doing enough,” he bit out.

Lore turned back to him sharply and opened her mouth to respond, even though her hands were beginning to tremble, but all she managed to do was sigh instead of reply. She was genuinely too drained to quarrel with him.

Syrelle held up one hand, palm forward as if to motion for peace. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. “Wait. Pretend I didn’t say that. I didn’t even mean it. It’s just that we are running out of time, and now my concern is that this route might be... too perilous to continue.”