Page 28 of Lore of the Tides

“New, how?” she asked, trying to settle the pounding of her heart. She walked in step beside Syrelle but kept her distance. She tried to ignore the two guards who fell in behind them. One was Thadrik, the other was a wolfish guard with disdain in his eyes. Both made her uneasy.

“You’ll see,” he said as he shoved the door to the deck wide.

* * *

It was easier to ignore the guards, as practiced as she was when it came to ignoring Thadrik, but the sailors on the deck were in a mood.

Lore slipped her cloak over her shoulders against the biting wind. Winter was in full swing today. She was just clasping the cord over the bone moth buttons when she heard shushed whispers on the wind.

The witch...

...fault.

...murdered.

Murdered? Was someone dead?

A wave of unease washed over her, settling as a tight ache between her shoulder blades, but then, the wind changed, and she heard a shrill whisper:

The only one of us who showed any kindness to her, and she killed him in cold blood.

“What’s going on with the sailors?” Lore asked Syrelle out of the side of her mouth as they made their way toward the rowboats hooked to the side of the ship.

“One of them perished last night,” he said, his voice grave.

“Who?”

“The first mate. The one they called Old Salt.”

Lore stumbled, then halted, closing her eyes.

Old Salt, the sailor who’d smiled at her. He’d seemed straight from the pages of a book. She’d longed to sit with him over an ale and listen to his stories; she had no doubt he had a thousand good ones. She would’ve collected them like jewels.

She’d wished she could’ve enjoyed his raspy, bawdy sea chanteys without the presence of everyone else’s contempt for her. Fear of her. It always soured her mood, and his songs.

She didn’t say any of this to Syrelle.

“He seemed healthy. Was it fever?”

“Something happened with his head. Doc said he came in complaining of pain. He was just about to examine him when Old Salt gave a shout, clutching his skull. A moment later, he’d passed on.”

Unexpected deaths were the hardest. Lore opened her eyes, nodded. Then she glanced around, observed the sailors.

A pall of mourning filled the atmosphere. Somber faces, groups huddled together, a few leaked tears. It didn’t take a seasoned sailor to see that the mariners respected the late first mate more than their own captain. But their anguish and the suddenness of his death clearly left them wanting someone to blame.

It looked like they’d chosen to pin it onthe witch.

Never mind that Lorewouldn’tdo that. And didn’t even knowhowto kill a person without at least being in the same room as them.

But there was no point in telling them this.

They would rather blame her for their sorrow than accept that something had gone wrong inside Old Salt.

That it had just been his time.

Their enmity chafed, nettling her skin. Lore lowered her gaze away from them, wondering why Syrelle had brought her out here at all, when she looked past the ship toward the horizon and spied mountains jutting out of the sea.

Land.