Page 37 of Lore of the Tides

She should be falling to a hideous death.

But Lore remained poised on the railing.

She would not fall.

She would not fall.

Not even when Thadrik uttered a curse under his breath and shoved at her back with all his fae strength, would she fall.

She couldfeelhim attempt to retreat a single step despite the rabid sailors at his back clambering ever closer. Fervent and vicious snarls imploring him topush.

Be done with this witch.

Rage coursed through her as the ropes on her wrists loosened and dropped.

She tore the disgusting rag from her mouth, letting the wind rip the cloth from her still-numb fingers. Surprise rushed through her as she gazed at her hands. The black, inklike stains on her fingers were wavering, shifting like candle smoke. Was this how she was commanding theSource? Was itDeeping Lune’s ink that stained her hands? Magic imprinted within her very skin, a connection to the grimoire?

Lore’s blood-spattered boots lifted off the railing as she elevated into the air, her body revolving gradually until her back was to the sea, her face toward the ship.

She looked for Cecil, who had tried to save her. But she must have been dragged belowdecks, for her kind face was nowhere to be seen.

The sailors’ and guards’ shouts morphed into terror-filled screams as they changed course. Their gleeful cries of misplaced rage had only ever been fueled by terror and Lore was supposed to fall. It took this one thing to tip their minds over the edge.

Lore gazed down upon the sailors, this incurable, writhing sea of beings.

If they were the tide, then she was the moon.

Rush forward to hurt her.

Recede to run from her.

It was all because of her.

She lowered herself until her boots met the deck of theLavender Larkand walked forward a single step. They tripped over each other in their haste to run, no different from the razorfins’ frenzy. Lore felt what they had felt, as if their former glee had been transferred to her. She was enjoying this.

The sailors and guards alike backed away, some already pressed against the opposite railing, but they dared not move too fast. They looked at her as if she was the predator, and they her prey. With nowhere to flee, besides a churning sea of razorfins, they stilled. She could almost see their desperate thoughts as they froze, one by one.

If they stayed still, maybe she wouldn’t see them, and they would be spared.

If they were to accuse her of it anyway, terrorize her for it, end her life for it, then she would embody it.

Let her be their monster, their demon, the witch from their nightmares.

Lore unclenched her fists and felt her power unleash.

She struck Thadrik first.

The guard hissed, stumbling backward, covering his face with hands red withherblood, trying to block the light that emitted from her palms. Two sailors who stood just behind him were next. They must have been among the ones who cut her because they each dropped a small, glistening, red-edged dagger to the deck, their hands flying to cover their eyes.

It wasn’t long before every one of the murderous sailors was cowering on the deck, their screams rising in crescendo as Lore broadened her arms, amplifying the light.

She shouted her wrath, her scream mingling with theirs, as she shifted the light, compressed it with her mind into diamonds. Small slivers of jagged light began to cut the sailors’ hands and arms where they covered their faces.

She craved more.

She drew moreSourcefrom the creatures in the sea. She pushed, urging the crystalline light to not just hurt; she wanted it to maim.

She would make them feel her fear. She would make themdrownin it. And when she was done, when they gasped their last breath, she would find Finndryl, and her grimoire, and they would be free.