Page 6 of Lore of the Tides

“Tonight, when the moon is high, we begin our search.”

Syrelle closed the door behind them. Someone slid the lock into place.

Lore was left alone.

She wilted to the floor, wishing that for just a moment this fucking ship would stop its rocking. She pressed her forehead to the cool floor.

Betrayal settled like stones, heavy within Lore’s chest.

If she wasn’t careful, the weight of it would tear through her lungs, leaving her unable to breathe. She had known a great deal of suffering in her life: oppression, grief, helplessness. All of it dwelled behind her ribs, piling up like pebbles, weighing her down. But this was a new type of ache, one she was not accustomed to—the agony of loving someone who was not who they had pretended to be.

Lore clenched her hands, one upon each thigh, digging her fingers into the delicate skin in an effort to distract from the pressure crushing her bones. This anguish felt so dense—how was it not dragging the ship down to the depths of the sea?

The physical pain of her nails carving moons into her thighs grounded her for a moment, just long enough to pull in a thread of breath. To focus on her fury instead, kindling that ember of rage until it ignited, melting the hurt away, if only for a moment. Lore had practice with this at least: When faced with grief, she would choose anger.

Her desire to escape this ship with Finndryl and the grimoire would have to be disregarded.

Syrelle wouldn’t rest until he foundAuroradel.

And she had no doubt that hewouldfind it. With or without her. And she knew that the worst thing that could happen would be him finding it. Whether he chose to gift it to the king or bind it to himself, either would be disastrous.

She would have to stay—she had no other choice. She must findAuroradeland bind the grimoire of the sun to her before Syrelle could.

Only then could she enact her vengeance.

Only then would Duskmere be free.

Chapter 2

ONEWEEKLATER

Lore was dipped in ink. Her palms were smeared with darkness that slithered up her wrists in tendrils.

Deeping Lune, Lore’s grimoire, sat open before her, its pages as empty as the day she had found it.

She glanced away from the blank parchment and surveyed the commander’s quarters. Syrelle’s office, which was a large space separated from his sleeping quarters by a tapestry hung from rafters in the ceiling, was dark today. The moon concealed itself behind a thick layer of cloud. Lore wished she, too, could hide.

By now, she, her legs, and her stomach were accustomed to the unceasing motion of the ship, the steady rhythm of the colossal vessel carving through the waves. The first week at sea had been rough—there were a few days she’d forgotten what it felt like to eat a meal and not meet its contents again a bell later as she vomited into a bucket.

But she wasn’t used to, and probably would never grow accustomed to, the sight of the male before her.

“Look again, Lore. I know you can do this,” Syrelle said as he pushed a wooden bowl filled with water toward her, carefullyavoiding the grimoire, which lay open upon his desk. Lore’s gaze snagged on the bandages wrapped around his fingertips. Syrelle had made the mistake of touching her grimoire again, and the burns hadn’t yet healed.

Good.

Lore ignored the bowl of water.

She wouldn’t scry for him today. Not until he gave in to her demands. He was convinced that she should use her magic to locateAuroradelfor him. Locate the lost Book of Sunbeams. A magical text that drew power from the sun itself, the sister book to her ownDeeping Lune. He wanted her to peer into the water, turning it into a mirrored surface to showAuroradel’s location.

It had been a mistake to tell Syrelle, then masquerading as Asher, that that was how she’d located Grey when he was imprisoned in the palace, drowning under Queen Riella’s vicious whims. Syrelle was convinced that scrying was the best way to pinpoint the exact location ofAuroradel. He had a hunch which continent his grandfather had hidden the grimoire on, but that was it.

So far this evening, Lore had stubbornly held to the silent treatment, but enough was enough. “I wish to see Finndryl,” she hissed.

Syrelle gritted his teeth. “Not this again. I told you, once you successfully find the location ofAuroradelon the map you will be allowed to see him.” Syrelle sounded weary of this dance, but Lore remained unfazed.

“And I’ve told you, let me see him, and I’ll scry forAuroradelagain.”

Finndryl was somewhere on this ship, and Lore was desperate to see him. To confirm with her own eyes that he was all right. That Syrelle, or Coretha, or any of the awful dark fae aboard this ship hadn’t mistreated him.