Page 77 of Lore of the Tides

Everything that made herher. Her skin and organs—the very particles in her body that kept it all together, that made it work. Too much. It was too much. She tried to expel the magic, to close herself off to the unending force. She was going to rupture; she was going to come undone completely.

Her lungs seized up; her heart stuttered.

Lore’s mind exploded.

Or, it would have if Finndryl hadn’t gripped her hand, the one thrust up into the river ofSource, and if Syrelle hadn’t taken her other hand.

The magic leaped out from her to them, eagerly using Lore as a vessel to seek out more life. Her pain lessened for a fraction of a second, and she felt Finn and Syrelle stiffen beside her as agony overtook them. She knew what they were feeling, though it might be worse because, unlike her, they couldn’t feel the intention of this raw, powerful magic that invaded their bodies. They couldn’t know that it was not trying to do harm—magic was neither good nor evil, it justwas.

Still, that fraction of a second of relief, and the fact that it was now shared between the three of them, gave her the barest breath of reprieve, and Lore remembered her goal. She remembered why she was willingly letting her body be inundated bySource. She was here to repair the path to the pearl, which was made to harness this power. She was here to save an entire kingdom.

She had somewhere for the magic to go.

And there was one other thing she’d planned to do, though she had kept this to herself.

Lore used her second sight to tunnel down into the volcanic rock and find a dried-up lava tunnel, one honed eons ago by some unknowable force. Was it the love of a goddess, or chance? She did not know. But this path, this tunnel, was wrecked. Fragmented. Smashed. Something had altered the ground here, and the magic had grown stagnant, listless. It had nowhere to go but up into the water to float languidly without purpose.

The broken path to the pearl. It didn’t take long for her to find it. Underground there were many pathways, and all had caved in. Only the barest trickle ofSourcestill made it through the collapsed rock to follow the path.

She followed the tunnels, urging her body to hold on just a little longer. She pushed her intentions onto theSource. She wasn’t its only path to life. She wasn’t its only path.See here, she urged the volcano,see these other routes. This way leads to a pearl that will be yourhome; let it be a beacon, race toward it, and light it up. It will gladly give you a home.

See here another path. This way leads to cave systems filled with eggs that needSourceto hatch, to live, to create more eggs, and more and more; they are eager for a taste.

She used her magic to push rock aside, carving new pathways where she could not fix broken ones. She found more, hundreds more, that once teemed with torrents ofSourceand had long since dried up, been blocked.

She ushered the magic forward, nipping at its heels, a sheepdog guiding its flock.

The magic flowing into her, floating above the volcano, began to wane, and just before she lost it entirely, she pushed the last flood into Finndryl.

She felt Finndryl stiffen beside her.

Where, moments ago, he’d gripped her hand willingly, sharing the burden, he now jerked as he tried to rip his hand free from her. She held on, usingSourceto strengthen her grip. She opened her eyes for a moment and saw his head thrown back as a silent scream of agony tried to rip free from his vein-lined throat.

Lore closed her eyes against the sight of him in pain.

She hated that she was the cause of his pain. She wanted to tell him that this wouldn’t hurt forever, but her mouth didn’t work, and anyway, she was busy keeping the magic in line. It was happily doing her bidding, but magic, she had learned, was a mischievous thing.

At her command, theSourcesought out the curse lurking within his blood since before he was even born; it was there, a fungal blight within his body. She urged it to find every lingering piece of the wretched curse that had taken his grandfather from him too soon. That had been the reason his mother had never had magic. Why he had been exiled from his university for the simple factthat his grandfather was a hero, wrongfully punished—resulting in generations of pain. Missing an integral part of themselves.

With a determined cry, she forced her intention, her feelings, and her care for him into theSourceand urged it to wage a battle against the curse.

She urged Finndryl, with her mind, to endure.

She repeated her intention again and again; it felt like an eternity.Break it apart, burn it away—cleanse his body until the curse is eradicated completely.

The magic did so eagerly.

When the last of the curse was gone and Finndryl was himself, without a hint of that wretched curse inside him, she closed all three of them off to any of the magic still lingering around the volcano.

She opened her eyes, gasping at the onslaught they had endured.

Finndryl was free, and he glowed withSource.

He was more powerful than Lore could have imagined.

* * *

But he was still, obviously, in pain.