Page 147 of A Dance of Water

"It is a weak male who gives in to the wiles of a female," said the King, but his eyes softened as he stared at her.

A weak male, indeed.

Let them drown in her and be swept away in her tide. Tharen would not allow himself to be pulled under the water.

But—

Hadn’t he done just that?

51

GLADLY, THE VILLAIN

LUELLA

Luella shook in Az’s arms.

In that guttural language of his, he spoke to her, low and muffled by the thing on his face. Straining to hear, she didn’t understand, but she knew his words were meant for soothing. She resisted the urge to let her eyes drift closed.

The threads around her soul had shifted, perhaps when she had been underwater and unaware. But the wintry tendrils between her and Tharen were weaker, brittle. While the thread between her and Graves had grown a bit stronger.

Her body ached, and her lower lip wobbled at the memory of water, hands reaching for her in utter darkness.

In her mind, they were not the hands of Tharen, but an unnamed attacker.

One word stood out from the rest of Az’s mumbling: "Angel."

Her head perked up. "Az," she breathed. Her throat felt sore from throwing up the water; blessedly, there was no burn of salt. It was the first time she had truly been able to hear him since she started training.

The rain was a sluggish drizzle, mirroring her body as she stretched against him.

She just wanted to sleep. Her chest ached, and there was a strange taste on her lips—more than just water, but something more primal.

"I know, pet," Bastian muttered against her hair. His warm breaths puffed against her temples, and she shivered violently.

"You…" Graves’s bare fingers drifted over her lower stomach, gripping her waist. "You stopped breathing."

Somehow, Luella already knew. She had gone somewhere other, not the dark, starry place of her first sleep, but somewhere less sempiternal and more grey-toned and saturnine. A place of shimmering air and ghostly hands. She had not been able to see, but she hadfeltthe lifeless pallor around her, sensed something tugging her back.

And then she had awoken.

"I did," she said—not a question. Under the dampened sensations around her, she felt only a muted sense of… anger.

They continued to soothe her, and she felt muted surprise at Graves’s soft, lingering touches.

Voices carried to her on the wind, not quite drowned out.

Snippets of curses.

Words wrapped in ice, sharp and jagged.

The well inside her stirred.

Bastian tensed. He knew of her thoughts, knew of the growing awareness inside her.

"Let me go," she whispered.

Az made no move to do so.

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