Page 125 of Lore of the Tides

The last of the villagers had arrived. So many squeezed into the room that the floor was packed, every chair filled, and people now stood, filling every space.

And they were all looking at her, waiting for her to speak.

Lore resisted the urge to twist the travel-stained fabric of her skirts between her fingers. She missed the rock that Grey had gifted her; its absence was a constant ache, and she would love to grasp it now for strength.

She gently placed Ember into Finndryl’s lap, and the fox nipped lazily at his hand before curling up and immediately falling asleep.

Lore didn’t have her rock with the moon-shape hole anymore, but she did have Grey, who sat on the other side of her. She had Finndryl, whose gaze never left her face. A line was drawn between his brows, like he knew every worry racing through her head, every anxiety-inducing thought, every fear zipping through her mind in a loop. She had Hazen, who was here to fight for strangers to carve out a better life for themselves, for no other reason than because it was therightthing to do, which was something she had done for his people just weeks before, a kindred spirit. Lore had her aunt and uncle behind her, who took her in and loved her when she’d thought she was alone in the world.

And within the books she carried, she had strength from the sun and the moon. So she drew might from her family and friends and fromAuroradel, enough to heave her exhausted body off the cold ground, ignoring her protesting bones and tight muscles that were imploring her to rest after hours and hours and hours of weaving magic, into a standing position, to address her community, who placed their very lives in her two hands, which did not feel large enough to carry them all.

Even Ember, the small fox who had somehow become a friend and companion, woke up and brushed her fluffy tail against her ankle, a show of solidarity.

If Lore was honest with herself, it wasAuroradel, more than all else, that gave her that last push to convene with her community without collapsing under the weight of responsibility. It gave her the strength to stand and stay standing and to speak without her voice faltering, or wavering.

And despite her worries, it was more important that Lorehadthis bottomless well.

She could figure out how not to drown within it later.

When they had won.

Chapter 41

Lore’s tea was cold by the time she’d told her story, explained all she had been through, all she had seen and discovered. And when all was out on the table, it was time for the brightest minds of Duskmere to devise a plan of action.

One thatwouldn’tend with the king eradicating their entire race.

Lore had begun the evening feeling separate from the people in Duskmere. But telling her story, having them listen, and hearing from the others... cemented in her soul the most important yet simple of all her truths: Her voyage was not solitary; she need not traverse the path to freedom alone.

At first, they’d wanted to run. She had discovered the spell surrounding Duskmere and could break it; surely they could pack up and leave tonight. “What if the sentries come back tomorrow?” they cried. But Lore had to tell them,running would only provoke the king. He was too powerful. He had too many sentries, not to mention winged,flyingguards.

They had two options when it came to the king. Fight or outwit him. They argued when she told them how she knew that. Hadn’t this Syrelle betrayed her? How did she know that his information could be trusted?

She didn’t. But she believed him in this. This went round and round.

Finally, one of the women who had been taken to the tower, held within Wyndlin Castle, asked, her voice quiet, “You say we have two options, but there is a third. We could give up.” Tears leaked from her eyes, and her chin trembled. “I’m tired. I’m scared. I don’t want this. I didn’t ask for this.”

Lore didn’t have the words to comfort her. She couldn’t know what trauma the woman had gone through, what hardships she faced. She couldn’t... wouldn’t ask someone to fight unless they wanted to.

It had to be their choice to make a stand.

“We cannot be cynical when fighting for justice. When your cause is a worthy one, it is hope that will fuel the fires of change.” Aunty Eshe spoke then, her voice ringing through the room. “Lore has not returned to us with empty words nor false promises of an unreachable dream, but with a flame to light the fires of our hope and kindling to help it burn. You need only look at her to see her strength, to see that she can lead us—not to Shahassa, our world of the past, but to a new life, a better life. Not just for the few, but forall of us. We deserve to be safe. We deserve to take up space. We will have that. We need only light our torches with her fire, hold them high, andfight.”

Another woman took the crying one’s hand and cupped it in her own. “It’s all right to have hope... to allow yourself to dream again. We cannot allow ourselves to be enslaved by despair. Bare your teeth with me, with our brothers and sisters, for we do not do this alone. We have only to look around to revel in the beauty of all that we are.”

Lore looked around the room with everyone else at the woman’s words. Noted the gray, thinning hair of the elders. The ancient lines on their faces. The baby nursing at the breast of Shella, the goatherd, its chubby fist twisting the too-thin fabric of its mother’s shirt.The young couple who shared one chair. Grandmothers, grandfathers, families, and friends. Community. Their humanity was an opus of colors and textures. They were a people of fragile hearts who loved and cherished and survived despite it all. And gods, it was remarkable to behold. To hold space with her people.

Lore spoke then, raising her voice. “Finding strength in ourhumanityis how we will win.” She met their gazes, one by one. “I have seen you be strong; I know you can be strong again. And then, when this is done, and our fight is won, we will heal together.”

The woman raised her chin; it was no longer trembling. “I can be strong. And then”—she repeated Lore’s words—“we heal together.”

“We heal together!” they shouted, their voices coalescing to make one united chorus.

The sun had set long before their meeting was finished. By the time everyone dispersed, clutching flickering candles to guide them through the inky darkness of Duskmere, exhaustion clung to Lore like a second skin.

Pillows, blankets, and Lore’s cherished childhood quilt, lovingly stitched by her mother, were brought forth. Lore curled up beside the fire, nestled close to Finndryl and Ember, and slept and slept and slept.

Chapter 42

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