“You’ve been scrying for hours. Your heartbeat slowed; your blood moved sluggishly within your veins. I didn’t realize... maybe we should find another—”
“No. It’s fine!” Lore croaked, as she regarded the room.
The scrying bowl lay turned over across the room as if it had been ripped from her hands and thrown aside. The water seeped into the decorative rug.
“I’m fine.” Her voice was raspy, her throat dry. As if she’d been trapped within a desert deprived of water. Or like she’d been shrieking.
Syrelle’s hand closed into a fist. “This is too dangerous. You will not scry again, Lore. We will find another way.”
She’d had tangible communication withAuroradel. It had worked. Syrelle had been right, scrying was her best way to findAuroradel.
“I almost had it,” she lied.
In truth, it, whateveritwas, had almost hadher.
She shivered, thinking of the tales of Brokyr the elders told, the wrathful god who many believed to blame for the humans’ exile to this world. He was a devourer, that god. Of hopes. He would eat one’s wishes if he heard them before Rahada, his partner, the wish granter, did. As a child, she’d felt entirely composed of dreams and fought her way through many a nightmare with him at the center, always intent on devouring her whole.
This had felt like those dreams—something was trying to consume all that she was.
Syrelle dropped onto his desk and wrapped one arm across his chest, gripping the opposite shoulder. It was almost... vulnerable.
Almost.
“You don’t know what you looked like. You were barelybreathing.Your body looked empty, like a shell. As if you had traveled so far from yourself, there was a chance you wouldn’t—or couldn’t—return.”
“Iwasfar away. Isn’t this what you wanted? For me to find ‘your’ grimoire?”
A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Yes, but not at risk to your life.”
Lore huffed. “You pretend to care about my life, why?” She hated herself for asking this, for giving him an opportunity to hurt her with his answer, but she had to know. And then, a thought struck her. Her stomach heaved, and once again she feared she would be sick right here in Syrelle’s quarters.
If she died... if something happened to her, either while scrying or searching for the book, or... wouldn’t that mean Syrelle would be able to create a bond with the grimoire himself?
Wasn’t shereallyjust an obstacle?
His original plan was to takeDeeping Lunethe moment she retrieved it from the library, and yet... he had let her keep it. He knew she had found the book he was looking for... and he had let her take what she’d thought was a journal to her room. She’d had it for weeks before she’d known the magnitude of whatDeeping Luneeven was. And he’d said... he had said back in the garden that he’dfeltit. The momentDeeping Lune, unknowingly hidden beneath her cloak, breached the doors of the library. He’dknown.
Then, when she’d learned the truth and fled with the book, he’dmether in the garden. Led her through the woods. Orchestrated a safe, isolated spot for her... encouraged her to build upon her bond with it.
So that she could take from the book exactly whathe’dwanted.
Its power.
Something wasn’t adding up. Why keep her alive at all, when Syrelle bonding with the book would give him what he wanted?
Lore studied the male above her. He looked grim, tired, anxious. The usually brown knuckles of his fingers, where they gripped his arm, were pale with tension. He had really been frightenedforher.
She wanted to voice these questions out loud. To demand answers. Lore pressed her lips into a thin line, refusing to let these thoughts leap unbidden from her lips.
If Syrelle was anything, he was a liar. She doubted he would relinquish any truths.
And either way, reminding him that herdeathmight solve his problems could possibly go exceedingly terribly for her.
Lore looked around the office. Something was different. “Where is Thadrik?”
Syrelle released his death grip on his arm and rubbed his hands over his face roughly. “I sent him on an errand.”
“You didn’t want him to know that you were worried about me.” Lore’s words came out as a whisper. What did this mean?