Page 23 of Lore of the Tides

Syrelle, however, wore his wealth naturally. And yet, he sat on that barrel and picked up seaweed-laden netting like it was nothing. Then again, there had been a reason Lore had taken to Asher so well. He played the lowborn convincingly.

Old Salt began to sing a shanty about a crew of sailors and theirlosing battle with three siren sisters. He’d sung this one before, it must be one of his favorites. She tapped her boot to the fast rhythm of the shanty, which felt at odds with the ballad’s tragic ending, and turned toward the rising sun, ignoring Syrelle’s watchful gaze, heavy upon her back.

If she could find the sun book, she would never be powerless again. It wouldn’t matter whether the sun was up; possession ofAuroradelwould mean that she would always have access to power.

How was she going to get to it before him?

She really must have been in a trance for hours, because it had seemed like only a quarter bell had passed since she’d walked into Syrelle’s office that evening, and yet, here was the sun. It broke across the horizon in all its glory, casting its light for all to see, announcing with pride that today would be a glorious one.

She let the wind whip across her face, tear her hair from its ribbon, and disperse the lingering sensation of creatures swarming over her skin. The smell of the dark. The damp.

She closed her eyes and soaked in the sun’s rays.

The only good thing about being on a ship was that no trees could shade her from the sun’s light. She’d spent many a winter’s day wishing she could just feel the sun on her face without fighting the thick canopy above her for a little sunshine.

As long as she had this, the sun on her face, then she had hope.

Lore could do this. She could solve the riddle herself. Gods, why was there a riddle at all? Couldn’t the book have given her directions? Sail to this port, turn at the haberdashery, and find me in the cave with the three-headed pine tree outside the entrance.

No matter. She would solve the riddle, free Finndryl, and bring back immeasurable power to her people.

Syrelle’s designs and small hopes for being the lesser of two evils to rule over her people wouldn’t work for her. Wouldn’t work forthem. She would take them back to Shahassa, the motherland. Or, if she still couldn’t locate it by the end of this, she would settle for asfar away from the Alytherian fae as possible. So great a distance that even those with wings couldn’t find them.

They would build walls. Set traps. She would spend her life weaving a thousand spells so that they would be free of the fae forever.

On the way back to her rooms, she made a request of Syrelle. “You owe me. For putting my life in danger, and for... a thousand other wrongs.”

“What is it that you need?” His curiosity was piqued; he was being patient by not demanding she tell him everything she discovered on her scrying trip right this moment, but he knew that whatever she asked of him would lead him to the book eventually, and so he was humoring her.

This encouraged her. “Have maps of Ma Serach sent to my room. I know you have a few.” She thought for a moment. “And the next time the post comes, I’ll need you to put in an order for me; I’ll need all the books on the ecology and geography of all continents. As many books as they can carry.”

Chapter 7

It would be several days before the tomes arrived, but the maps were waiting for Lore when she awoke from a brief nap. She’d been so exhausted she hadn’t stirred when someone had slipped in and deposited a mountainous pile of maps onto the table. The thought of someone entering the room while she’d been sleeping sent a shiver down her spine, and she made a mental note to lodge a chair under the door handle the next time she rested.

With a resigned sigh, she piled her hair atop her head and bound it with ribbon until it resembled something akin to a pineapple, cleaned her teeth, and splashed water on her face. It was time to get to work.

Usually, this would be the time she’d munch a quick bite of food and attempt to sleep. Since she and Syrelle kept a nocturnal schedule, daylight felt a muted imitation of life. The absence of her grimoire gnawed at her, an insatiable hunger for the power it liberated within her. But with the arrival of the maps, now that she had a riddle, a real clue... she felt possessed by a restless energy.

She combed the maps, keys, and cartographer logs, letting the task consume her.

When Cecil arrived that evening to escort Lore to Syrelle’s office, she slipped out the door the moment Cecil slid the lock free.Lore’s steps were hurried and she practically raced Cecil down the hall.

Syrelle was busy perusing a stack of ledgers, and his only acknowledgment of Lore’s presence was to tell her to shut the door behind her. Lore complied, before sitting down in her usual chair, picking up the scrying bowl, and picturing Finndryl.

It didn’t take long to navigate her way to his room. Tonight, Finndryl was dozing on the armchair beside his bed, a novel haphazardly splayed on his knee.

Should I let you sleep?

His eyes shot open, and he sat up, one hand flying to his face to wipe away any evidence of sleep left behind. The book almost fell from atop his knee, but his reflexes didn’t miss; he scooped it from the air and snapped it shut in one fluid motion.Please don’t. The amount of sleep I’ve been getting recently would rival a house cat’s.

Good, because I wasn’t going to let you, anyway.

I would expect nothing less. Gods, it feels strange speaking to you inside my head and not being able to see you... You can’t... hear my thoughts, can you?

Lore laughed.No, I can only hear what you purposefully project toward me. Why, what are you thinking right now?

Finndryl smirked, easing back into the chair and splaying his long legs out before him.Oh, nothing much, just planning my world domination.

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