Page 34 of Lore of the Tides

“Thadrik—back off. I have orders to escort the girl to her room upon her return from Galjien.”

“Cecil, you are under her spell. Go below; let the clanless prisoner cheer you up.” He rubbed his hands together. “Just leave the witch to us.”

Cecil shoved her way between Lore and Thadrik; her hand now gripped the hilt of her sword. She was prepared to draw it. Tears pricked Lore’s eyes at the sight of the guard defending her, even if Cecil was her captor. “Back off, Thadrik. You’re way out of line. When I inform Commander Syrelle what lies you are spreading to the sailors, he’ll have your head for mutiny.”

“You won’t be saying a thing to him, Cecil, because if you do, you’ll meet the same fate as the witch.”

Coretha appeared from behind a gaggle of sailors, her expression ambivalent.

Lore urged, “Coretha, order them to let us pass!”

Coretha did no such thing, only tilting her head a fraction, crossing her arms. Waiting. Waiting for what? For someone else to step in? Waiting to see how far Thadrik would take this?

“Coretha, make them see reason!” Lore shouted. “I am innocent!” How long would Coretha let this continue? If she ordered them to stop, they would. She outranked them all in class, in proximity to the throne. She had more sense than this—yet she stood back, watching this exchange with impassive stolidity.

“Enough,” Cecil roared, finally making herself heard. She let go of the hilt of her sword, reaching out to clasp Lore’s hand and take her to safety. But Thadrik, a blur of movement, shoved Cecil forcefully away before enclosing his hand on Lore’s arm, and she froze in fear.

And to Lore’s horror, as she gaped, she realized that Cecil’s hesitation was her downfall. The guard should have already had sword in hand, because two sailors leaped forward and grippedher arms, pinning them at her sides. A third sailor swept in, his arm slashing, the movement so quick, Lore didn’t see the knife cut Cecil’s sword belt in two; she only saw the belt come apart, heard the sword and scabbard as it clattered to the deck.

Without a weapon, Cecil couldn’t fight them off her.

Lore felt numb. She watched the sequence of events as if she were a bystander, an onlooker; this wasn’t really happening to her... because of her. Thadrik dug sharp nails into the flesh of Lore’s bicep. Lore jolted, snapping out of it. “Take your hands off me!” Lore cried, trying to wrench free from Thadrik’s viselike grip.

He ignored her plea and clenched his fingers, his grip harsh, painful, his nails piercing further. She didn’t have to look to know that her arm would be purpling with bruises.

“Throw me some rope!” Thadrik called to a sailor. Before Lore could process it, her arms were jerked behind her, and her wrists were tied, scratchy rope biting into the soft skin.

Thadrik pushed her, and she stumbled forward, her legs not wanting to work. Her mouth twisted in confusion as she realized she wasn’t being herded toward the stairs to be tied up—maybe held in the brig. She looked around wildly—what did they have planned?

If these assholes even had a plan.

Lore’s wrists burned. Fear ricocheted through her body like a darting dragonfly.

She thrashed wildly, her eyes bouncing from jeering sailor to sailor trying to find Coretha. Lore would beg her if she had to—this chaotic heinousness had to be stopped.

Finally, Lore spotted her. She opened her mouth to plead, but Coretha turned away, a smirk on her face. Lore watched her braids sway as she stepped through the door, slipping belowdecks.

Lore’s breath left her lungs in a whoosh. Coretha wasn’t going to stop this.

She really wasn’t going to stop this.

The taunts of the sailors, the pushing and prodding of them all, muddled together, and time seemed to slow down. The mob’s energy crackled through the air, polluting everyone on deck.

Lore swallowed. She began to plead with them; she just had to assuage their fears, get it through to them that she meant them no harm,that this was a mistake. It was only when their voices melded together into one single chant that she realized theydidhave a plan for her, that she comprehended what it was they intended to do.

Her heart dropped, and Lore swayed, her vision going hazy momentarily.

Her legs would have given out beneath her, and she would have fallen had she not been held aloft by the surging mob pushing forward, their long, dirty fingernails pinching and scratching. They tore her cloak from her shoulders, her beautiful cloak; it was quickly trampled under their feet. But that did not matter now, not the cloak, nor the pinching, nor the unceasing torrent of abhorrence that propelled her along like a wisp caught in a gusting wind... because the mutinous sailors were chanting, their breath and hearts and mind as one:

Drown

the

witch.

Chapter 11

Salted wind tore Lore’s hair free from the ribbon she’d tied that morning. Her boots slipped on the thin railing of theLavender Larkas she fought to keep her balance.

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