Page 47 of Lore of the Tides

The creature cocked their head to one side, calculating, before giving a slight nod.

The hall was dark, but Lore could see where Cecil floated face down in the water. She sidestepped the guard, wishing she had amoment to turn her over, close her eyes if they were not closed, and say something in her honor. She may have been her captor, but there was no denying that she was kind, unsuited for the position of jailer. Her end had been violent and tragic.

And Cecil wasn’t alone.

The farther they went, the more dead guards they saw, yet not a single dead siren. They had had the benefit of surprise, and it seemed that they were in their element.

Syrelle’s quarters were the floor above Lore’s, and the water had not reached it yet.

She ran with the siren down the hall, the creature following her like an apparition. A ghost. Seawater mixed with blood dripped from their clothes and stained the ornate carpet. Lore stepped over bodies, wishing she could stop and check to see if any were alive. If she knew them.

If one was Syrelle.

She did not know what she would feel if she found him cut down. She knew sheshouldfeel relieved that he would no longer have power over her.

And yet, she knew thatreliefwouldnotbe what she felt.

Though, if she should come upon Coretha floating in the water—it would be a welcome sight.

Finally, she and the siren reached Syrelle’s quarters. The door hung broken, suspended from one hinge. The locked chest Syrelle kept the grimoire in lay on its side, empty. The room had been ransacked.

Lore stepped over a toppled candle sconce and began to rifle through already opened drawers and cabinets. Maybe Syrelle had moved it. “Where are you?” she called to it, now searching through Syrelle’s well-stocked closet and dresser, but it was clear that the grimoire was no longer here. Despite the daylight, Lore’s tether toDeeping Lunewould lead her right to it, even if it was hidden. Even if the cabinet was spelled.

“Where is it?” she whispered to herself, frantically tearing open the last of Syrelle’s cabinets, throwing aside silk shirts, cashmere sweaters.

“Is the item you seek not here?”

“No. Someone must have taken it.” Did Syrelle have it? Did he take the book and leave Lore to drown in her room? That would solve his problem, anyway, wouldn’t it? Either way, Syrelle was not here, and neither was the book. “I have to find it, maybe it’s—”

Lore’s boots splashed with each step. Icy water lapped at her skirts once again. Another floor of the ship was lost to the sea.

The siren clamped a long-fingered hand on Lore’s arm and began to pull her toward the door. Lore shuddered. The creature’s skin was an odd texture. Smooth on the palm, despite the scales that peppered the top of either hand and wrist. “We are out of time.”

The ship would sink; it did not care for Lore’s plans. Tears of frustration burned in the backs of Lore’s eyes.

Without the grimoire, Lore was nothing.

Worse than nothing. She was someone who had tasted power and now did not think that she could live without it.

Lore tried to pull her arm out of the siren’s grip. “I can’t leave without it. You don’t understand.” She pulled against the siren’s grip again, but the siren’s hand on her arm wouldn’t relent.

“I had hoped you would come with us willingly, but I see I will have to resort to other means.”

Dread filled Lore’s belly. “Let me go!” She yanked harder. “I just need more time, there is another place it could—”

Then, the siren opened their mouth. A sound erupted, not song, but a raw, primal force that slammed into Lore like a tidal wave.

Lore’s world dissolved into waves of melody; each note a barbed hook ensnaring her thoughts. Alarm flared within her, urging her to flee, to fight. But the song, so rich and warm, promised sanctuary and quickly smothered any spark of defiance. It flowed throughher veins, quieting all resistance with a sweet caress. Lore squeezed her eyes shut, desperately clinging to the scent of blackberries in Syrelle’s quarters.

But it quickly became clear that the siren had permitted Lore to block the effects of the song earlier while in her room—luring her into a false sense of control. Lore tried to pull away, but her arm, heavy and numb, driftedtowardthe siren as if drawn by an invisible current.

Lore’s voice, a ragged breath lost in the symphony, croaked a final, brokenno... before the world narrowed to the song, its meaning an inconceivable, enthralling, enigmatic mystery that conveyed belonging, oblivion.

What did she need with power?

Lore had this song, the melody so honeyed that it filled her up. She need not feel fearful anymore; she was no longer alone. She didn’t need air or food; this song was sustenance enough.

Part Two

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