Page 54 of Lore of the Tides

Lore bared her teeth at them.

She had thought that with the battle and the ship sinking, she might never have to see him again. She knew it unlikely that Syrelle would have been killed in the chaos, but she hoped that maybe she would be free of him.

“Queen Naia, Crown Prince Jaladri, may I introduce you toLore Alemeyu and Finndryl Hwraeth,” Cuan announced, rising from their bow.

Finndryl’s bow was graceful, and his murmured “Your Majesty” elegant. You would never know he learned to walk amid a rowdy tavern crowd. Lore, however, hoped nobody noticed the wobble in her curtsy. How Finndryl and Syrelle existed in the water as if on land was a mystery to Lore.

Queen Naia guffawed and made a motion with her hands, brushing their formalities away.

“Please sit with us. Though you may want to stop eyeing Cuan’s spear, son. You won’t need it here.” She turned an elegant head toward her aide. “Cuan, please can you bring those refreshments to us? I’m sure our guests could use something to eat and drink.”

“Right away.” Cuan gave a slight bow of their head and fluttered out a side door, their shimmering tail flickering behind them. Lore wanted to ask how they had been standing on two feet on the ship, and now had a tail, though she supposed it wasn’t much different from Syrelle and Coretha’s wings materializing and vanishing at will.

Lore chose the chair as far from Syrelle as she could manage without turning and doing an awkward swim-run and not stopping until she was out of the palace and a thousand miles from him. Once Lore was seated, Finndryl sat in the chair next to her, across from the prince consort, glaring down the table at Syrelle, as if daring the male to say something to Lore so he would have a reason to wrap his hands around his throat.

“I appreciate your kindness, Your Highness, but I must confess, I am wondering why we are here,” Finndryl said, not taking his eyes off Syrelle, who returned his gaze with his own vehemence burning through his stoic mask.

“Well, I suppose it comes down to this.” The queen placed her crown atop her head before lifting a see-through chest honed from a lattice of bone and seaweed and placing it on the table before her.

Finndryl made a sound of surprise beside her, and Lore, startled, exclaimed, “My grimoire!” She reached out to grab the chest, but the prince consort, who so far hadn’t said a word, shot out a surprisingly agile withered hand, and stopped her with a light touch.

Of course there would be a catch before they gave it to her.Ifthey planned on giving it back at all.

“You won’t want to touch that. It’s been spelled. If you attempt to open it, the mark on all four of your arms will be reversed.”

Lore and Finn shared a glance.

Coretha huffed, muttering quietly, “It’s outrageous, my fate being tied totheirs.”

Lore stared the queen down. “I see. Do you intend to explain what you are doing with my grimoire and what we are doing down here, or will I have to guess and hope I can correctly divine the whims of a queen?” Lore spat out.

Lore could feel the grimoire from here; it was power, a beating heart, calling to her. She craved it.

A thrill shot through her chest—she couldfeelthe book. That meant it was night. And despite being far from the moon’s light, it still had power here. Then again, wasn’t it the moon that controlled the tides?

Prince Consort Jaladri had already removed his hand from hers, placing it back upon the table. She could use her power to pull the book from the chest. She could use the book to sustain her and Finndryl until they reached the surface.

Maybe.

Possibly.

Or it could all go terribly wrong; her power could not be enough to keep them alive, and they could die a crushing, painful death.

Not to mention, could she really be responsible for Syrelle’s death? She’d thought about it plenty. Fantasized about it, even. When she was forced to sit across from him and scry. When hisevery feature reminded her again and again that he had lied to her. Betrayed her.

And yet, if it came down to it, she didn’t think she could kill him, even if the act was an inadvertent consequence.

“Yourgrimoire? Why does the Alytherian lord here say that the grimoire belongs to him?” asked the queen with a silvery eyebrow raised.

“Everything that comes out of his vile mouth is a lie. The book belongs to me.”

The queen laughed at her outburst, a laugh as carefree as the way she had plopped the grimoire upon the table. Abruptly, the queen sobered up. “Child, youwillrefrain from any attempts at taking the grimoire by force.”

Lore clenched her teeth. What right had the queen to withhold her grimoire? She studiedDeeping Lune. It appeared to be doing fine despite the water, the pressure of the deep.

The queen startled Lore with another laugh; she tore her gaze from the book.

“You young ones have not lived long enough to learn patience yet, I see.”

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