Page 59 of Lore of the Tides

“All I’m saying is, you don’t know everything about him; there is a reason that he doesn’t have magic of his own—”

“Gods, you still think that what you say holds any weight with me, don’t you? You lost that privilege when you imprisoned the both of us on a ship, Syrelle.”

“I did what I had to, in order to keep you safe from my uncle! Which is what I amstilltrying to do!”

Lore exhaled a frustrated groan.

But it was Finndryl who cut in. “Nothing you have ever donehas been to keep her safe. Not when, for your entire life, you ignored Duskmere’s plight, though you knew what your king inflicted upon her people.” He held up his hand. “No, don’t deny it. You may not have been the one causing her or the humans’ pain, but your silence and refusal to act makes you complicit.” He stepped forward, using his superior height and weight to glare down at Syrelle. “Were you keeping her safe when you pulled her from everything she’s known and asked her to enter a library with a deadly curse in order to use her to further your own ends? Certainly not when you left her in Tal Boro, recovering from your guard’s poison.” Finndryl smiled, though it was a fearsome, terrifying thing. “You let her be captured by siren and almost killed only hours ago.”

“I was there, just like you, helping to free the women and children from Steward Vinelake!” Syrelle glanced at his cousin’s retreating form and lowered his voice. “Every move I’ve made since I came of age has been to remove my uncle from his throne. My dream is to improve things for not just my own people but those in Duskmere as well! When I am king, my first order will be to withdraw all sentries from Duskmere and bring down the wards that surround it.”

Lore ground her teeth, stepping up beside Finndryl. “You still don’t get it. And why would you? You’ve never been in the position of an outsider. Your ‘dream,’ Syrelle, is the dream of my enemy.” Lore pushed a stubborn coil of curls out of her face. “It isn’t enough toremovethe sentries and take down the spells that have imprisoned us for centuries! Your monarchy and your leaders need to be tried for their crimes and sentenced to death.” He opened his mouth to retort. “No, let me speak. The king, his culpable wife, your superiors, every single sentry, no matter if they are retired from old age and eating their food through a toothless smile, and every one of the king’s advisors, all. But don’t worry, Syrelle. WhenIhave my grimoire back, I will be the one who brings them to justice.”

“I—”

“You are weak, Syrelle. You’ve alwaysbeenweak. You would make a pathetic king, and honestly, I will do everything in my power to make sure that never happens.” Lore took hold of Finndryl’s hand and spun on her heel. She didn’t bother to look back to see if Syrelle was following or was lost to the twists and turns of the sunken garden.

* * *

Finndryl and Lore ventured farther into the labyrinth.

By now the queen’s party was so far down the path, she couldn’t see them. Their only company was a siren guard who swam above them, never taking their eyes off the pair.

“What do you think is waiting for us at the center?” Finndryl asked, breaking the silence, his voice hushed.

Lore’s eyes widened as a spectral form floated past them, its gauzy white robes billowing like a ghostly shroud. Spilling out from the veiled hood of their cloak, the blindfolded siren’s mournful song rang a haunting melody that echoed off the cavern walls, sending echoing chills down Lore’s spine. How could they see if their face was covered? “At this point, I’m expecting an entire host of ghosts with plans to consume our souls for dinner.”

If she didn’t know Finn better, she would almost think his chuckle had a nervous edge to it. “I was thinking the same thing. That, or a colossal version of one of those tentacled horrors that tried to nibble on us earlier. What if those monsters were the sirens’ true leaders, and they actually plan to sacrifice us all?”

Lore shuddered. “If that’s the case, my only goal is to ensure Coretha is eaten first. No way am I letting her watch me be devoured by a mouth with ten arms.”

Finn’s mouth spread into a mischievous grin. “You’re right; that would be so embarrassing for you.”

“I would honestly die from the shame of it before the monster had a chance to even swallow me.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll help toss her in first to spare you the humiliation. But only if you scream like a banshee to distract the beasts while I make my escape.”

Lore playfully shoved him. “I would expect nothing less.”

In truth, Lore couldn’t even fathom what would be waiting for them at the center. But they passed three more blindfolded sirens, shrouded all in white, softy singing prayers—each one crooning a song eerier than the last.

“Our clerics follow this path in prayer so often they need not use their eyes to know when there will be a curve in the bend,” Cuan murmured as they materialized from the shadows. Lore jumped; she could’ve sworn Cuan had swum ahead with the queen.

“Oh. I see.” Lore smiled sheepishly, trying to pretend she hadn’t just startled so obviously. “Is that why they wear the hoods?”

“Darkness during prayer is one way our clerics honor our goddess. For them to weave through the labyrinth without error is believed to convey their devotions right to her ear.”

Darkness may be what the apostles sought, but Lore hated the dark and was glad that the labyrinth had seemed to lighten up the last few turns. The farther they moved into the sunken garden, the more vivid the algae became. Eventually, Lore began to see glimpses of something very bright; its shimmery light filtered through the twists and turns.

Finally, the path opened to a massive amphitheater surrounded by towering columns. It, like the path, was studded with decorative seashells and stones, but unlike the caverns, a luscious, carefully cultivated garden bloomed. Benches were placed for people to sit in contemplation or prayer. Marble statues stood guard throughout the space.

But the beauty of the garden was understated compared to what stood proudly in its center.

Chapter 20

Lore had seen pearls before. She had found a few freshwater ones in the river at home—shades of black and gray, lumpy and misshapen, but lovely still. She threaded them onto cord, gifting one to Aunty Eshe and another to Grey’s mother.

This, however, was the opposite of those freshwater pearls. It made the ones from Duskmere look like rocks. The pearls she’d pulled from the river could be rolled between thumb and finger. This was massive, taller than Lore herself. Its spherical silhouette was so flawless that it was impossible for this to have come about naturally. Nothing in the natural world could be this pristine, could it?

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