Page 71 of Lore of the Tides

Chapter 24

Lore still had to cleanse the Nikoryxia blood and gore from her knotted curls and skin.

She peeled the bloodied, ripped, and tattered fabric of the dress she’d donned only a few hours ago from her body. With heaving breaths, she crumpled what was left of the dress into a ball and shoved it into the rubbish bin.

When she was sure there weren’t any remaining slivers of glass spearing her skin, she picked up her sponge and scrubbed. And scrubbed. And scrubbed. Until her skin was puckered and red. An hour ago, she thought she would never wash Finndryl’s kisses away. And now, here she was, wishing she could have new skin. Replacement skin. She could still feel the slippery, suction-y, clinging sensation of the Nikoryxia’s tentacles on her face, her throat, her arms.

The soap paste the sirens used smelled like rain; it was pleasant. She scrubbed her entire body again before she felt the essence of the soap and sponge more than suction cups.

Then, she went to work on her hair. At this point, her curls resembled locs. She parted her hair into four segments, and then again, into even smaller sections, hacking with the bone comb, too rattled to take care with her curls, hardly differentiating between knot and coil, until every tangle disappeared. Satisfied, she stepped into the jetting stream.

The powerful current had long since whisked away all blood, sand, and glass... yet Lore couldn’t bring herself to step out of the hot streams. Not when the heat felt this good on her aching and sore muscles. Not when, out there, were more Nikoryxia. More responsibility. And a conversation to be had with Finn.

A knock sounded from the door on the other side of the curtain.

“I have fresh clothes for you,” a palace attendant called.

“Thank you. I’ll be out soon.”

“Take your time; they are just out here.”

With an exhale, Lore twisted the handle, closing off the stream of hot water.

She wanted nothing more than to towel off, put ondryclothes, crawl into her bed in her little attic room above the apothecary, and sleep for days. But that wasn’t possible—and wouldn’t ever be possible again, considering her bed might still be underneath a pile of brick and stone from the earthshake.

It was a struggle putting the clothes on. She was thankful it wasn’t another dress—they just didn’t work down here, not with the current. She slowly pulled the pants up over her legs, bit by bit, then hopped up and down until the waist was high enough to clasp the buckle and she felt almost normal. Lore was glad she was alone; she shouldn’t be breathing this heavily just from donning clothes.

At least the Puallas Kiss had a certain bit of magic that made it so once the clothes were fully donned, they didn’t feel so... wet.

She glanced at the bench. Beside knitted socks and boots, there was another piece of clothing. A vest of some kind. A note was pinned to it.

Lore,

I am deeply apologetic that my realm continues such an onslaught on your well-being. Please accept this armor as a token of my sincerest remorse. It was forged from the very scales ofthe Nikoryxia that sought to harm you. I hope it may serve as a symbol of your strength and a testament to your resilience.

With profound respect and affection,

Queen Naia

Whoa. The queen’s tailors worked fast. Lore had only been in the bathing chamber for one bell. With a smile, Lore collected the vest from the bench. A supple marine leather was fitted with cascading rows of iridescent Nikoryxia scales in hues ranging from amethyst to cerulean. Lore brushed her fingertips over the frigid scales, admiring their unyielding construction. The pattern was reminiscent of the scales along the Nikoryxia spines, which acted as armor, protecting them from predators above. What could possibly desire to attack one of them from above, though? Lore shuddered to think—and hoped to never find out. She hugged the vest to her chest.

These scales were nearly impenetrable; this would be superb protection.

She donned the vest over a simple linen shirt and studied her reflection in the looking glass. The vest fit her perfectly, and it would protect her most vital organs. Efficient. Stunning. But then her gaze fell upon the wild tangle of her hair, each strand seemingly determined to intertwine. She’d just untangled it! With a frown, she seized her hair and tugged the stubborn curls forward.

A single braid, though effective on land, felt too tame for the continuous currents. Two plaits wouldn’t fare much better, unless she braided them tightly against her scalp. Which was a skill she’d never quite mastered. Spend sixteen days transcribing a novel letter by letter? No matter that her eyes would ache, her hand would cramp, and her nails would be stained black for weeks afterward. No problem, Lore adored it. A quarter bell of time wrestling herhair into tightly woven plaits? There wasn’t a reason to. Not when her mother and then her aunt were such talented weavers, their nimble fingers coaxing her hair into submission with ease.

Lore had never had to learn, when they were so willing. When the act of having her hair done by them was love in its most simple form.

A knock came at the door, accompanied by a gruff voice. “Lore, are you clothed?”

Finn.

She cleared her throat, making sure she didn’t sound as though she was having a pity party for herself in here. “Yes! Come in.”

Finndryl somehow made the massive bathing chamber feel small. Thoughts of their hurried, stolen pleasure flashed through Lore’s mind. She blushed.

“I thought I might offer my services.” His smile was cautious despite his casual stance. Squared shoulders, hands in pockets.

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