Lore of the Tides (Lore of the Wilds #2)

by Analeigh Sbrana

Where griffin cries pierce the sky, and shadows strike the mountain’s heart, here I lie, an earthen hold, in slumber deep, a hidden spark awaits one who dares to seek.

Syrelle held up one hand, palm forward as if to motion for peace. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose with the other. “Wait. Pretend I didn’t say that. I didn’t even mean it. It’s just that we are running out of time, and now my concern is that this route might be . . . too perilous to continue.”

Syrelle’s gaze locked onto hers, his eyes burning with an intensity that sent a wave of shivers up her spine. “One day, Lore,” he rasped, his voice thick with emotion, “I will lay myself bare before you. I will reveal every harsh truth, every revolting action I’ve been forced to take to mend the destruction my great-uncle’s unnaturally long reign has wrought upon Alytheria. You will understand that my hands have been tied, bound by duty.”

The smile on her face from ear to ear and her genuine warmth were almost as startling as the antlers sprouting from her head. His aunt had antlers. His cousins had antlers. Something wasn’t adding up here.

Syrelle turned to look at Lore, his voice severe. Lore wanted to shrink from the wrath that seared in his eyes as he regarded her. “They will be punished for their crimes against you, Lore Alemeyu. But their deaths will be on my hands, not yours.”

“I can’t believe I had you, and I lost you . . . I’ll never stop hating myself.”

“You are weak, Syrelle. You’ve always been weak. 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.

Lore’s mouth hung open as the two of them conversed as if they didn’t hate each other with every fiber of their beings. As if . . . almost as if they had really been friends once. Back in the day.

“I know I’ve hurt you,” he admitted, his voice thick with remorse. “But I swear to you, I was doing what I thought was . . . was the best way to protect you from him.” His gaze flicked to Coretha, who sat slumped on a bench, waiting for the siren to escort her to shore. His voice lowered, quickened as if he had to say this despite Coretha possibly overhearing. “I am rooting for you, Lore. I hope that you find Auroradel, bind it to you, but please, do not confront the king. Promise you won’t—”

The only thing he was choosing to do was continue to withhold information from her—maintaining her ignorance and, therefore, putting her life at risk. Lore blinked back

Finndryl’s presence was so calm. Steadfast and sure. Had he ever had a nightmare?

But instead of attacking, the griffin dipped its head in a gesture of respect before flapping its powerful wings and launching into the sky.

Syrelle’s nostrils flared. He sniffed the air, and his face shuttered. His eyes widened, and then . . . they darkened. His lips spread into a grimace. “You smell like him.” His voice was a growl. Lore flinched back from the fury emanating from his eyes.

Eshe was distracted, trying to stop the toddlers from pulling on Ember’s ears and tail as she scampered and yipped excitedly at the children, but Finndryl had Salim’s full attention. They clasped hands in greeting. Lore’s stomach did a little flip.