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

by Analeigh Sbrana

The first mate was wind-blasted and sun-damaged, with a patchy white beard and yellowing gray hair that he kept tied in a knot at the base of his wrinkled neck and covered with a ratty old knitted cap. She’d heard the others call him Old Salt, which Lore couldn’t be sure that, at birth, despite him being a fresh baby, wasn’t the name his mother had given him, because he embodied it. Old Salt was straight out of a pirate adventure novel. Lore didn’t know how to explain it, but the old fae male looked like he was born on a ship and would die on a ship, and he wouldn’t want to live life any other way.

We have a queendom to save in the morning.”

He still hadn’t been able to return home. She pushed the poised book back onto the shelf and turned fully toward him. “Once again, I would never assume or ask you to—” Finndryl closed the distance between them. He was so damned tall that Lore was forced to crane her neck to meet his gaze. “Once again,” he retorted, taking another step closer, “I am telling you that I’m not letting you go alone. I’ll never stop you from diving headfirst into danger.” He placed a hand on the shelf beside her, his grip tight, and leaned forward until their faces were mere inches apart. “As long as I’m there to dive with you.”

“As long as you’ll have me by your side, there’s no place I would rather be,” he whispered against her lips.

she was being tugged in so many different directions, she felt like she’d been splintered. Fractured.

She told him this. Finndryl listened to her, his face resigned, patient, as he waited for her to finish. Silence. Lore bit her lip, glancing upward to stop the tears from escaping. She’d ruined the whole of everything between them. Just like she knew she would. “I understand your fear,” he began, his voice low and steady. He reached out, brushing a stray curl away from her face, his touch a lightning bolt. “You think you are too messy, your circumstances too . . . much. You think I want a butterfly flitting from flower to flower in the sunshine without a care in the world?” He paused, his eyes searching hers with an intensity that made her breath catch. “You are more moth than butterfly,” he continued, his voice dropping to a near whisper, as he cupped her chin, tilting her face up. “I’m not afraid of the darkness that follows you . . . that tries, even now, to bury you. Instead of being lost to it, you thrived.” His thumb traced the curve of her cheek, delicious heat spreading through her at the contact. “The dark means stars and moonlight . . . You shine golden in the moonlight; you thrive under the glow of the stars, Lore. You are worthy of adoration. Unveil your mosaic wings for me. Let me adore you.” His words suspended in the space between them, thick with emotion. He knew how messy her life was, and he didn’t care; he’d never shied away.

“Call if the Nikoryxia try to eat you. I don’t know what we can do from back here, but at least we can witness your sacrifice,” Cuan said from where they floated beside Jade. “Cuan, you’re just the sweetest.”