Page 52 of In Violent Waves

“You read about storms but not about other helpful survival tactics?”

Lyra shrugged. “I’m sure the texts about ‘body heat’ were deemed too crude for females to read.”

“What do you mean?”

She turned to meet his gaze. “There were some books that females weren’t allowed to read.”

Wilder scoffed. He felt like he stepped into the deep end with this line of questioning.

What was taking Otto so long?

“I’m not lying,” she murmured, turning around. “We couldn’t read things about politics, history, or anything remotely intimate.”

Wilder pulled their horse to a stop as the words shocked him to his core.They censored the knowledge of their females.Who would do such a thing?

“And who decided what was appropriate or not?” He didn’t know why he had asked. He already knew the answer.

“The King and the other males in power.”

White-hot rage surged through him; stifling knowledge to half your population was a way to keep control. So the rumors about the mermen’s cruelty were not fabricated.

Puffs of steam slipped through his lips and into the frigid air between them.

“Is that not what you do in the Wilds?” she asked, with a timidness that surprised him.

“Absolutely not.” The words came out much harsher than he had intended, but he was still lost in his rage. The buffoonery that was censoring knowledge because of one’s sex or social standing was offensive to him.

Even his father, with all of his faults, would never agree to such a thing. The world demanded balance, and limiting knowledge tipped the scales.

Otto clambered towards them. His clothes stuck to his pale white skin, but his eyes were bright.

“I’ve found a small cave that will do. There have been no occupants for quite some time.”

“Thank you,” Wilder replied and followed after him.

The cave was tiny. Barely large enough to fit them sitting side by side, but it was out of the rain and in a favorable location to keep an eye out for an attack.

Wilder had torn down boughs of cedar branches to make a makeshift stable for the horses, although they didn’t seem to mind the rain. He had watched as Ridge let Lyra help him feed each beast. It was amusing when she stared with wide-eyed wonder at their large teeth and tongues.

But now an uncomfortable silence filled the cave, and Wilder knew it was his doing. His silence wasn’t unusual, but to not allow the others to speak was. He couldn’t help it, though.

Lyra kept burrowing underneath his skin, and he needed to keep his distance—or better yet, get her to keep hers.

“How long will the rain last?” Her quiet voice echoed through the small space.

“Not too much longer,” Otto replied, holding his hand out into the pouring rain past the rim of the granite overhang.

“That’s good,” she replied. “I have a strange feeling.”

Wilder’s ears pricked with the insinuation, and he looked over her head to meet Otto’s stare.

“How so?” Wilder asked.

It was common knowledge among their people to always listen to your gut. That was how fate, the gods—hell, even the universe—guided you.

“It’s an eerie feeling. Like something bad is going to happen,” she murmured, tucking her legs up under her chin and resting her head against them.

“Has that ever happened before?” Otto asked.