Page 33 of In Rising Tides

It was terrifying to watch him look at her with such concern one moment and then turn a murderous glare to Fang.

“If we hadn’t been raised together in that hellhole, I would stake you to a boulder and spill your guts for the sobeks.” Lyra swallowed down the tightening in her throat. “Do not so much look at her in a way that displeases me again.”

It wasn’t a threat, but a promise.

Fang bowed as low as his body would allow within the confines of her room. His eyes briefly met hers before he lowered them to the floor.

There was no malice, or even unkindness in them, but something in the same vein as gratitude.

Drystan slid his hand into Lyra’s, and this time she did not flinch. He led her down the hallway.

She glanced over her shoulder to see Angler emerge from her room first, followed by Fang.

They trailed behind them, their presence scaring away a school of fish that had darted from the other end of the hallway.

But Lyra wasn’t sure what should frighten her more, the room they just left or the room they now headed to.

There was a ghost haunting him.

Every foot they put between them and the Mannereds was another memory of her he couldn’t outrun.

Wilder saw flashes of her leaning her body out of the carriage to ask Maelys how the birds were, or to ask Ridge about the plants.

Plants that she would never see beneath the sea.

The memories didn’t crash over him all at once. No, they slid in slowly.

A blade easing deeper into his heart with every moment, every step he took away from the sea. Away from her.

Wilder pressed a hand to his chest and tipped his head back to the sky.

It was an eerie, velvet black with no hint of the stars. She would have hated it.

Storm clouds blotted out the stars and cast the black of the night sky in a textured kind of way.

The air was heavy with the encroaching storm.

Wilder was forced to make camp when the exhaustion of their horses had become life-threatening.

Maelys had all but pulled him from his mount when she’d had enough.

A small fire crackled and danced in the center of their group, and he focused his attention on the flames. Smoke twined around them, and he breathed in the scent.

Lyra loved fire; it was one of the many things she had never seen before.

“Do we have a plan?” Maelys asked almost timidly, as if she were afraid of his answer.

She was tucked against Ridge’s side. Wilder couldn’t tell if it had been for comfort or for warmth.

The air carried an unfamiliar chill for the season. This deep in the forest, there was no breeze, and the smoke became heavy as it blanketed them.

Wilder let loose some of his magic, and the smoke floated up and away from them in a perfect column to the sky.

“I’m unsure,” he replied, not taking his eyes off the smoke and squeezing the shell of her necklace between his thumb and forefinger.

He sucked in a breath and allowed his senses to absorb the forest. It smelled of damp earth and new leaves.

There was nothing amiss. It appeared they weren’t being followed this time. He didn’t expect them to be any longer now that she had returned to the depths, but he hadn’t wanted to assume.