Page 85 of In Rising Tides

Wilder didn’t get a look at his savior before they melted into the mayhem.

He launched himself into the chaos, but not quickly enough.

A guard caught sight of him and pushed his way through the throng of people and towards him.

Wilder tried to blend in, ducking between a particularly robust elf.

Over the sound of panic and screaming, the guard yelled.

“Stop the Prince!”

A few eyes darted his way, and he felt hands tugging at his clothes. Fear had him squeezing his arms to his chest and pressing against the crowd.

There was so much screaming.

A fire somewhere nearby crackled loudly as it consumed. Smoke had darkened the hallway and made breathing difficult.

Wilder bent at the waist, seeking clear air to breathe as he stayed in the center of the throng.

“Someone grab him!” the guard continued shouting. “Don’t let him escape!”

Wilder had only made it three steps down the hall before something soft and heavy was pulled over his head, and hands wrenched themselves under his arms.

“I’ve got the Prince!” a masculine voice volleyed back to the guard.

Wilder tried to fight off his new assailants, but a voice had him freezing.

“Just play along,” Maelys whispered. “We’ve got you.”

Drystan seethed the entire journey from the throne room to Lyra’s. His grip on her tightened and then relaxed with each muttered insult.

Lyra tugged on his hand and pointed to her collar.

He gritted his teeth. “I was surprised you behaved,” he grumbled, halting them.

He drew a key from a pocket in his robe and fitted it into an invisible lock in her collar. She hadn’t realized it would be that easy to remove.

She felt the magic untether from her, like hooks being pulled from her neck.

It was excruciating as each barb slipped from her flesh. But as soon as it was removed, she felt an overwhelming rush of relief.

Lyra sighed deeply and rubbed her throat with her free hand. It was tender, but not as bad as she had been expecting.

Drystan stared at her neck with widened eyes and then scowled at the collar in his fist.

“I didn’t realize it would injure you even if you didn’t try to speak,” he winced.

Lyra could feel the tiny puncture wounds around her neck and one on the bottom of her chin.

“It doesn’t allow for movement,” she grumbled. Her frown matched his. “And it felt like I was being burned every time I even thought of speaking.”

“Yet another problem to deal with,” he sighed. “It was designed specifically to prohibit your magic. But I didn’t want it to cause you pain.”

Lyra frowned. He had enjoyed reveling in her pain before.

Why was now any different?

He huffed something under his breath.