Page 93 of A Dark and Drowning Tide

It all seemed so far away now.

Now, Sylvia’s eyes shone with unshed tears. “How could you?”

What could she possibly say to that? After all this time, perhaps she’d finally succeeding in becoming what everyone suspected she was. Disloyal and conniving and self-serving. A dog eager to bow and scrape for anyone, so long as it would stave off the blow. “My hands were tied.”

Sylvia laughed bitterly, the irony clearly not lost on her. “You’re a coward.”

Yes, I am. More than you could ever know.

“Not all of us can afford to have principles.”

Johann looked back at them with a scowl that said,I’m watching.

Lorelei knocked into Sylvia’s shoulder as she shoved past her.

The thick moss growing along the riverbank muffled their footsteps, but the burble of thecurrent—andthe occasional snapping twig or shrill cry of abird—offeredsome respite from the grim silence. Unlike the fathomless dark of the Vereist, the water here was as transparent as glass. Aether settled over its surface like a slick of oil, iridescent and shimmering beneath the glow of their lanterns. Here and there, she caught slivers of the ghosts’ haunted eyes: peering out at her through the latticework of leaves and the pebbled depths of the water.

Lorelei shuddered. The sooner they got off this island, the better.

As they walked, Johann tossed whatever iron or silver he could find into the water at every juncture: beads pulled from Heike’s gown, coins plucked from his own wallet, even a medal he’d found discarded at the bottom of his pack. Sylvia winced at everyplinkof metal.

They traveled until they were too exhausted to go any farther. Once they set up camp, Lorelei huddled close to the fire. Shrugging off her greatcoat and rolling her shirtsleeves to her elbows made the heat somewhat bearable. It was a humid night, close enough to be smothering, but the light kept the ghosts at bay. They hovered just outside its sphere, the wide moons of their eyes blinking in and out of focus.

Lorelei watched the flames dance until movement on the outskirts of camp caught her attention. Johann had shoved Sylvia to the ground atthe gnarled base of a yew tree and was now fastening the ropes binding her around its trunk.

“Must you?” Sylvia asked. “I assure you I’m not plotting my escape.”

He did not reply.

“I’m thirsty,” Sylvia said, more imperiously than Lorelei might have in her circumstances.

“Are you?” Johann asked with a sharp edge of amusement. He uncorked his waterskin and, with a startling cruelty, poured it onto her head.

Sylvia gasped, blinking through the water running down her face. With that same proud fire in her voice, she gritted out, “Thank you.”

Johann stared at the waterskin for a long moment, as if he just realized what he’d done. Without another word, he turned and retired to his tent.

A horrible feeling curdled within Lorelei, and her fingers twitched around some impotent, murderous impulse. God, she despised him. More than anything, she wished she had the power to hurt him in a way that mattered. She had half a mind to shake Adelheid awake and demand she leash her dog. But it wouldn’t do Sylvia any good. She sat slumped against the tree with water trickling down her chin. It was pathetic. Lorelei could not leave her there unattended.

She rummaged through her bag until she found her own waterskin. As quietly as she could, she approached Sylvia. The fire barely reached her here. Only the faintestlight—andnone of itswarmth—whisperedover the leaves, bathing Sylvia’s features in gold.

Lorelei crouched by her side and uncorked her waterskin with her teeth. “Here.”

“I won’t fall for the same trick twice,” Sylvia said sulfurically. “Or perhaps you’ve poisoned it.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. If I wanted to kill you, you would not see it coming.” Sylvia didn’t rise to the bait. It was almost disappointing. The sweat cooled uncomfortably on the back of her neck. “You’re cooperative. Johann is being needlessly cruel.”

“How reassuring to know you’d aid them the moment I stop being cooperative.”

Patience had never been Lorelei’s strong suit. Even now, when she knew that she should be groveling at Sylvia’s feet for forgiveness, she felt dangerously on the brink of pouring the water down her throat and throttling her with the empty canteen. It would make both their lives easier if she simply accepted her kindness. But when Lorelei drank in the raw hurt in Sylvia’s eyes, all her irritation drained from her in a rush. Both of them whittled down to their most vulnerable, their most spiteful . . .

She did not want this anymore. How had she ever wanted it?

“I find I’ve little spirit left to hurt you,” Lorelei said, “unless you asked it of me.”

Sylvia’s breath caught. “Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not,” Lorelei said quietly. “Just drink it, von Wolff. Your pride isn’t worth your life.”