Page 15 of In Violent Waves

Lyra clawed at his hand, squirming under the weight of his body.

Fear doused her fury, leaving her hollowed out.

Wilder let go and grabbed her free hand, securing it with the rope. Lyra twisted and fought under him, but it was of no use.

“You’ve delayed us enough.”

He rose and strode in the direction of the Northern Star that twinkled ahead of them.

Lyra felt the rope pull against her, and she scrambled to her feet. Standing still a moment longer, she looked to the south, to the sea and her home.

Would her father come for her? Would Drystan?

The answer was a resounding yes. They would. Not because they loved her, but because they owned her.

The rope tugged against her wrist, nearly knocking her off balance. She wobbled on legs she was still not accustomed to.

Wilder stared at her with a mixture of disgust and humor.

“I think Pet is the wrong name for you. How about, Legs?”

Lyra’s teeth clacked together. She had preferred “Princess.”

The night sky shimmered with stars and shades of black and navy. With each passing step, large plants loomed. Lyra struggled to remember the names of the things she was passing. So many books all warred for priority in her chaotic mind.

A stinging pain had her looking down at the rope that was tied around her wrists and then at the elf to which it was attached. He was foolish not to keep her in his line of sight. And with the looming tall things coming closer, she could find a place to hide.

Trees! They were called trees, and a multitude of them made up a forest.

An unusual feeling in her mouth had her smacking her lips together.

“Stop that.”

“My mouth feels strange,” she mumbled, continuing to smack her lips.

“It’s dry because you keep breathing through your mouth.”

Wilder jerked them to a stop and thrust a leather pouch at her. Lyra stared at it quizzically before grasping it between two fingers.

“What is this?” Her nose wrinkled in disgust at the feel of it.

“It’s water. Your mouth is dry,” Wilder replied, staring at her like she’d grown two heads.

Dry. That was the word. She had never known what that would feel like and could scarcely imagine it.

But now the air was dry, and her skin felt dry where it was covered in fabric. However, the ground was not dry. No, it had squelched with each of their steps.

Lyra continued staring at the leather pouch. “Do you think I’m that gullible? You’ve kidnapped me, so you’re obviously not beneath drugging or poisoning me.”

Wilder ripped it from her grip and twisted the metal cap. It opened, and he held it to his mouth. Lyra watched with a curious expression as the leather pressed against his lips. The column of his throat bobbed as he swallowed.

A few drops sparkled on his chin, and he wiped them away with the back of his hand. He had such large hands; the palms were pale compared to the tanned skin on the tops of them, and his fingers were long, like a musician’s.

Wilder thrust it back out to her, and this time, she took it greedily. She was thirsty, but more than that, she needed a distraction from staring at his hands. She pressed it to her lipsand tilted her head back, allowing the water to flow into her mouth.

It was surprisingly fresh. Lyra gulped down a few mouthfuls. Water clung to her chin as well, but she did not wipe it away. She delighted in its touch.

The water was a comfort, even if it wasn’t the same as the ocean she had come from.