Page 168 of In Violent Waves

Lyra closed her eyes and then wanted to vomit. There had been an unusual smell …

“There was a sharp smell—” Lyra began.

Maelys tore out of the carriage, and the door slammed against the side.

Lyra blinked, staring outside into the night. From the glow of the fire, she could see Maelys hurtling towards Cyrus.

“You son of a—” she screamed at him, pulling a dagger from the holster at her thigh.

In a single heartbeat, Maelys had kicked him off the stump he was sitting on and had her boot pressed against his throat.

“Maelys!” Wilder yelled. “What are you doing?”

Ridge was already at Maelys’ side, his hands raised in a placating gesture.

Otto sat still and blinked.

“Wilder …” he breathed. “Don’t.”

Wilder whipped his head back and forth.

“Someone explain. Now.”

“He. Drugged. Her.” Maelys pointed at Cyrus’ chest.

Lyra gripped the side of the carriage and pulled herself out. Her legs wobbled, and she locked her knees to remain upright.

“What?” she whispered, clutching her chest with her other hand.

She watched as Maelys removed her boot and Ridge pulled Cyrus to his feet.

Wilder approached like a shadow over the moon. He was terrifying. Wrath twisted his features into a nightmare come to life.

“Is this true?” he snarled in Cyrus’ face.

“She shouldn’t still be here!” Cyrus yelled, pulling against the wall that was Ridge.

Otto stood, dropping the bowl of food onto the ground.

“Wilder,” he called. “They’re coming.”

Cyrus smiled, and it was more vicious than anything she had ever seen before. “He wants her back.”

And there it was.

The traitor in the Wilds Kingdom—Cyrus.

“Whowants her back?” Wilder asked, pointing at Lyra.

Cyrus continued to grin a maniacal grin. Maelys stepped closer, pointing her blade at his throat.

Ridge pulled Cyrus by the hair, baring his throat to Maelys’ blade.

“Who. Wants. Her. Back.” Maelys growled each word like she was conjuring a spell.

Cyrus closed his eyes and smiled broadly.

The howls grew closer, springing up around them in a circular pattern. Lyra’s legs wobbled, and her throat dried out.