Page 28 of In Violent Waves

She had no one to share it with—and she never would.

His father’s plan had come to light.

It was Lyra’s power he was after. She was a weapon to be wielded.

But against whom?

And why?

They walked the rest of the way taciturnly. They stopped to sleep and woke with the sun again.

Wilder hadn’t spoken to her, not even as he handed her food or water from the pack. And she didn’t utter a sound either.

It had taken them a little less than two days to reach Fresia. Having shaved off quite a bit of time, they made it right before nightfall.

The sun was turning the sky glorious shades of pink, orange, and yellow. But every second of their journey, Wilder contemplated what he had felt at that moment and what exactly that meant about his father’s plans.

He didn’t think it was likely that Oberon did not know about her gift.

That voice—that unholy voice.

It gripped him so completely that he had not known his name or even who he was. He was fully at her command. At her mercy. A puppet held by her fingers, or more accurately, her lips.

She would rule kingdoms—even worlds if it were as powerful as he had felt. Wilder didn’t want to be anywhere near her or this at all.

His father wasn’t a horrible elf and had even seemed repentant for raising Wilder the way he had in his youth. But no one should have that kind of power.

Maybe he’d be doing the world a service if he killed her now.

He glanced over at her and brushed a palm across the pommel of his sword. Lyra was twirling a small flower between her fingers. She stared at it with awestruck wonder and brought it to her nose. Closing her eyes, she inhaled its floral fragrance.

His mind stopped its incessant machinations.

A monster would not do that.

A monster would not find joy in the simple things.

Lyra had been horrified that she had accidentally used her power on him. And she hadn’t used it to save herself against him or the humans.

What kind of mind game was this?

Everything he had read about mermaids was not what she was—or, at least, what she pretended to be. Their voices couldensnare a mortal, but it should not have been possible for her to enthrall him.

Magic was balance, but he felt in his bones there was nothing of her equal.

No one was ever as they presented themselves, and that was surely the case now. He was merely falling for her facade. He wanted to pummel something—he knew better than this.

This is why he followed orders and did not give them.

Wilder decided at that moment that he would continue to stay silent and that he would observe her for any signs that she was not who she pretended to be.

He would get to the bottom of this.

Lyra twirled jasmine between her fingers. She had plucked it when they walked through the small gate and into the village square.

It was very similar to the village he had kidnapped her from. Stone buildings, cobblestone lanes, and thatched roofs. But it didn’t smell, or perhaps she was getting used to it. She brought the flower up to her nose again and inhaled. It was light and airy, exactly as the book had described it.

She flicked her attention to Wilder to see him staring sidelong at her before looking straight ahead again.