Page 132 of In Rising Tides

“You’re as white as bone,” Nerida whispered.

Lyra shook her head, her bottom lip trembling as she spoke. “I feel … nothing.”

Nerida’s swallow was audible. “It’s the bargain,” she hissed to Thalassa. “It’s getting worse. Fast.”

“We should tell Drystan,” Thalassa suggested.

“No,” Nerida spat. “There’s nothing he can do until he has the throne. It will only cause him to act irrationally.”

Lyra used what little energy she had left to frown as Thalassa and Nerida helped her lie down.

“Don’t talk about me as if I’m not here,” she mumbled.

Thalassa snickered, but Nerida shushed her.

“You’re going to be fine.”

Lyra felt the edges of her consciousness blurring as exhaustion tugged her under.

“We’ll see you tomorrow, baby sister,” Thalassa said.

It was the last thing Lyra heard before Drystan woke her the next day with frantic shaking.

“Get up,” he ordered. “Hurry. There’s been an attack.”

Lyra’s eyes felt as though they had been plastered with sand as she peeled them open to see his insufferable face.

It shocked her how unpleasant he appeared. His golden hair, usually expertly styled in an unmovable coif, was sticking up in strange places as if he had raked his hands through it multiple times.

The angle of his jaw was impossibly sharp. It amazed her that his teeth hadn’t been ground to dust by the way he kept clenching them.

“What did you say?” Her voice was raspy, still leaden with the effects of heavy sleep.

Drystan’s golden eyes flashed with ire. His tail flicks were clearly agitated as he forcefully displaced the water, and he rolled his neck with a sigh before answering her again.

“Our scouts on land were attacked. One managed to escape and is being brought to the council room.”

His words shocked her, but it was an effort for her to get her body to respond.

Sleep floated just out of reach, but close enough that should she wish it, it would ease her back to slumber.

Lyra rolled onto her side. “I fail to see how this involves me.”

Drystan ripped the kelp blanket off her and grabbed her by the arm.

“You are my betrothed.”

Lyra struggled weakly to free herself from his grip.

“What is the matter with you?” he asked, pulling her out of bed so that she was eye to eye with him.

“I’m tired,” she yawned.

Drystan raked his eyes over his face and frowned. “Why? You don’t ever leave your room.”

If Drystan found out she’d been doing magic in her room under Nerida’s tutelage, she wouldn’t be allowed any visitors at all or would be forced to constantly wear the collar.

Dread surged through her, dissolving any lingering exhaustion that the bargain had wrought.