Page 38 of In Rising Tides

He felt the consequences of that now.

Otto had been correct; Wilder would have preferred to live in ignorance for the rest of his life.

He could never go back to the way it was. Now, everything he knew would be impossible to ignore.

It was such a precarious sort of balance. Much like magic.

“Magic demands balance,” Wilder said finally. “Otto choosing to change what he saw could have wobbled that balance in ways even he could not foresee.”

The fire flared with his magic, the air giving it fuel to burn brighter.

“Then we’ll discuss it and come up with a different plan,” Maelys ground out. “There’s always a way.”

Wilder rose to his feet as the path forward finally opened before him. Resolve settled into his bones like steel.

This was not something he would meticulously plan out. He would not open himself up to fate’s meddling plan.

Wilder had one goal and one goal only.

“I will not ask my father for permission,” he said. “I will do what needs to be done, andthatis the plan.”

Somewhere beneath the storm-thick sky, something ancient listened.

With her hand still clasped in his, Drystan led them through the towering, kelp-draped hallways.

Shining orbs of amber were suctioned to porous walls, lighting their way in the halls too deep for the light of the surface to reach.

The water became cooler as they traveled farther into the belly of the palace.

Sea lettuce and Irish moss undulated as they swept past. The palace had remained unchanged in her absence, but there was a hollowness within the coral walls.

It was as if the lack of her father’s overbearing nature could be physically felt.

Fans of nitella on either side of the wall grazed against her shoulder as they rounded the corner. They were rough against her skin, and she winced.

“Missing your legs?” Drystan asked conversationally.

But there was a slight edge to his voice, as if he wasn’t sure whether he wanted to know the answer or not. Yet he couldn’t help but ask.

Whatever his intent, Lyra could feel its insincerity and chose not to reply.

Swimming was easier than walking had ever been, but she resented how quickly her body had reclaimed what the sea demanded of it. As if it had been waiting to pull her back into obedience.

Drystan readjusted his grip on her hand and threw another concerned look at the bruise now marring her arm.

“Odd that the elves would want to keep you,” he mused, more to himself than to her. “It’s not like you’re capable of stimulating conversation. Other than your ethereal beauty, you’re quite dull.”

Lyra blinked and bit her tongue to keep from giving him the reaction he was desiring.

This had been commonplace in their relationship before her adventure on land. He would say something so infuriating that her mask would slip, and she would respond before thinking.

Drystan had basked in victory when he had burrowed himself beneath her skin. Practically pulling violent responses from her lips with his bare hands.

This was one of those times.

Lyra mastered her face, slipping it into a placid expression, and kept her breathing slow and steady.

“Nothing to add?” he asked, and there was such a boyish expression on his face it caught her off guard.