The Fae’s mouth is set in something just shy of a smirk as he raises his arms in greeting, the movement accompanied by glints from the precious stones, and the room falls silent. “Brothers and sisters, welcome.”
He looks young, but his bite of power—and the way the room yields to it—says otherwise. There’s nothing loud about him, nothing excessive. He doesn’t need to raise his voice to command silence.
When he speaks again, every hair on my body rises to attention.
“I’m glad to see you in such good spirits because tomorrow, we take the fight to our enemy.”
There’s impatience rumbling beneath his words, as though this is a diluted version of him—a mask meant to contain the storm underneath.
“Let’s go! Kill the Reds!” the crowd booms.
The man paces the elevated stage, drawing every eye in. When his gaze catches Nick’s, then mine, it lingers there.
His irises are gray at first glance, heavy with the promise of torrential rain. Flecks of violet are buried within the clouds, catching the light in a volatile manner, and a burst of static electricity prickles my neck before he finally looks past me.
“The Reds have captured a group of witches and intend to put them to death at midday tomorrow,” he says.
A ripple of anger moves through the room before it quiets down.
“Now, we can’t let that happen. This night, the Lord of the Tides will be joining us. Expect to be briefed at dawn. Get ready, because tomorrow, we strike!”
Loud approval erupts through the tavern, and fists punch the air. The crowd's fervor grows with each passing second, transforming scattered conversations into a volatile roar.
“Kai vael?” the man asks his audience in a clipped, rough accent that naturally fits the words.
My ears buzz. When Nick spoke a phrase from the Tidecallers’ language earlier, he wasn’t speaking it right. There’s violence in the syllables, and I freeze.
The dark Fae is using the Voice—that tone Mother used when she needed me to obey. I haven’t heard it in decades, and tears sting my eyes.
“Why do we serve?” Nick translates under his breath.
“Threnis vel’kai terren,” everyone answers in unison.
“Because the tides keep the earth in check,” Nick says quickly, but to my horror, I already understand.
The language crawls out of some dusty crack in my brain, my lips moving along with everyone else’s. I sink my nails into my palms, the aftertaste of the realization leaving me breathless.
Luther raises a fist to the sky. “For the Tides!”
“For the Tides!”
The way everyone answers perfectly in sync shudders through me. It’s powerful, all those voices rising as one.
The crowd begins to disperse, and almost immediately, E’s hand finds my waist. “Are you alright?” he murmurs in my ear.
I nod silently, staring at Nick, my head full of questions. Was Mother part of the Tidecallers? How? I want to grill my brother—when did he figure it out, and why didn’t he breathe a word of it to me?—but there’s no time.
Luther approaches, and the tavern rearranges itself around him. The remaining warriors clear out of his path, and even the loudest voices taper off as he passes.
The pressure of his magic builds like thunderheads gathering on the horizon. By the time he reaches us, the atmosphereis charged enough that I expect sparks to jump between his fingertips.
“What have the tides washed ashore on this auspicious day, Lysandra?” he asks in such a charming, aloof tone that I nearly gawk.
“Nick, Maxine, I want you to meet Luther Storm, the Lord of the Tides’ right-hand man. He’s in charge of this whole operation. Luther, this is the man I spoke to you about—Nickolas Morgan Bloodsinger—and his sister.”
A hint of purple flashes in Luther’s eyes. “Bloodsinger? Are you related to Mabel Bloodsinger, by any chance?”
The way he asks the question sparks an itch between my shoulder blades, and I open my mouth to answer, but Nick beats me to it.
