To overthrow the cruel King who brutally slaughtered her foremothers, the last surviving water witch Elara Consuli must team up with novice warrior Juda Vikaris from the Serpent Order and realise an ancient prophecy, before the blood-thirsty ruler d...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It had been a whole tide since Juda's encounter with the Naiad, and still his rage would not calm. It roared over the black rocks of his mind, violent and unrelenting in its onslaught.
She'd threatened him. Mocked him.
He could still hear her laughter ringing in his ears. Could still see the cruel curve of her lips, her face imperious and haughty, highlighted by the azure flame of the dragon gold that lined the cavern walls. He could still feel the cold sting of her blade against his throat.
All tide in the training yard, he had ached for a chance to release the fury that stirred within his bones, the heat building until he thought he might scream out his frustrations from the balcony where he viewed the novices chosen to prove themselves. He was meant to watch the scene with dead eyes and a cold heart, yet how could he accomplish such a thing when the fire burned out of control in his chest and his eyes saw only her?
The winning novice – a churlish, entitled brat-son of the banker Benal Tor-Narun – had done well. As much as Juda had hated to admit it, Rimo Tor-Narun possessed real skill with the scimitar. There was an ease with which he gripped the blade. A fluidity to his hand movements. On any other occasion, Juda would have been studying the fight with a keen eye, mentally taking note of every action so he could eventually exploit it to his own gain, if matched within the combat square. But this tide, he could only stand and try to subdue the fiery disquiet that vented a storm inside him.
He was certain also that The Grim had noticed. A couple of times, he'd felt the stony gaze of his Commander upon him, like an itch under his skin, scratching at his flesh. Now was not the time to attract the wrong kind of attention. Now was not the time for Juda to lose his way. He'd worked too hard. Lost too much. He couldn't falter, not when he was so close. The possibility that his goal would slip from of his grasp was not an option, and yet it had taken Juda everything to maintain control as he watched Rimo push his blade into the new recruit's throat.
He felt the sharp nick of the witch's dagger then.
The way the water had tightened on his wrists and ankles.
The firm grip of her thighs upon his hips.
And he hated her for it.
The witch would pay. He was going to make sure of that. It wouldn't be too hard to find her in the cutthroat streets of Grimefell. There was no loyalty here if the price was the right one. There was always someone willing to loosen their tongue for enough coin. By the dead gods, he'd even offer the Dreynian water if he had to, but he would find her and then he would rid her from this world and in doing so, rid her from his mind.
Only then could he be free to focus on what really mattered.
In the meantime, Juda had to find a way to douse his rage. To feel something other than this whirlpool in his chest that sucked at his energy and his resolve.
