This Poisoned Tide: The Last Water Witch Book One

Chapter 44

"Treasure?" Juda found his voice housed in the harsh, bitter bile that lined his throat. "Think she a piece of art to be gawped at? Like something you would hang on your wall?"

"Juda, Juda." The king shook his head. "You mistake me. I do not suggest that a creature as precious as the Naiad is fit only for its aesthetic value. Their surface beauty is without question that I will grant you, but the magic of the Naiad is not purely skin-deep; it is what lies beneath that matters. There is no value in existence that could even begin to be attributed to such a treasure."

Ban-Keren sighed, his gaze drawn back to the glass tank. Juda saw the longing there and vowed to take the king's eyes first, even as his own demanded he himself look.

"The waters in the tank are something of a miracle, are they not? To preserve in such a way that time will not alter her countenance. She will remain just so, as utterly captivating in death as she was in life."

When his gaze flicked back to Juda, there was nothing but darkness, as if his eyes had been fashioned from the black rock itself.

"You will look, Juda. Whether of your own accord or by force. Don't make me choose the latter. I did not wait this long for your arrival here to thrust your face into those waters. Sadly, they will not preserve you in quite the same way."

Juda thought about telling him to go fuck himself. It was there, in the back of his mind, a thought lost to him as quickly as it had surfaced, for he had to look. He had to. He knew it would only cause him pain—more than he'd felt since Aleina, more than Argo—but he had to look upon her, maybe for the last time, for to look upon Elara now would steel his heart for everything that was to come. She'd uncaged that useless muscle in his chest, that much he knew, and he needed to feel the agony of her death to lock it away again. It was to be the only way now. That was his certainty. His only certainty.

"Look at her now!" The king's anger was like a closed fist to the face. A violent storm, ready to sweep Juda up in its path and batter his broken body against the sea stacks.

Juda didn't look because Ban-Keren commanded it, and he held the madman's gaze for a moment longer, a last stab at defiance. But he did look, the tendons in his neck pulling tight. He could almost hear them creak, like the oil-hungry hinges of Roth's study door.

By the dead gods—by his blood—he wished he had never met her. Wished he had never watched her wade through that underground pool, water droplets on her bare skin catching the light of the dragon's gold. He wished he had not allowed her to invade his thoughts at night when he'd been alone in his cell at the barracks and in need of warmth. But most of all, he wished that he had not heard her say those words to him—Juda, my love—because they were like poison in his veins, infecting every part of him. He was weakened because of it; of that, he was sure.

Maybe the king had been right. Maybe it was a kind of sorcery. The worst kind.

Juda looked and could not help but marvel at the sight of her underwater. There was an artistry to the curve of her arched back. The way her body seemed to glisten even in death.

The king was watching him closely. The crawl of his gaze over Juda's flesh was undeniable.

But still, he looked. And as he looked—and looked and fucking looked—he began to notice things, the smallest of details, granted, but with Elara, Juda's exploration of her body had been a work of art in itself. He'd taken his time, mapping out every contour and curve, every inch of her skin, but his particular interest had lain in those delicate folds behind her ears. That part of Elara had held him captive the most, and if there was one thing he knew for certain, was that the flesh beneath had been flawless. No mark blemished the skin. And yet, now, a darker patch was visible, something he had no doubt passed off as a bruise upon first sight.