CHAPTER ELEVEN
Royce rowed as hard as he could away from Lethe’s island, and it felt as though every stroke of the oars through the water put a little more of her spell out of his mind. Maybe that was just the concentration needed to keep from capsizing when all around them, the water rose and shifted in peaks and troughs like small hills, threatening to tumble them down each one and into whatever was waiting underneath.
Gwylim sat at the prow of their boat, looking out over the water. Neave and Matilde sat toward the middle, where there were a few supplies, as if the boat’s previous owner had expected an exploration of several weeks. Mark and Bolis were still unconscious in the stern, although even as he thought it, Royce heard Mark groan and saw his friend start to stir.
“What…” Mark
