Page 115 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Aryn tugged on Samuel’s arm, who chatted up one of the female courtiers, her face burning crimson at his abrasive language and thick, tattooed arms. Samuel’s demeanour was a rarity here.

“No, what . . . wait!” Samuel moaned as Aryn shoved him out of the grand room.

Leaving her alone with Erick.

His warm eyes tracked her every movement, never wavering, as if he were waiting for her to explode. “Kora?”

She stared back silently. She had no words for him right now. She needed to unpack what she’d heard last night—the legends, the lies¸ andshe couldn’t confront him, not without revealing secrets of her own.

So, Kora turned around and stalked out of the room without another word.

45

Agown of deep royal-blue caressed Kora’s body. Its sweetheart neckline swept across her chest, exposing her shoulders as sheer fabric circled around her upper arms. Tendrils of sparkling silver coated the corset, dripping down into the flowing skirts. This gown had been designed for her; it fitted her body like a second skin. She stared at herself in the tall mirror, unable to recognise the person she’d become.

Her white hair was slicked back, and various silver charms adorned her rounded ears. A line of black kohl circled her eyes, making them burn a fiery blue, and glittered silver had been dusted across her lids and shoulders. The servants even added some to her scar, and she turned her head, gazing in wonder as it sparkled against the moonlight bleeding through the bay window.

She was . . . pretty.

A secret smile played with her lips as she cocked her head. She felt powerful. In a different kind of way. She removed hertalisman—it was too risky to wear it—and stuffed it into one of the many throw pillows clustering the grand, four-poster bed in the chamber.

Since her littlespatat South Wharf Station, its shaped had changed again, and she now realised it was evolving into an eight-pointed star, with a glowing, diamond heart encased in an intricate swirling cage.

She cased the room. Large armoires lined one wall, along with a dressing partition, and a doorway to private bathing chambers. Every wall was the same solid, large stone, lined with gold and moss. The furniture was various shades of green, and white rugs with golden tassels lined the stoned floor.

A white oak desk in the corner had pristine thick paper atop it, along with a quill and ink. Beside it were empire wax seals, identical to her own onboardHell’s Serpent,with lumps of gold wax. Her lips pursed as a calm coolness settled from the talisman’s absence, dampening her temperamental water beast. Good, she needed calmright now.

“Well,” Kora gulped. “I guess this is happening.”

She hadn’t worn a gown since the night she’d met Bree. As she left her room, navigating the winding hallways towards a large, sweeping marble staircase, she focused on staying upright in the ridiculous shoes the servants insisted she wore.

She decided she liked dresses. Heels, not so much.

As she descended the staircase, she faltered at her crew waiting at the bottom. Samuel turned first, his jaw gaping. His unruly blonde locks were swept back and tied at the back of his head. His suit was of the deepest violet, the lapels a shimmering black, with a violet cravat and black waistcoat.

“Captain,” he whistled, and she smiled shyly.

Aryn flicked his head, his golden eyes widening as Kora descended the final steps. His floppy brown hair had been smoothed out and tucked gracefully behind his ears. His attirewas like Samuel’s, in shades of dark burgundy, with a golden sash snaking across his chest. His quiver and longbow were absent, no longer attached to him, and he grinned sheepishly, his dual tattoo crinkling.

“You . . . you’re,” Samuel stuttered as she joined them, “you’re agirl.”

Aryn and Kora glanced at him, taken aback. Then slowly, she beamed at Samuel, a laugh escaping her lips.

“What did you think she was all this time? A dog?” Aryn shook his head.

“Well, no. But . . .” Samuel’s eyes roved over her body. “Look at you.”

“Easy there,” she snapped her fingers at his wandering gaze. “I’m not another barmaid you can charm.”

“No,” he murmured. “You’re certainly not.”

“You look stunning.”

She stiffened as Erick descended the staircase. Clad in attire fit for a king, the commodore unhurriedly approached, his stance tall in his forest-green velvet suit. Adorned with a golden waistcoat and a black cravat, he strode with a royal’s grace, his fingers sweeping against the marble balustrade in a gentle caress.

As if he knew this castle intimately. As if he’d been here all his life.Big, fat, liar.

Kora narrowed her eyes as he cleared the final steps, and Aryn shifted away, tugging at his collar.