Page 122 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

She leaned forward, eager to hear the words flying from the female’s red-painted lips as she arranged multiple black bowls in a crescent circle. She raised her arms, extending her palms as she tossed her head back. A wide smile spread across her lips, as one hand whipped to her own throat, clasping before trailing down to her breast.

She fondled herself, breathily moaning as she began untying her robes, spreading her knees apart.What in the . . .Kora needed to leave. Prayer to the gods was deeply personal. Yet she couldn’t tear her gaze away.

The female flicked her robes open, exposing her supple body to the statue, and she resumed chanting, her voice a near-whisper. Kora shuffled forward—

Crack.

The female’s head whipped around, and Kora dropped to the twig-laden ground.Shit!

“Who's there?” Her voice was not beautiful. It was deadly, like an asp. A voice that commanded a room, that made soldiers quiver, that sent enemies fleeing.

It was how Kora imagined the gods would sound.

Her blood ran cold, and she crawled, keenly aware that, if she were caught, it wouldn’t end well.

Gods damn her curiosity.

To her relief, a set of glass doors were nearby Haizea's ruins, and Kora used the shadows of the trees, keeping to a low crouch, half-running, half-tripping, her stomach churning. Herheart hammered until she threw herself into the cool clutches of the castle's shadows.

49

The tension of the war council meeting hung heavy in the air.

Kora arrived late, and her cheeks still burned from the number of eyes that had turned to her when she’d stumbled into the grand chamber. Many of those eyes had lingered on her scar, whispers rolling across the crowd.

She hadn't expected an audience. Apparently, Barron didn’t do anything small.

The chamber was like an amphitheatre, with rows of circular stone seating jutting from stone walls. Moss had been sprinkled to create cushioned seating, and she wriggled awkwardly on it, feeling as though all the moisture had been drained from the atmosphere. Her leathers felt tight and constricting, and she licked her dry lips, wishing for a gust of ocean air or spray of water.

Even a trickle of rain would do.

At the bottom, in the centre of the great room, was one very large,goldendiamond-shaped table. Barron sat at the head,flanked by the familiar brown and grey wave of Erick's hair, and Theron's gleaming dark head on either side. Sat with them, were the remaining seven viceroys, including Otto. His dreaded locks were swept to the top of his head, and he’d exchanged his shimmering, ballroom attire for a simple black suit.

Sunlight poured in from a gaping hole in the ceiling—no windows, just one, huge, perfectly round hole to the skies. Kora squinted. A whirling pattern had been carved into the rim of the hole, but she couldn't make it out.

Unfortunately, arriving late meant she was left with the empty seats right at the back of the chamber, so high up, and too far away from everything. She could do with Samuel's spyglass right now. She scanned the crowd, seeking a familiar head of blonde hair or longbow. Nothing.

But her gaze located Blake instantly. Like a gods-damned moth drawn to a flame. He was sat at the front and bottom, to Barron's right on the first row, and his entire demeanour was different. Gone was the drawling first mate, and instead he was as stiff as a gangplank, his eyes trained on the back of Barron's head.

And next to him . . . was Bree.

He’s got to be fucking joking.

Kora looked away. She didn't want to know if she’d imagined Bree placing her hand on Blake's knee. The ember erupted in her chest, and she sucked in moss-tainted breaths to tame her anger—herpain.

Why was she putting their friendship before her feelings? Clearly Bree wasn’t. And why was Blake sittingthere? He had no business sitting on the first row of the council meeting. It was reserved for the closest advisors of the viceroys and their immediate family. Like Bree.

Unless he had sat there . . .forBree.

Blake’s words earlier had nearly ripped Kora's heart. She was sure whatever they had was now over.

There was no water beast to soothe her, and a hollow emptiness had carved out her essence. The longer it was absent, the more a rage simmered, alighting her skin. A rage at Finlay for lying to her, at Erick for withholding secrets from her. A rage for Blake tossing her aside and seeking out Bree's affections.

Her hands shook. Despite the fire raging within her, the skin of her chest felt unnaturally cold. She missed the talisman. In her blind devotion to securing Blake’s employment, she’d disregarded the very thing strengthening her. Changing her. Evolving her.

Had she really wanted to hand it over to the Silver Sisters? Kora fidgeted on the moss dampening her leathers. Agatha never confirmed the talisman would truly suck her dry, turning her into a husk. If anything, it felt like it had stabilised her power, making it easier to channel.

But it didn’t matter now. It was gone.