Page 14 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

The healer had declared no one could visit Blake for the remainder of the evening—and most of the next day.

Kora paced around her quarters. Her blades were clean of tainted blood, and permanently attached to her back, hidden away in their scabbards in anticipation of another attack. But her soul remained marked, marred by the pirates’ continuous onslaught. Their cruelty never ended.

The dual chests they recovered from Demon Sea Siren had remained untouched by Jack Flint’s odious hands. However, he’d ransacked her quarters, hunting for the Galenite wealth—which she’d safely stashed away again.

Why the Flint twins specifically sought the Galenite wealth eluded her. This potential alliance had to end. Galen’s return would destroy everything the Talmon Empire had worked for—everything Kora had worked for. She’d rather end up in Deadwater Prison than at the hands of Galen. Her marred soul would disintegrate in their presence, fading to a wisp, ready to be moulded into a creature of darkness, of torture and mindless slaughter.

A knock sounded at her door and Samuel shouldered through the slim doorway, his face set in a stony grimace. Aryn promptly followed, his attentive, hazel eyes surveying the wrecked chamber, his quiver and longbow strapped across his shoulder and chest. She inclined her head towards him, neither of them were taking any chances after last night.

She appreciated the archer’s hindsight. In fact, if it weren’t for Aryn, she’d be amongst the piles of dead in the hull, her carcass wrapped in abandoned hammocks. He’d spared her life from Jack’s fury . . . even if she had been willing to die by his hand. To join the blank faces, surrounded by the moonlight-kissed hair her mind clung to, in Thanos’ realm.

She wasn’t sure what it meant. Years of hardship, years of gruelling pain, for her to suddenly throw it all away in one night. To accept defeat and surrender to the god’s obvious intention on making her suffer. At least, that’s what it felt like.

To Kora’s surprise, the ship’s healer entered the wrecked space. She vaguely remembered his name was Koji Sanatorre, along with the knowledge that he had a reputation for favouring wealth over aiding the infirm.

Long grey hair was balanced in a knot atop his head, and in the daylight, his face was pale and wan, wrinkled skin scrunching as he smiled tentatively. But the smile didn’t reach his slanted eyes. Light brown trousers and an oversized white shirt lined his slender frame. The sleeves were rolled up, with an unbuttoned brown waistcoat hugging his chest.

If he was here, it had to be bad news, and Kora tensed as Koji opened his thin mouth to speak, his bony hands clasped before him.

“Before you worry,”

his voice was rough.

“he’s progressing well.”

She closed her eyes for a moment, thanking the gods—especially Thanos.

“Thank you.”

“I’m here to check on you.”

Fan-fucking-tastic. She twitched, her skin crawling with an itch that had persisted since the twin’s attack.

The healer motioned for her to sit in one of the onyx chairs by the desk. Luckily, she’d recovered everything from the workspace, returning items to their trusty drawers—more importantly, the ledgers. The rest of her quarters laid in tatters. Her precious books of fiction and seafaring torn to streams as if they held a valuable secret, the pages scattered.

Her heart felt the same. Ribbons of muscle shredded within her.

Her favoured assortment of blades glistened across the floor, and several throwing knives were still embedded in the ebony woodwork of the walls. Aryn’s stare snagged on them, his body jerking. The bedding was tossed all over the room, creating waves of cream and blue, smothered in white feathers from ripped open pillows.

Kora had slept on the chaise longue last night, with her mattress propped against the bay window, too tired to put anything back together. Even now, exhaustion rimmed her eyes. Her body was fatigued, her heart bruised and aching. Her mind had gone into overdrive, incessantly worrying about Blake, Galen, and the pirates.

Anything to keep her mind off . . . what happened.

“I’m fine,”

she waved Koji off.

“Just some light bruising.”

Indeed, she had woken up to her entire side bruised and battered from Jack. Her back ached unforgivingly from sleeping on the stiff-backed chaise longue. The pain was a welcomed distraction.

Koji hesitated and Samuel smirked at him.

“Very well,”

the healer swallowed.

“About the boy . . .”

Kora’s chest tightened.

“What are we doing with the body?”

His tone was matter-of-fact. Void and emotionless. All three males looked towards her expectantly. It was her decision. The weight of it crushed her shoulders, and she rubbed her hand over her face.

“We’ll do a sea-fire burial at dusk, near the coast of Blackstone Reef. Before we make port tomorrow.”

“You don’t wish to return Mr Blackstone to his family?”

Confusion clouded the healer.

“It’s the correct procedure for sailors—”

“Sea-fire burial,”

Kora interrupted.

“at dusk.”

Finlay wouldn’t have wanted his eternal corpse abandoned to his putrid, unforgiving family. She’d spent nights with Finlay on the quarterdeck, listening to the tales of the infamous noble Blackstone family. How cold and harsh they were, how dark their minds and ideals had become—as dark as their famous black shores. All that mattered to them was power and their titles—so much so that they would exile their eldest son to the Silent Tundra for the sake of appearances.

Kora planned to set Finlay free, on the eastern shallows of the Shaurock Sea, where he first experienced freedom on her ship. Conveniently beyond the hallow clutches of Blackstone Reef. There was no greater place than the expanse of the ocean.

And a great fuck you to the Blackstones.

Samuel and Aryn hovered in uncomfortable silence as Koji keenly observed her, seemingly focusing on her eyes. She supposed they were a unique colour, a blue so vibrant it bordered upon unnatural. Many males became entranced in her stare, until they realised what lurked between her legs and asserted their own annoying dominance.

“You may visit Mr Marwood tonight.”

The healer turned on his heel and shuffled away.

“Those healers can be so uppity,”

Samuel quipped as he sat at the desk, the chair groaning under his impressive weight.

Aryn silently sank into a chair to Kora’s left, after dusting some feathers from it, whilst she placed herself opposite Samuel, the entrance to her quarters in her sight.

“They believe in forces that are above the empire,”

she replied, as she tried to force her body to relax, lightly scratching her wrist.

“Ach! You don’t believe in that gods nonsense, do you?”

Samuel tutted.

Aryn’s curious gaze slanted towards her.

“Of course not,”

she shrugged with her nonchalant lie, and Aryn’s shoulders pinched. She frequently conversed with the sea goddess, Calypso, in her mind—albeit one-sided conversing—praying for good voyages and seas.

“How’s our . . . guest?”

Her tone dripped with venom.

“Aye, he won’t speak no more.”

Samuel sifted through the small, silver platter of food laid on top of the navigational charts.

“I think Silas’ death broke him.”

He inspected Kora through blonde lashes as he helped himself to dried meats, fruit, and sea biscuits. She refused to meet his stare. She also refused to acknowledge the stirring of shame within her.

“They had a unique bond,”

Aryn spoke, his voice hoarse.

“and were incredibly strong.”

So she wasn’t the only one who’d noticed. The Flint twins had surprising strength, surpassing the brute force of males like Samuel. Silas’ scrawny arms had delivered a death blow so severe the crack of bones still scraped against the inside of her skull.

“Suppose you’ll say that’s the gods as well?”

Samuel joked, but a flash fleeted across Aryn’s gaze before it was replaced with muted amusement.

“Whatever it is,”

Kora interjected.

“two pirates escaped the pit, hijacked my ship, killed Finlay—nearly killed Blake! What happened out there?”

Samuel sighed, tracing his shortened beard. His thick fingers trailed down, past its blunt end, absentmindedly playing with the space where his original beard ended. A white bandage peeked through the edge of his half-unbuttoned black shirt.

“As I said before . . . we’d settled in for sleep. We received orders the ship was anchoring for the night and didn’t need as many crewmen stationed.”

She’d given no such order.

“Next thing, this dark sleep smoke exploded in the quarters, knocking everyone out. I grabbed a cloth and covered my face in time, and passed out only momentarily compared to the others.”

His tattoos stretched across his flexed, large muscles, making his point.

“Exploded?”

she asked.

“Smoke doesn’t explode.”

“I don’t know how else to describe it.”

Samuel motioned with his hands.

“It filled the room within a second . . . and silently.”

“How did you avoid it?”

Kora shifted her scrutinising stare to Aryn.

“I’m fast,”

he replied flatly.

She scoffed her disbelief, but Samuel nodded excitedly.

“Aye, Captain. I’ve never seen anyone move faster than the lad.”

“I saw Finlay leave the quarters.”

Aryn drank from the waterskin beside the food platter, quenching his hoarse throat.

“He looked like he was going to be sick. I guess from all the grog. I went to follow but heard a yell outside, and then the sleep smoke exploded, as Sam said. I escaped out of the quarters, breaking the door in the process. Someone had locked it. I ended up collapsing on the far side of the deck away from the brig.”

Kora glanced to the bruise at the side of Aryn’s head, and he nodded in confirmation.

“I knocked my head from the fall. When I came to, the fog had become dense, but I could see Jack skulking around. I followed him here . . .”

His slanted gaze searched for the mysterious treasure the Flint twins desired.

“Jack didn’t go down without a fight.”

Aryn tapped the top of his skull where, sure enough, dried blood matted his thick hair.

“If you hadn’t broken the door, I don’t think everyone would’ve woken up in time,”

she deciphered. It was a stroke of luck, the open doorway allowing the sleep smoke to drift into the open air.

Samuel’s eyes widened.

“That’d explain it, I was closest to the door. Where was Blake when this was happening?”

“He was giving me a debrief.”

She pressed her lips together to prevent the smile threatening to surface.

“On the prisoners.”

Samuel’s mouth curved.

“How’d they escape the pit in the first place? The guard rotation is iron-locked.”

“They killed most of the guards with Cook’s cleaver knife.”

She placed the weapon on the table, stained with Finlay’s blood.

“I think Finlay rang the alarm, and it’s why Silas went after him. I think that’s why you saw Finlay leave the crew quarters. He must’ve seen something.”

After Jack had been locked in his cell, Kora had discovered a trail of mangled guards in the hold, and several disposed near the bowsprit. Her crew whittled down to one hundred and fifty, from its usual two-hundred capacity after the battle with Demon Sea Siren, and the Flint twins’ rampage.

“Shit. He was trying to warn us. You don’t think Cook would . . . ?”

Samuel wondered out loud.

“Cook was with you in the quarters, right?”

They both nodded.

“So, either one of the guards happened to be carrying a cleaver knife and was overpowered by the twins . . . or someone was helping them. Maybe it was Cook.”

“Well, shit,”

Samuel cursed again, and sat back in his chair, exhaling deeply.

Aryn rubbed his rounded chin in contemplative silence. A light shadow of stubble lined his jawline.

“They seem strong enough to break through the cells,”

he observed.

“I’m surprised Jack’s not tried to again, with the limited guards we have now.”

“Maybe it was a twin thing,”

Kora considered. The Devanian tattoo was unmistakable. A clear-cut sign of the old ways. But magic had faded long before the two-hundred-year war. It no longer existed.

Until now.

“Forget the twin thing.”

Samuel clenched his oversized fists.

“We have a rat!”

Aryn’s eyes flared, understanding seeping in.

“That’s why you summoned us here.”

Kora rubbed her aching scarred temple with a tired sigh.

“There’re only three people I trust on this ship. One of them is in the med bay, and one is . . . gone.”

“I wouldn’t trust the healer,”

Samuel winked, trying to lighten the mood.

“But . . . Captain, if I may? You can trust Aryn. I vouch for him with every fibre of myself.”

Aryn startled at Samuel’s sincerity, his cheeks blushing.

Samuel had joined her crew when Hell’s Serpent was founded. He’d dazzled her with his sailing knowledge and navigational expertise, daring to sail routes across the sea that’d never been attempted before, and swiftly earning them the title of the fastest ship in the armada. He enjoyed it immensely, stating it was the best ship he’d worked on, and would do so until he retired.

He appreciated the simple life, and continuously sought a bride—to Kora’s annoyance. There’d been too many times when she’d walked in on Samuel and a barmaid tangled in the sheets. He desired a mother for his future children, and a partner to build a home with. Countless barmaids and females had fallen to his charms, but none yet had snared his heart. Beneath that boulder-like exterior was a male as soft as a sea biscuit. And she liked sea biscuits.

Aryn on the other hand, was far more cryptic. His recruitment commenced several months ago, his reputation renowned before he joined. Despite his name drenched in inky shadows, she absorbed his youthful face. How could she ever forget him? Had he been hiding in the darkness, avoiding her path whenever necessary?

Yet, his demeanour, his skills, they flickered a faint light in the deep recesses of her mind. A firefly, in the blackness of tar tormenting her memory. Something about him was comforting to Kora. As well as becoming thick as thieves with Samuel, an aged kindness and resilience radiated from Aryn. She stared down the two males, accepting she wholeheartedly trusted one, and was warming to the other.

“I need you both to help me,”

she begrudgingly admitted.

“Investigate the crew. Talk to Cook. See what you can find out.”

“Aye! If there’s a rat, I’ll catch it.”

Samuel banged his fist against the desk and scoffed another sea biscuit.

“We won’t have long,”

Kora warned.

“We make port tomorrow morning. Whoever did this will escape the ship and flee into the lands of Aldara.”

“We should interrogate the pirate again.”

Samuel wiped his mouth before filling his stein with rum. She agreed, but she wanted to speak to Jack alone . . . to learn about what he knew of her secrets.

“I’ll speak to the crew.”

Aryn’s mouth settled into a grim line.

“I can use my position with the archers to gain information.”

Her warmth for him increased.

“Jack’s mine,”

she spoke with cold quiet. Both males beheld her apprehensively, but she returned their looks with a steely, unwavering gaze.

“Guess I’ll have a chat with Cook, then.”

Samuel rolled his shoulders, lifting his stein to his mouth.

“He’s a stubborn, tough bastard.”

He heartily gulped, draining half of the drink in one mouthful. Ripping a top drawer open in the desk, he retrieved paper and a quill, jotting down notes, as drops of rum splashed onto the parchment from his beard.

“Is that a problem?”

Kora asked saccharinely.

His smile dazzled her.

“Certainly not, Captain. Just noting questions so I don’t get distracted. By food.”

And with that, Samuel helped himself to the final dregs of food on the platter.