Page 18 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Narrowfen Pass was as deadly as it was beautiful.

A lethal sea stack of razor-sharp towering rocks denizened the entrance of the pass leading to the bay of Stormkeep Fortress. Only natives of Aldara could navigate the rapidly shallowing waters and, even then, many ships risked being wrecked upon the geode-crusted formations if they were a metre off course.

Samuel stood at the helm, his large hands firmly gripping the wheel as Kora peered through her brass spyglass. Sparkling hues of amethyst, rose quartz, and white crystal dazzled her vision as she carefully navigated Samuel around the dark sea stacks, interspersed with magnificent colour.

It was the perfect defence.

Stormkeep Fortress was impossible to attack from the northern sea, and to the north-west they were protected by the noble Blackstone family, who possessed an abundance of naval military, guards, and soldiers at their disposal.

To the north-east of Aldara laid the ancient and mighty Ebonmoor Mountains, too steep to scale or cross without plummeting to death. To the south was the vast, torturingly hot Silent Tundra desert, filled with raiders and convicts, with little hope of survival from either threat.

Even if assailants survived navigating the shallow waters of Narrowfen Pass they’d soon learn the fortress had formidable defences of their own. Two watch towers made of thick limestone, their bases encased in warped steel, protected either side of the pass. Sunlight glinted off the silvery bases, and the Talmon Empire flag was hoisted at the top of a pole, flapping in the coastal breeze.

Between them, a thick, spiked, iron chain secretly lurked below the surface of the water, with the capability of shredding ships in two. As they neared the pass, both towers aimed destructive harpoons at Hell’s Serpent.

Samuel raised his tattooed arm, signalling to Aryn, who was perched in the foremast’s nest. He replicated the covert signal to the guards at the watch towers, who promptly lowered the blockade chain and swivelled their harpoons to the horizon beyond the sea stacks.

“They like to make a fuss,”

Samuel muttered.

Hell’s Serpent sailed through Narrowfen Pass, the edges of the sails mere feet from colliding with the watch towers. Kora nodded to the stone-faced guards, lances and longbows gripped in their beefy hands.

“Can’t take any chances,”

she murmured quietly to Samuel as he cruised the ship across the crystal-clear waters of the bay.

“Pirates are stirring in the oceans. They’ve obtained our ships. We can’t let them raid Stormkeep as well.”

“That’ll never happen, Captain. This is the unbreakable fortress.”

As they approached the port, Kora’s body pinched, her pores tightening at the encroaching land whilst the glittering ocean faded behind them. Goodbye, sweet ocean.

“We never found the informant who helped the twins.”

Disappointment crushed her shoulders.

“Aye. My guess is one of the dead pit guards. They always ate in Cook’s kitchen. One of them could’ve seen the chests from the Demon and planned to use the twins to get more of his share. Only for the Flint twin to kill him. It’s a pirate’s style to double-cross. Cover their tracks.”

An insightful guess from Samuel. He wasn’t just a pretty face. His gaze shifted to the hatch entrance to Hell’s Pit on the main deck, and Kora bit her lip, refraining from admitting about the forged letter. If the twins weren’t involved in that, then there was another party at play. Another piece of the puzzle she couldn’t see.

Maybe a guard could have forged the letter? They’d been on this ship long enough to know what her and Blake’s handwriting looked like, and the empire’s seal. Had she been chasing a ghost this whole time?

Kora mulled the thought over as they docked at the busy, mighty port. Wide enough to fit up to thirty capital ships within the concave bay, it bustled with life.

Her crew cheered as Hell’s Serpent anchored, and descended the walkway planks to the docks with a spring in their steps. Some sprinted to their gleeful families and wives waiting with open arms—or to the local brothels.

Samuel reunited with Aryn, clapping his slender shoulders, and Kora hovered at the edge of the ship as they disappeared into the fortified port town, joining crew members beelining towards the nearest grog establishment.

Samuel’s vouch for Aryn settled in her gut. They’d always been joined at the hip, yet Aryn had kept a wide berth around her, until now. His name was no longer stained in inky, dark tendrils in her mind, but shone at the forefront like a beacon, breaking through her broken memory.

“Well done, girl.”

Kora stroked the railing, her fingers dipping into the grooves of the wood.

In one solid movement, she joisted over the railing, landing on the dock with a thump, her legs absorbing the impact of solid ground. She clutched her brown satchel bag strapped over her shoulder, peering round to make sure no one noticed she’d leapt off a ship without breaking her legs.

It was something she’d discovered in early spring, when she’d leapt from the mast, desperate to evade death by a pirate’s sword, and landed on the deck unscathed. It’d been near the Dead Islands, during a convict shipment to the prison. She must’ve inherited sturdy bones from her family.

As she stretched, she took in the mighty, sky-reaching fortress.

The heart of Aldara.

Her home.

Beyond the docks, a grey, stone wall loomed on the pale sand, stretching the length of the bay. Battlements lined the top, with patrolling soldiers armed to the teeth dotted across in gleaming Talmon silver armour. Behind it, nestled the port town of Stormkeep, filled with taverns, inns, stores, and brothels. Anything a sailor could need after a long time out at sea.

Kora strolled down the dock, her head tipping back as she soaked in the elevated fortress protecting the town on the other side. Made of thick, near-indestructible ivory stone, it was three times the size of the town, and rose higher than the watch towers at Narrowfen Pass.

Green and black banners, emblazoned with the elongated, four-pointed star insignia, hung from various windows, wafting in the high breeze. Pernicious turrets lined the corners, with archers and harpoons peeking through the slits.

“No! Let go of me!”

A small group of pit guards hauled a writhing, chained figure down the walkway plank onto the dock. Jack Flint whipped his head up, his damp, filthy hair flicking behind him, and horror leaked into his face at the sight of Stormkeep Fortress. He erratically kicked his spindly legs out, the iron chains flying up in the air as he resisted the guards.

“What’s all this?”

Kora stopped them by the sandy bay.

“He’s resisting, Captain.”

She frowned at the pirate.

“You seemed so ready to die yesterday.”

“Death is not what awaits him,”

a guard replied, his voice gravelly.

“Ah, yes. He’ll be sent to trial in the courts of the fortress—”

“No, Captain,”

the guard interrupted, his grip tightening on Jack’s shaking body.

“He’s going straight to Deadwater Prison.”

Jack thrashed at the mention of the prison, and Kora froze in shock.

“With no trial?”

The guard shook his head.

“On whose authority was this decided?”

Kora snapped.

“That’ll be mine.”

A strong voice drifted from the arched, iron-doored entrance of the fortress wall. Flanked by several silver-armoured soldiers branded with the golden insignia, strode a broad, athletically built male.

He wore dark, tarnished silver armour, with a flowing, dark-forest-green cape clipped to his shoulders. A mighty sword, with a fully golden hilt and pommel, entwined with malachite stone, was sheathed at his side.

Grey strands flecked the sides of his short, wavy, chestnut brown hair—when did he start going grey? Dark stubble lined his strong jaw, and his tanned skin wrinkled as he smiled warmly at only her, displaying a gleaming set of white teeth. Years of training succumbed her to bow in his presence, and the pit guards straightened, hoisting Jack up abruptly. His chains clinked together in the sudden stunned silence that had fallen over the group.

“Commodore.”

They all respectfully saluted him, eyes widening in surprise that the esteemed commodore of the empire’s armada was present.

Jack warily gazed at him as he attempted tugging at his shackles, trying to loosen their dooming hold. The commodore halted before Kora, and she peeped through lowered lashes, meeting his warm, brown eyes as he raised a brow curiously.

“Erick,”

she spoke smoothly. She could be informal, to an extent, with her adoptive father.

As she straightened, he held out his silver-braced arm, and she clutched it at his elbow as they shook firmly, just as he’d taught her.

“Captain Cadell.”

He squeezed her arm gently, and his stare conducted an assessing rake over her.

She knew with that look he was probing for clues as to her whereabouts when they hadn’t returned from their mission scouting Scarlet Bay. A small drop of shame pooled in her depths for causing him worry, for abandoning the mission that’d been granted to her.

“What’s happening with my prisoner?”

she enquired as they released each other.

“The Aldara Council have already agreed his crimes are too great.”

Erick cast a loathed glare at Jack.

“Nor do they have time—or resources right now—to waste with pirate scum. He’ll be incarcerated to Deadwater Prison, without trial.”

Erick produced a small, branded letter from the folds of his armour, and Kora whipped it from his grasp, her eyes absorbing the familiar handwriting on the envelope. Brown stained the edges, and the wax seal had been removed, leaving a red splodge on the closure.

“Blake sent you a hawk,”

she gritted the words.

Messenger hawks were the only way to communicate to land, or other fleets, once they were out at sea. When did Blake have time to send a hawk after that night? And where had he stored the bird upon the ship? The faintest whiff of medicinal herbs drifted from the paper.

“No, no, no . . .”

Jack repeatedly moaned.

“Anywhere but there!”

“You can try your luck out in the desert, but I’d say you’d last two days.”

Erick’s calculating gaze absorbed Jack’s dishevelled, weakened state and he shrugged.

“Kora,”

Jack begged.

“Please, you know I-I didn’t do anything. It was all Silas—”

“How do we know you’re not Silas?”

Erick posed.

“What?”

Jack whispered, his jaw dropping.

“You are identical twins. You could be pretending to be Jack Flint.”

Kora dragged her stare away from Jack’s sickeningly pleading face. The face identical to Silas’. Silas, who’d murdered Finlay with a simple snap. The sound still haunted her mind.

Erick tapped his foot on the edge of the wooden dock, counting down the seconds to Jack’s sentence. He read Blake’s note out loud. It stated Silas had attacked him, murdered several guards—including Finlay—and his own brother Jack Flint, in a fit of pirate-driven rage.

Her chest pinched at the twist of truth. Blake had orchestrated it well, ensuring both brothers would meet their untimely demise, as deserving of any pirate, and absolved her of any involvement in what happened. It was an unfortunate accident. A wild, vicious pirate set loose on the loyal crew of Hell’s Serpent—so wild that he killed his own kind.

“That . . . that’s not true,”

Jack stammered.

“I’m Jack!”

He desperately tried to capture Kora’s gaze, and she prayed that he wouldn’t begin speaking Devanian.

“Kora, please! I did what you asked.”

Erick’s observant stare swivelled to her, a question lingering within it. The weight of it was crushing, of the years of training her into the person she was today. The depth of the debt she owed this male, for saving her life from the kind that snivelled beside her, was an infinite pool.

“You killed Silas! Tell them—tell them what you did you murderous little bi—”

“Quiet!”

A guard backhanded Jack, and his pleas ceased as he spat blood. It mixed with the pure, pale sand by near her feet, and she edged away from the tainted grains.

“Are you calling an honourable, commanding officer of the armada . . . a liar?”

Erick’s tone turned bone-chillingly cold.

Jack’s jaw twitched, focusing his blazing brown hateful stare on her. Their pact bounced through her skull. Another promise broken. Another failure. After moments of agonising silence passing between them, Jack opened his mouth, his gums bloody, and drawled one sentence in Devanian.

“This isn’t you.”

The guards attacked, jostling him for speaking the forbidden tongue of the ancients, and Erick’s attention curiously shifted to Kora. It was time for her to show where she stood, within the face of the council’s decision.

“Someone has to pay for his crimes.”

She swallowed, meeting Erick’s eyes, and he nodded at her approvingly. The crushing weight on her shoulders smothered her so much it drowned out the pain. A cool numbness sweeping over her as her expression schooled into neutrality.

Jack cried out as Erick ordered him to be taken to a prison wagon, to begin the long journey southwards to King’s Cove Guard, crossing Achlys Channel to the small, barren Dead Islands housing Deadwater Prison.

“You’ll regret this!”

Jack brokenly yelled, as the guards dragged him towards the horse-drawn, iron-barred wagon, stationed by the arched fortress entrance. As they slammed the door, locking Jack within, he cried out once more, his voice cracking.

“Don’t trust them! They’re lying to you! Find me when you no longer believe!”

Something within Kora cracked along with him, and the droplet of shame threatened to slither in and turn into something else, but she held it at bay in Erick’s presence.

Jack’s ranting cries faded into the distance as the prison wagon pulled away, the clip-clop of hooves drowning out any other horrible sounds, and Erick placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. She exhaled, letting the tension flow out of her like an ocean wave. The sea waters gently lapped up at the edge of the docks, splashing onto her boots.

“You’ve been gone a while,”

he murmured as they faced her ship. Soldiers and crew worked together, hauling the cargo off. Shortly afterwards, the two gleaming golden chests from Kora’s quarters appeared.

“I had reasons,”

she replied, as the moonstone and ruby chests were carried past them towards the fortress vaults. She suspected they were lighter than expected, after her crew had been granted their small share to secretly take home.

“It appears so.”

Erick curiously gazed after the chests, and Kora retrieved her ledgers from her brown satchel slung over her shoulder. She passed them to Erick, keeping her satchel open for him to peer inside and glimpse several shining Galenite trinkets. His brows shot up instantly.

“We have some things to discuss,”

she spoke in hushed tones.

“Not here, though.”

Erick revered Hell’s Serpent, huffing at the broken main mast, torn sails, cracked wooden panels across the hull, and new scars from arrows and lances smattering across the body.

Two figures stumbled down the walkway plank. One with raven-black hair, the other a gleaming grey. Blake hunched over, supported by Koji, as he helped him down onto the dock, his face tense with pain as he attempted to straighten in Erick’s presence. His jerkin was half buttoned, allowing his wound to breathe, but he still had his cutlass sword sheathed at his side, causing him to lean from the weight.

“Yes, it seems we do,”

Erick observed, as a wounded Blake hobbled towards them, leaving Koji behind to assemble his medicinal belongings from the ship.

“Commodore Cadell.”

Blake halted, weakly attempting a half bow, gritting his teeth from the exertion. The urge to reach out and help him was so overpowering, that Kora had to clench one hand over the other to prevent herself from rushing to his aid.

“Don’t harm yourself more, Marwood.”

Blake paused, gingerly straightened, and adjusted his loose jerkin in the process, his pale face flushing. Erick’s weighing stare passed between his daughter and her first mate. So many previously spoken words laid thick in the air.

He’s not good enough for you.

How would you know? You never let anyone come near me!

Kora—listen to me. Do not go near Marwood. No good will come of it.

Blake nodded respectfully, and his quick emerald gaze homed in on the letter peeking from Erick’s grasp.

“You received my message.”

“Yes, the prisoner—Silas Flint—has been dealt with. He’s on his way to Deadwater Prison as we speak.”

Kora chewed the inside of her cheek as cautious green eyes met hers. She willed her face to remain in neutrality, the edges pinching with worry. She wasn’t sure whether to be thankful or mad at Blake for the missive.

“I suggest you acquire some overdue rest.”

Erick casually placed his hand on her arm, but it didn’t go unnoticed by Blake.

“We’ll be meeting tomorrow at first light to discuss your latest . . . voyage. Amongst other things.”

“Yes, sir.”

Blake dipped his dark head, and Erick ordered two of his soldiers to assist Blake to the barracks within the fortress, whilst keeping his firm grip on Kora’s arm. She meekly murmured a farewell to Blake as he begrudgingly shuffled away towards the port town, his shoulders hunched once again.

Kora tugged her arm out of Erick’s grasp with a glare once they’d disappeared down the narrow street.

“You know he looks up to you.”

A wry smile danced on Erick’s lips as he chuckled.

“Just makes it all the more fun.”

“Why can’t you be more accepting? He’s a good first mate.”

The smile faded and Erick’s face turned serious, those rich, brown eyes frosting.

“You know what I think of him,”

he solemnly replied.

“He’s a reputable soldier, and can protect Hell’s Serpent—and that’s all he can and will do. Now, head home. Rest up.”

Kora sighed as he strode towards Hell’s Serpent, his minions following closely behind, to oversee the remainder of the capital vessel. Erick had voiced his opinion many times of her beloved Blake Marwood, and his personal connections to her.

She wasn’t sure whether his keen observations had noticed their lingering touches, prolonged stares, and ghostly smiles. Whenever they docked, they had to increase their distance to each other. Another reason she hated being on land.

But she prayed Erick’s opinions weren’t true.