Page 21 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Freshly bathed, Kora dressed in a simple, sage-green tunic and trousers, with silver stitching and buttons circling up the curve of her collarbone. Flying through the black-and-white hallways, she snagged crystalised ginger bites from the kitchen pantry, scoffing them to chase away the final dregs of the hangover. As she ran, she wolfed down a chocolate tart in three mouthfuls, licking her fingers, and rounded the corner into the grand parlour room.

The tension between Erick and Blake was palpable. She glanced to the glass windows, adorned with heavy black drapes and gold tassels, wishing for her familiar, comforting breeze to waft in.

Cadell Manor was one of the finer homes within the mid-district. Constructed from large, pale stone, with green shutters lining tall windows, and arched glass and iron doors. Most rooms were furnished with exquisite mahogany and oak furniture, and decorated with swathes of cream and black.

The ceilings rose high, and Kora lingered by the mahogany table, large enough to seat up to twenty, with Erick to her right, and Blake to her left. Coffee permeated the air, and her fingers trailed over the dainty cup and saucer on the table as she stifled a yawn. The run had been a stupid idea.

An aged map of the Azarian Islands covered the shining woodwork, candles in brass holders placed on the curling, frayed edges. Three islands were outlined in green: Aldara, and Talmon, with its smaller, sister island—Otrovia. In the centre of Shaurock Sea, was Peril Cove, stained black, and to the south-west, covered in grey and marked in red, was Galen. The enemy.

She tunnelled on the vast space between Aldara and Talmon. A thick black line scored across the map, separating Aldara from Talmon and Otrovia.

The Black Abyss.

A deep, dark trench, miles away from Narrowfen Pass, that swallowed any vessel daring enough to cross its path. Rumours circled, entailing dangerous sea creatures that lurked deep within the Black Abyss, and some claimed it led to Davy Jones’ Locker.

The only way to reach Talmon Island was to sail around Peril Cove, venturing close to Galen, and risking an ambush by pirates. Something Kora knew all too well. Bree had done just that when she’d heard Kora disappeared. Her heart panged. Her royal friend had sailed those dangerous waters to find her.

“You’re looking better, Marwood.”

Erick’s scrutinising stare zeroed in on Blake’s side, and Kora also cast her gaze over her first mate. He’d always been good at recovering from battles. Always the first to come out of the med bays healed and raring to fight again. Her red haze encroached the edges of her mind. No—she couldn’t start thinking about that, about how his family would batter him senseless.

“Thank you. I am healing well.”

Blake dipped his head.

“Quite you are. An impressive feat.”

“We discovered some things on our journey that we need to escalate immediately.”

Blake cleared his throat.

Erick glanced between the two of them, his face neutral. He’d found time to change, donning standard black trousers and a waistcoat, with his favoured burgundy shirt. It suited him well. His brown hair was ruffled, waving around his stern face. He gestured for them to continue.

“We came across a gathering of pirates by Peril Cove,”

the words rushed out of her.

“They chased us, and we destroyed Demon Sea Siren.”

Erick’s eyes glinted at the mention of an empire ship.

“What were you doing so far from Scarlet Bay?”

“Sightseeing,”

Kora replied sardonically, and before Erick could question her further, she barrelled on. She couldn’t explain her reasoning for sailing to Peril Cove, other than lying about simple rumours of pirates gathering. But that wouldn’t be enough to appease Erick.

“There were five ships. But four were from our armada. And not just that . . . they were commanded by pirate lords.”

“We defeated the pirate lord James Cannon, who’d stolen Demon Sea Siren.”

Blake’s fingers pressed against the convex-edged lip of the table, turning deathly white, as if that small stability kept him upright.

Erick pinched the bridge of his nose.

“I should’ve known,”

he muttered.

“During the first week of your voyage, our scouts informed us there’d been an attack on one of the ports in Talmon—near Ironwharf Outpost. Multiple ships stolen. Supplies, weaponry, the lot.”

Blake frowned, his emerald eyes scanning the map.

“That’s right by the wenches’ territory. They’d be fools to attempt to cross their borders.”

Indeed, the witches called their scraggly sectioned-off land the ‘Shannara Territory.’ They were no more than curse-hexing, wild females, who dabbled in voodoo to scare off any wanderer who breached their preciously marked borders—or so she’d been told. That, and they were skilled hunters who would skin trespassers alive if they had the chance, eating the flesh.

“Latest reports say the guards at the outpost were all knocked unconscious,”

Erick continued.

Kora’s mouth went dry.

“Unconscious how?”

She swiped a porcelain cup, draining the coffee in one bitter gulp.

“Some kind of smoke.”

Erick raised his brows at her paling face. “Why?”

“We had a similar incident on Hell’s Serpent. All of our crew were unconscious from a sleep smoke in their quarters. We found out it was the Flint twins’ handiwork.”

Blake eased a step closer to her as she shuddered from the memory of that night. His fingers trailed along the convex edge, and she imagined her hand sliding down his bare arm, tracing the red scar from the battle with Demon Sea Siren, down to his hands, entwining her fingers with his.

She ached to touch him.

Erick’s mouth thinned.

“So . . . the twins could’ve been there when the ships were stolen.”

“I interrogated Jack. He was insistent they joined Demon Sea Siren late, just days, or a week before they encountered us at Peril Cove.”

“You’d believe the word of a pirate?”

Kora fumbled for a moment. She didn’t want to admit—deep down—that she trusted what Jack had admitted to her after Silas’ death. He’d been a broken male, with nowhere to go. He’d had nothing left to offer, other than his words at the time.

“It’s true.”

Blake shuffled closer, his heat inches away.

“There’s one other possibility,”

she murmured, and both males looked at her questioningly as she pointed to the scraggly section on the map.

“They had help from someone else who’d have the knowledge to craft the smoke.”

Blake cursed as his eyes landed on the Shannara Territory.

“Of course! Those feral wenches can concoct anything.”

Indeed, along with their hunting skills, the witches had mastered alchemy long before Admiral Darkon had united these lands. If the king could wipe them from the world he would, but the Shannara Accord Treaty between witches and Talmon forbade it, even if they were rumoured to practise magic.

Magic was forbidden under Azarian law. To speak of it was heresy. An immediate death sentence. The viceroys of the Citadel had declared that the witches only practised simple potion swindling, devised to trick the human mind. With the king’s approval, they secured the treaty, allowing peace across Talmon Island.

“It’d explain the ruby chest you recovered. I’ve confirmed with a historian that the rubies are from Shannara. It’s clear the pirates cut a path through their lands to the outpost. I can’t imagine the witches allowing them in. They must have brokered a deal. The witches . . . working with the pirates,”

Erick rubbed his stubbled jaw.

“This isn’t good, but they haven’t violated their treaty, so we cannot interfere.”

“Not just that.”

Kora’s pointed finger travelled down the map, stopping on the centre of Galen, and tapped once.

“We have a strong belief the pirates are also allying with Galen.”

Erick released a long exhale as Kora collected her satchel from beside her feet, placing it on top of the map. She revealed the stolen Galen trinkets inside, stomach churning at the sparkling gems. It was confusing to see something so beautiful come from somewhere so deadly and bloodthirsty.

“We found this in the ruby chest,”

Blake spoke in hushed tones.

“On board Demon Sea Siren.”

“We also saw three pirate ships retreating into the Mist,”

she added.

The pirates must have something valuable to secure alliances with two formidable forces. She nibbled another ginger bite stashed in her pocket as a hot flush overcame her. Perhaps her hangover wasn’t finished with her yet.

Erick’s face grew apprehensive.

“The Mist?”

he croaked, and his burning brown eyes lingered on her scar. He audibly swallowed.

“Did you go into it?”

“Of course not,”

Blake scoffed.

Silence followed, as Erick peered at the gleaming wealth hidden in her satchel, and she contemplated telling him Jack’s claim that the Mist was controlled. That it’d been created by a male, who had the ability to allow ships to pass through.

A side-eyed glance from Blake and she clamped her lips shut. To speak of it—to acknowledge its existence, was defection from the Talmon Empire.

Sun rays pierced through the tall windows, bouncing off the moonstones garnishing the trinkets, and casting a dazzling aural display around them. Kora’s lips twitched, a lightness lifting her chest. Blake distastefully closed her satchel, his fingers flexing in revulsion.

“We may have instigated a war with the pirates after the death of Cannon.”

She drooped her head. Two wars fought for freedom and unity, and she’d potentially unravelled it all on an unseen voice’s whim.

It all weighed on her shoulders, crushing her. She still wondered what Cannon knew—how he knew about her secrets. He’d said this wasn’t meant to be her life. She internally laughed. Of course it wasn’t, but pirates had derailed her off fate’s course, wiping her future away.

But . . . Jack knew about her mysterious voice. She nibbled her lip. Did that mean Cannon also knew? Did the voice whisper to them too?

“Our war with pirates never ended. Not since the Galenite War. A death of one of their lords might work in our favour and weaken them finally.”

Erick’s warmth settled her, as if he could see her worries splashed across her face.

“What did you want to tell us?”

Kora asked, moving the subject along.

“The royal family of Azaria are sending a sentinel, to oversee the remaining expansion of the empire. You’re to personally escort him across Aldara. Both of you.”

Erick’s pointed gaze flickered between them.

“I’ve had reports of exiles in the desert attacking camps near Scarlet Bay and the Southern Oasis. We can’t risk anything happening to this sentinel. They will require protection at all costs. I cannot express the importance of this.”

By the gods, this was intense.

“Expansion?”

Her brows squished together.

“They intend to acquire the remaining islands,”

Blake spoke tensely, understanding fleeting across his face.

“Our king is ready to become emperor.”

Shock jolted through her bones. Ever since the Devanian Conquest ended over fifty years ago, it’d been the three islands banded together under the reign of the Citadel, acting as an extension of the royal Staghart family hidden away in Azaria, with Talmon as the lead, resulting in the Talmon Empire.

A select group of leaders, known as the viceroys, governed Talmon, Otrovia, and Aldara from Mossfell Castle, located in the heart of the Citadel. The governors of each noble house oversaw their protected lands and territories, and would report back to the viceroys of the comings and goings, and all that political nonsense Kora never understood.

She never paid that much attention to it all. But now . . . the king was making a gallant attempt at seizing the remaining unclaimed islands—Peril Cove, Calypso Islands, and Galen. To become Emperor Staghart of Azaria.

One united nation.

One empire.

“Indeed.”

Erick drew a breath.

“The Aldara Council, and the Houses of Blackstone and Bellmoor have begun preparations for the final unification. We must protect the sentinel. And it’s time to start decimating the pirates entirely.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to do—”

Erick waved a sharp hand, cold ice leaking into the edges of his tone and eyes.

“No, Kora. They’ve decreed that we now kill all pirates on sight. If any survive, they’ll be executed—including any rebel who associates with them or assists them. No more trials. No more courts.”

She blanched at his words. Jack had been lucky.

“They’re walking dead men,”

Blake hissed at the mention of rebels.

“Or women,”

she added. Both males blinked at her.

“What? A woman can’t rebel and strive to topple a nation? How unkempt of her.”

She fluttered her neck drastically and Erick rolled his eyes, whilst Blake subtly hid a smirk, rubbing his mouth to prevent the curve surfacing.

It was no secret that not everyone agreed to the empire’s rule on these islands. Resistance had increased over the past decade. The Azarian Islands had a tear down the middle of it, and Kora stood on the Talmon Empire’s side, against the pirates. Intrepid unease unfurled in her core, as the threat of slaughter loomed on the horizon.