Page 25 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Kora’s scar throbbed all morning.

She relentlessly rubbed at her temples in circular motions, a salve of arnica she’d applied earlier coating her skin. Her headaches were getting worse, they hadn’t been this bad since her recovery all those years ago.

A cup of herbal tea rested on the iron garden table before her, steam wafting into the air. Erick had allowed her to sleep in today, deciding the journey across the desert required a proper day’s rest beforehand. Thank the gods.

It didn’t stop Bree visiting and blabbering in her ears all day though.

“—and I said, I wouldn’t be marrying any old beanstalk they found. Can you imagine? Me married to a noble lord who likes gardening?”

Bree pursed her lips as she fluttered her lace white fan under the high sun.

“Kora? Are you listening to me?”

“Marriage. Beanstalk,”

Kora murmured back, cupping her warm tea.

“Are you well?”

Bree continued to wave her fan against her exposed chest. She was a vision in white today. A simple milk-maid style gown, with a low, lacy sweeping neckline. Short puffy sleeves, with intricate strips of silver, laced around her arms, connecting to jewelled cuffs at her wrists. The dress flowed from her bodice, with dainty embellishments of silver woven throughout. Her braided hair was tied up, the gold hoops swapped for sleek silver tubes.

“Yes, I’m just . . . not sleeping well.”

Kora glanced down at her usual tunic and trousers attire. She preferred her jerkins and breeches, but they were only for sailing. Splatters of mud crusted the hem of her trousers, and she picked at some lint on her side. It wasn’t that she was averse to dresses—if anything she’d love to try new styles, but it was enforced by Erick she should maintain this illusion of masculinity, of leadership and power, by dressing and styling her hair this way.

She did like how the leather jerkins fitted her body, strengthening her back, especially when her harness was attached with her blades. Her mind and body free, surrounded by peers who usually paid her no mind, except for the occasional glance at her chest or between her legs, but a glint of her blade would avert their gazes.

But when on land? She was restricted to stiff fabric, her limbs unable to manoeuvre as freely, whilst judgement poured from society that her two legs were visible, and not shrouded beneath layers of skirts.

Bree eloquently drank from her tea, her movements poised, her hands graceful. Kora placed her cup down, the porcelain rattling from the movement. She was so heavy-handed and rough. Even their hands in comparison made her pause. Bree’s nails were pristine and perfectly edged, with supple, smooth skin that males would die to feel wrapped around their girths.

Kora curled a loop of hair around her finger, using it to cover a thick scar running down the length of skin. Maybe she should start wearing gloves? Salvage whatever unmarred skin she had left? Her hair was beginning to grow past her ears, and wisps hung across her forehead, which she’d attempted to shape in a flattering way.

Bree’s bright, sky-blue eyes tracked the movement.

“Has Erick finally given up on making you look like a boy?”

Kora spluttered on her tea.

“I don’t look like a boy!”

She had the curves to prove it, even if he’d insisted she wear a chest binder during her first year sailing. She had promptly burnt it in the training garden, furious at the suppression. But he always claimed it was for her own protection.

“I can loan you some dresses if you like.”

Bree raked her stare over Kora.

“I’ll have them tailored, of course.”

They would be trailing on the floor if Kora wore them. Bree’s tall, slender legs ensured she matched most males in height, but a flicker of daring hope bloomed. She’d like to see herself in Bree’s attire. A chance to feel beautiful, and feminine, instead of just one of the lads.

“Besides, you’ll have to wear whichever dress I choose when I get married.”

Kora’s eyes flickered up questioningly.

“So, you are getting married?”

Bree waved a jewel-adorned hand.

“Maybe. Probably. My parents keep pushing the idea. They’ve received news of the king’s advancement on the remaining islands, and want me to marry into another nobility to create a fortified front.”

“And their current choice?”

“That green-thumbed son of the House of Bellmoor. Cedar, I think,”

Bree muttered, her fan flicking sharply in her hand.

“He’s a beanstalk. A weed. I want a man. I want someone who’s strong. Powerful.”

“Careful what you wish for. Are there no other contenders?”

The noble Bellmoor family resided near the Ebonmoor Mountains. Favouring nature and the green pastures, they were the leading house in farming. Their territory expanded from the sacred mountains down to Whitestone Bay, representing the connecting bridge between Aldara and continent of Azaria. As one of the oldest houses within the noble circles, they rarely frequented any kind of public appearances, always choosing to send messages via hawk instead.

Kora could get on board with their introverted nature.

“There’s the House of Barron, but my father wants me to marry into somewhere further ashore. He has a wayward son, apparently.”

The Barrons were leaders in the naval military. The governor of the house—Admiral Barron—was the current leader of the Talmon Empire’s armadas, and whom Erick directly reported to. The members of the Barron family also lived in the Citadel, along with the Hydraforts, who were the overseers of finance and business.

“What about the Ironguards?”

Kora propped her feet up on the chair beside her as she basked in the hot summer sun.

The grass was more luscious and greener in this garden on the western side of the manor, as it was particularly used for hosting guests—which was not a regular occurrence for the Cadells.

Thick green hedges, and bushes full of bountiful flowers, including hydrangeas of all colours, covered all four stoned walls, along with small, herbal patches by the arched entryway leading to the courtyard in the northern stretch.

“Please, they have no brains between their ears. I’d bare feral children who’d beat people with iron sticks,”

Bree chided as she sipped her tea.

Servants lingered by the double glass doorway leading from the parlour room, watching Bree’s every movement. The thick black drapes flapped in a gentle breeze, and Kora made a small noise of amusement at Bree’s retort.

The House of Ironguard ran the mines and the outposts across all the empire’s islands. They were experts in crafting weaponry, as well as raising soldiers bred to enter the Darkoning Trials and survive it as champions. The epitome of brute strength, they sought glory in death on battlefields. They favoured the territory above Shannara, using their brutality and lethal weaponry as a force to prevent the witches from invading them, but they also stationed themselves at outposts across the lands.

“Is it too much to ask for?”

Bree audibly sighed, her bosom heaving.

“I want someone who makes my heart flutter. I want to be swooned. To feel that rush of heat from when he enters the room. I want to know what it feels like to be ready to die for someone, and to know he would do the same. To have every aching, crushing, thought to be wholly consumed by him.”

Kora stared back at Bree wide-eyed. Since when had Bree become so . . . romantic? For the past few years, Bree had displayed a knack for business, assisting her father in elevating their family’s outreach—and their coffers.

Since Bree became of age, she’d channelled all her efforts into proving to her father that one day she could become governess of the household—and their fortune. Kora frequently revelled in how they were both mastering the world as females.

But now? She was dead set on a marriage. Kora inwardly cringed.

“You’ve given this some thought.”

She winked at her friend.

“Painful thoughts, at that.”

Bree snapped her fan shut.

“Perhaps. What about you? Any men courting you yet?”

Blake Marwood. Champion. Leader. Amazing kisser.

Kora spilled hot tea down her tunic as visions of Blake kissing her in the hallways of the manor invaded her mind. She cursed, shakily placing the cup back on its saucer. Far too dainty and fragile for her to handle. She needed a stein of ale. She dismissed the hovering servants, telling them she didn’t need their help as they began peeling from their waiting stations.

A devilish smile curved Bree’s luscious lips.

“I knew it! I knew all those weeks sailing weren’t just boring long days staring at the sea.”

Looking at the sea was anything but boring for Kora.

“No. No . . . there’s no one. I’ve told you before, they forbid against forming relationships in the armada.”

“Rules are meant to be broken.”

Bree giggled on her seat. Her intrigue and enthusiasm made Kora’s breathing hitch as thoughts of Blake continued washing over her, followed by a wave of discomfort. Her headache speared through her mind, the pain increasing. Her chest ached, and she rubbed the spot above where the talisman rested.

“Tell me.”

Bree leaned forward.

“Who has captured your heart?”

She clasped Kora’s free hand, her nails biting her skin. Bree’s face had smoothed out, her smile vanishing as her grasp tightened with each passing second.

“Tell me!”

she demanded.

Kora paused, hesitation sweeping over her, and she was surprised by her own reluctance to divulge her best friend with all the details of her and Blake. It was forbidden, so the more secret it was, the better off they’d be. Even the heiress of the House of Hydrafort wouldn’t be able to keep this a secret, friendship aside. Nobles were gossips through and through. Anything to throw their peers to the jaws of judgement and advance into the spotlight of desire.

She couldn’t risk her relationship with Blake, or her chance at becoming admiral. Bree may be her best friend, but she was a noble. A different class. They were an entirely different species to the remaining island dwellers.

Yet something else . . . something unfamiliar niggled at Kora, and a lance of pain flashed from her throbbing temple. She hissed, tearing her hand from Bree’s crippling grip, and grasped the side of her head as she bowed over. The pain relentlessly washed over her, and a small crack in her mind split open.

“Remember, remember, remember, remember.”

The voice chanted repeatedly. A familiar, deep, sweeping tone, growing louder and louder until the fountain in the courtyard to their left spluttered before turning off with eerie silence. Water cascaded over the stoned edges, spilling out onto the mosaic tiles and flooding the courtyard, spearing straight towards the western garden. The scent of rain clouds and steel stuffed up her senses, and Kora hacked a cough, rubbing at her nose from the invading smell.

A small droplet of blood stained her hand, and she quickly wiped it away on her trousers.

“What on earth . . .”

Bree placed a comforting hand on Kora’s back.

“Kora, can you get up? Something’s wrong with your fountain.”

Bree’s faint voice cried for help from the servants, who rapidly filed out into the courtyard, inspecting the fountain, and mopping the water in unified formation. Something within Kora lurched with a sudden urge to reach out and touch the water. To cover herself with it—to stop them from wiping it away.

“My head . . .”

Kora moaned.

The mental crack slowly sealed up as she fought to wrestle control, one hand clasping at the talisman under her tunic.

This is my body. My mind. Get out.

“I’ll call for a healer!”

Bree’s hands fluttered near her friend’s face, her eyes full of concern.

“No, I’ll be fine.”

Kora gritted her teeth and straightened.

“It’s starting to ease already.”

“You don’t look fine,”

Bree snapped.

“Stop.”

With the pain ebbing away, she twirled in front of Bree.

“See? As I said, I’ve not been sleeping well.”

Bree’s bright, insightful eyes took a grand sweep of Kora, briefly hovering at her pink curling scar.

“I’ve decided what your remedy is.”

Kora raised a brow in curiosity.

With a sweet smile, Bree said.

“A glass of ale.”

Kora laughed, already feeling the crunching pain fade. She held out her arm.

“If my lady would walk with me? I know just the place.”

“I shall, kind sir.”

Bree curtseyed, fluttering her fan exaggeratively.

Kora pinched at the sir. She would never admit her lack of femininity was a sore spot, especially in Bree’s overflowingly feminine presence. Several servant’s eyes bulged at Bree bowing before Kora, and she rolled her eyes at the remark.

But the sting taunted her in the back of her mind, seeding doubt. Was her masculinity the issue barricading the intimacy between her and Blake? Why didn’t he want to lose control? Was she not enough for him?