Page 27 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Watch her like a hawk.”

Kora leaned across the bar, using two fingers to signal said intense eye-watching at Circe.

“Bree cannot be left alone. If anything bad happens to her, that’s a black mark against your tavern. I have . . . women’s needs to attend to in the latrine.”

Circe’s striking eyes bulged at the sailors swarming around Bree. One had ordered a bottle of wine to the table and topped up her glass, leaning over the heiress with hunger in his gaze.

“I won’t let anyone touch her.”

Circe’s face hardened, her orange eyes ablaze as she stormed over to the mass of leering males, snapping at them. With Circe’s absence, Kora ducked behind the bar, edging to the stairs wreathed in darkness. But a snuffle at her booted feet cut her off, followed by a constant drumbeat against the tiled floor.

“Hello, Conan.”

She ruffled the hound’s neck, carefully evading his drooling maw.

“Will you let me pass?”

Conan snorted, pushing her back with his muzzle. He whined as he huffed at her scent and her fingers caught on a wooden tag clasped to the thin chain collared around his neck.

IF FOUND, RETURN TO FINLAY BLACK—

The rest of his surname had been scored by a knife. Kora’s mouth dried as Conan kept nudging her, his snout snuffling every inch of her hands, arms, and chest. This was Finlay’s dog. John was looking after him for Finlay . . . expecting him to return home. Her heart panged, and she petted the pooch’s soft head.

“I’m sorry, boy,”

she whispered.

“He’s not coming back.”

Droopy red eyes blinked. At least Finlay told the truth about being a Blackstone. John had said they thought Conan was a runt. Presumably, Finlay’s family would have put him down for inadequacy. Nobility was deranged at times. She was glad Conan was here, safe and sound.

“You’re a good boy.”

Kora tickled his neck as Conan sat down, his huge paws pushed together in refined poise. She rooted through the shelves of the bar until she located a cooler of meats, remembering John’s path from feeding Conan the other day. His drooling increased as she dangled a raw steak, before throwing it into the heart of the tavern.

“Go get it!”

Conan barked as he flew after the steak into the crowd, sliding against the tiled floor as his jaws yapped in the air chasing his treat. She pivoted, nimbly sprinting up the stairs two steps at a time, ascending into darkness as the tavern erupted into chaos.

Kora wasn’t sure what she’d been expecting . . . but it certainly hadn’t been this.

The stairs led to a windowless hallway lined with four bolted doors. Each one had an unfamiliar symbol carved into the woodwork. Cold silence emitted from all but one, and she hurried to the end door, which was covered in whirling symbols that reminded her of clouds. Laughter rang behind it and she paused.

Should she knock? It couldn’t be that easy, could it? There was no lock beneath the iron doorknob, and she held her breath. It warmed to her touch as she grasped it, heating her skin before opening on silent hinges.

Apparently, it was that easy.

A large square room covered the span of the tavern below, the windows draped in red swaths of sheer fabric, casting a sultry aura. Decadent thick rugs with vertical swirls lined the floors, masking the sounds of footsteps, and giant plush cushions in all shapes and sizes were dotted around in clusters for people to lounge on. Endless cream-and-black candles, precariously placed on low, dark-metal tables with glass tops, burned until the wax melted and shrouded the shining surfaces.

A female in scantily dressed clothing approached Kora. She wore puffed lavender silk trousers, along with a plunging lavender top that exposed her slender, tanned midriff. A sheer piece of silk hung across her face, connected to a silver chain looping around her nest of black hair.

Kora pulled her dark cloak around her, damning the internal green silk lining highlighting her imperial status. At least her cloak clasp wasn’t the empire insignia. It was a winding leaf made of silver, gifted to her from Blake when they’d survived the trials.

At least fifteen, maybe twenty, people relaxed in the room, their faces shrouded by various coloured sheets of silk, or intricately embossed masks covering their eyes. Clustered in small groups, their heads were close as they spoke in whispered, soothing tones. A glass-and-silver bar, with a select amount of grog, dominated the corner closest to the stairs. Another hostess, dressed in pale-yellow clothing, flitted from the bar to the collective strangers, refilling their crystal glasses. Crystal.

Glass. Crystal. Masks. What was this place?

Kora swallowed at the wealth woven throughout the room. If the citizens outside—or even in the tavern below—knew what affluence lay hidden up here, it would be raided within a heartbeat.

“I don’t recognise you,”

the lavender hostess murmured. Her voice had a strange accent Kora couldn’t place, and she considered bolting downstairs. Her palm stung and she shook her wrist, rubbing the oddly warm skin.

“Oh, first time?”

The hostess cocked her head.

“How did you know?”

She gestured to Kora’s hand.

“It becomes less unpleasant each time. First time I used the door, I thought my palm was going to melt off!”

The hostess lowered her voice.

“You must be a powerful mage to enter without a burn the first time.”

Mage.

Words evaded Kora as her throat closed. She couldn’t bring herself to admit it. That she was . . . powerful. It was an absurd concept, and she scoured the room, her pulse racing. If she were caught, she would be dead in an instant.

“Don’t worry, we are all the same here.”

The hostess’ eyes crinkled beneath her veil.

“Everyone here is a mage?”

Kora croaked the words.

“Mage, or ally to mages. The door can read you from your touch, and keeps our enemies out. Pretty handy spell. Say, how did you find us?”

Kora wracked her brains. Her ability to think failing at the overwhelming discovery of a room full of mages and allies to the old ways, hidden behind an enchanted door. A name welled up from the entanglement of thoughts. The reason she’d come up here.

“Digs sent me,”

Kora lowered her voice, altering her tone to be more husky.

“I’m afraid I don’t have a covering.”

She motioned to the lavender silk hiding half of the female’s face, leaving her dark, kohl-lined eyes exposed. A shimmer of sparkling gold brushed down the curves of her face, and her skin sparkled with the powder on her shoulders, arms, and stomach.

“Oh!”

The hostess raised her brows as she scanned the room.

“I always have a spare. Here.”

She fished out a black silk mask, connected to a simple gold chain, and Kora quickly turned away to cover her face beneath her cloak.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, sister.”

She bobbed in a small curtsey.

“Sehwani.”

Kora stopped dead in her tracks at the old language. Seconds passed, and the female’s dark stare grew concerned, the corners pinching in suspicion as Kora remained in stunned silence.

“Sehwani,”

she replied.

The hostess visibly relaxed, and gestured for Kora to enter the mysterious room. Entangled thoughts sprouted in her mind. Had Finlay been aware of this place? He knew John, and this was John’s tavern. It wasn’t far-fetched to believe Finlay had been involved with this, too. And who spelled the door? Enchantments were part of witches’ talent, not a mage-bestowed gift from a god.

She quietly walked through, catching snippets of Devanian spoken, and her stomach knotted as she sunk into an empty area of purple and black cushions. She keenly listened, understanding odd sentences in the ancient language.

Business trades.

Family feuds.

Their latest exploits at brothels.

The search for John and Finlay—there.

Kora shuffled closer to the two males a few cushion-circles away. She couldn’t see their faces, as they sat with their broad backs to most of the room. She was also aware that she didn’t have long before Bree would stride into the latrine to reprimand her for abandonment.

“—it’s growing, is what our spies have heard. The Mist will take over the oceans if we don’t hurry soon,”

Digs spoke quietly.

“Agreed. Time is running out. We need to find John,”

the other male followed.

“What if he doesn’t return like he said? What if he’s dead? And Finlay?”

The sound of bones snapping painfully echoed in Kora’s mind. Silence, followed by a deep sigh. Even her breathing stopped.

“We must suspect Finlay is gone. He wouldn’t leave John this long. We will be amiss without them, but if both of our leaders are missing, then you and I are the next to step up.”

Leaders. Kora squirmed.

Finlay was a leader of . . . what? An organisation? Kora’s entire being turned cold. Had Finlay lied about the ultimatum from his family, as a cover for this secret life? Had she cremated an heir of a noble house without just cause?

Finlay Blackstone was a fucking spy.

She should’ve listened to Koji and returned his body, but she wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. She should’ve listened to her instincts the first time about Finlay. Fiercely clenching her fists, her mind churned and spat out vitriol.

“Better get Circe to double up on the grog. It’s not a Skytor Heiring without it,”

Digs spoke fondly at the mention of Circe.

What in the gods was a Skytor Heiring? She hadn’t come across the term in any of Agatha’s readings.

“You know she wants nothing to do with us. This is strictly John and Finlay’s clan.”

Clan? How archaic.

“Still, she could at least help us find her. We have a single description to go on, and it could be anyone.”

Tension roiled in Digs’ voice.

“It’s been so long, I’m starting to lose hope. I—”

“Well, hello there,”

a deep, sensual voice drawled by Kora’s side, and she startled in surprise. So lost in confusion and betrayal, she hadn’t noticed the male that had sidled up next to her. Way too close for her liking. Dressed head to toe in black, his dark face covered by a black mask, he laid on his side with a knee propped up. Unmistakable purple rings circled his dark irises from iridweed consumption. So, the drug had made it to the Skytors. He flashed a white, devilish smile.

“I’ve not seen you here before,”

he spoke in Devanian, and she swallowed her cresting nerves.

Digs and his comrade made their way over to the red glass bar, helping themselves to grog. No . . . the bar wasn’t red. That was the reflection of the room. The bar was exquisite. Clear cut glass, banded by silver frames that snaked across the front like vines. The males warily glanced back over to Kora and motioned the lavender hostess over.

Shit.

“I’m just visiting,”

she replied in Devanian. Once the male saw her beginning to get to her feet, he gripped her arm with force.

“Don’t go. We could have some fun. I’ve never seen someone like you in here before.”

He trailed a finger up and down her arm and wetted his lips. Nausea flitted through her as something dark slithered around her . . . something poking at the edges of her mind, looking for an invitation in.

Kora pushed back against the magic, imagining a strong watery current washing away the talons raking over her. The dark presence faded, along with her strength, and they both blinked with astoundment. She was sure this male had never been rejected magically before. Gods, she really was a mage. They truly existed.

Agatha was right, power would never be lost. It had been reborn. And here it was, in the dark upper floor of a rank tavern, on the main street of her beloved port town.

“I’d rather jump out of the window than touch you.”

The male faltered at her magic block, and Kora took the opportunity to quickly skim around the hushed groups. She caught fleeting moments of strangers groping each other, their hands searching beneath veiled clothing, followed by poorly suppressed moans.

So, this room was also that kind of business, as she’d suspected. She supposed being a mage ally required some kind of stress release.

“Hey—you!”

Digs called out from the side as Kora neared the door.

“I don’t know you.”

“I’m new.”

Thankfully her voice was muffled by the silk covering.

“Nobody is ever new here,”

his voice darkened.

He was tall and broad like Samuel, but clean-shaven, with shaggy, dirt-brown hair falling to his shoulders. A pale ivory mask, with swirling silver marks resembling the currents of the wind, cut across his squared, unamused face.

“Tell me who you are.”

His large hands clenched into fists as he scanned her dark cloak.

“Jump,”

the voice spiralled through Kora’s mind, and she welcomed the comforting guidance that had been disappearing lately. Her stare slid to the right—to a small, square shaped window. Through the iron-bolted door at her back, the sounds of chaos smacked against the barrier, vibrating through the air.

Digs frowned, nearing her and the door.

Damn the gods.

“Me? I’m leaving.”

Kora ran and leapt, curling her body inward as she smashed through the window with flying force, using the sheer red drapes to protect her from shards of shattered glass.

The lavender hostess shrieked as Kora flung the red sheet, spiralling through the air before landing in a crouch in the dark alleyway beside The Abandoned Barnacle. Pain cracked up her legs, and she gritted her teeth from the impact. Being a mage would explain why she could leap from two floors high and not break a single bone. Her cheeks heated. As if she’d thought she’d inherited good bone density.

“Hey!”

Digs leaned out of the window, his mask removed, and shock plastering his squared face. Double shit. He’d seen her survive the jump. She was a confirmed mage to the Skytors. No one could know that she, a captain, was a mage. Thank the gods her cloak still covered her white hair.

Glass rained around her, and she pushed into a running sprint down the filthy alley, darting around crates and yellow-tinted puddles to the main winding street that snaked through the heart of the port town.