Page 29 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

What’s this?”

Erick sat across from Kora at the large mahogany parlour room table, scrutinising the lemon placed beside her bowl of berried porridge.

“A lemon?”

Kora replied between mouthfuls, shovelling her oats down before they commenced their journey to Whitestone Bay within the hour. Plates piled high with cured meats, spiced eggs, and freshly baked pastries covered the space between them. Black drapes fluttered behind her from the tall glass windows, letting in the scorching heat. Erick picked up the lemon with both hands and his frown deepened.

Kora paused as faint lines crinkled at the edges of his eyes, the lines in his forehead becoming prominent. Even the flecked greys in the sides of his hair seemed glaringly bright. When had Erick aged so much? His youth faded away from him faster and faster every time she returned home.

“Is this from our trees?”

He turned the lemon over in his hands, inspecting it.

“Yes, why? It’s just a lemon.”

What was the big deal?

Kora piled meats and eggs onto her plate next, washing her porridge down with crisp water. Praise the empire for inventing drinking taps. Their voices echoed within the grand room, and she always wondered why he insisted they ate in here when there was a smaller table within the kitchens. A much cosier space, compared to this black-and-white hollow room. Even the diamond-shaped black-tiled floor was cold. The cream wallpapered walls were bland, no flicker or indication of a life lived.

She wondered if Erick ate here alone when she was on her long voyages.

“It’s massive,”

he observed, placing the lemon back down on the table between them, the weight of it causing the silverware to rattle.

“Unnaturally so.”

Kora shrugged as she continued fuelling up her body for the day. She’d slept terribly. Tossing and turning, dreaming about Blake and Bree’s wedding, and the idea that she would be left alone in the impending darkness. Unable to escape, unable to breathe, trapped in a coffin shrinking by the second.

Maybe she belonged in one.

Which was swiftly followed by dreams of Finlay rising from the dead, as an ash-covered empty shell. Hunting her down, his eyes and voice void of life, crying out that his death was her fault. That she had failed him. Her hand clenched around her spoon as she fought to swallow her food, trying to push Finlay—and his secret Skytor group—from her mind.

He’d been a spy. A rebel. She couldn’t mourn him any longer.

“I thought Chef might like to have it . . . to cook with.”

“Cook with? He’ll be using it for weeks.”

Erick ruffled his papers, and his eyes continued to pour over his latest reports from scouts.

“Anything interesting?”

His jaw twitched.

“I hope not, we have enough trouble as it is. You need to be careful on this journey to the south, Kora. The exiles are getting more daring in their attacks and are trying to take over the oasis as a camp for themselves.”

“We’ll be fine. Blake and I have handled worse.”

“That’s at sea. You’re more skilled when it comes to naval warfare, with the safety and protection of Hell’s Serpent.”

Kora paused in her shovelling of food at the worried tone in his voice. It was so rare that he expressed his parental concerns. Their relationship thus far had been turbulent, but Erick had always been patient and nurturing, to an extent. Her first few years had been erratic, and his kindness had led her through the darkness of waking up to an unknown world, with an unknown name, and a voice rattling her mind.

But acting as her commodore took priority, and she desperately sought a family to anchor her. Their lifestyle couldn’t grant the solid foundation. One of them was always at sea, which she didn’t mind. It was better than this cold pile of stone. This manor had been declined life. It’d been created for a vast family, but was rendered with two lost souls who favoured being on the job than at home.

Erick’s fiery brown eyes bore into her, and she had the sense she wasn’t going to like what he said next.

“I’ve made the decision to request additional guards for the escort.”

“What?”

Kora dropped her cutlery, and it clattered onto the table as she glared at Erick furiously. He knew what this would mean to her. It would suggest her incapabilities to carry through the mission. That she was weak. That, because she was a female, she wouldn’t be as efficient. She wanted to prove everyone wrong.

“Kora, please.”

Erick pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation.

“It’s not about that. I trained you myself, I know you’re more than capable. But this is the desert. You’re a naval captain, not a soldier. Marwood’s leading this mission. He has the skillset for land combat, and the experience should it come to it.”

“So . . . I’m being babysat, whilst Blake leads us all into his patriarchal glory?”

“Don’t get petty. You’ve always been averse to the army, and this sits firmly in my division’s repertoire. But you were requested to be the escort, so I’ve taken some extra precautions.”

His jaw ground with annoyance.

“I get it.”

She pushed back her plate, her appetite evaporating.

“I wasn’t your first choice for the contract.”

Commodore Erick Cadell straddled the two worlds of the empire’s defences. He was a leader of the fleets of the armada—just below Admiral Barron—yet he favoured the armies and being a soldier. A leader of the land, he preferred donning his dark tarnished armour and assisting in training the new waves of recruits whenever possible.

He’d been voyaging out to sea less and less lately, and Kora always wondered why he never hung up his sea-faring title and committed fully to being a commander or a general. Erick formally wasn’t considered one, but he was respected and treated as one. As soon as he sacrificed that title, it’d be her chance to advance in the ranks. But, for some reason, he still held onto it, still believing she had more to learn. More training to do, more reading, more sailing.

Erick startled at her spat, and he faltered for his next words. His fiery gaze softened, and he placed a hand on the table, gently reaching out to her. Kora’s throat closed at the offer of a father’s comfort.

But he wasn’t her father—not really. Legally, yes. And he’d tried his gods-damned hardest to raise a defiant teenager with a broken mind. But something in her still held on to her past. Hope. A pitiful kernel of hope buried so deep. Hope that her real family had somehow survived.

Kora sucked in a retort as she tried so desperately hard in that moment to remember her past, her family, her life. Miserable blank darkness swept up to greet her, along with a dull ache in the side of her head, and she slowly placed her hand in Erick’s, offering him a false smile. False because she knew she loved this male, but admitting it would cut her old life off. A chapter permanently ended.

She wasn’t quite ready to let go of something she couldn’t remember.

“Captain!”

a familiar voice boomed from the grand entrance of the parlour room and Kora jolted, swiping her hand from Erick’s.

Samuel barrelled in, his stoic face beaming as he eyed up the feast on the table.

“You should’ve told me there’s breakfast. I’d have come sooner, Commodore.”

He thudded down next to Kora, piling his plate high as she stared at him stunned.

“Mr Rommier.”

Erick’s lips twitched in amusement.

“My apologies.”

“Wha-what are you doing here?”

Kora spluttered.

“I’m coming with you.”

Samuel smiled down at her as he tucked into his plate of meats and grains. He donned black leathers containing a rare fabric which would protect his body from all sorts of threats—including the scorching heat of the sun. His long wavy hair was tied up out of his face, and his short beard was braided, with silver thread coiled around it.

“I figured a navigational expert would be useful.”

Erick nodded at Samuel in a respectable greeting.

“He’s a sailing master, not a cartographer,”

Kora muttered.

“What I do for you in my free time.”

Samuel nudged her with his beefy elbow and it nearly toppled her out of her chair.

“Maps are maps. I know what I’m doing.”

“Captain,”

an old voice sounded from the doorway again, and she startled at Aryn’s silent presence lurking by the doors.

“I see I’m not the only one.”

His eyes pinned on Samuel, who smiled with a mouth full of food, waving in return.

Aryn silently prowled over to the table, taking a seat beside Erick as they stiffly greeted each other, not meeting the other’s gaze. His quiver and longbow were slung across his shoulders, and he was dressed in tan clothing, with a scarf wrapped round his neck and brown leather braces on his forearms. Kora eyed the thin tattoo across his cheek, her own scar tingling.

“Having a second breakfast, Sam?”

Aryn’s hazel eyes pointedly looked down at Samuel’s mountainous plate. He’d trimmed his hair since they’d docked, and it was now shorter around the sides and back, whilst still thicker and longer on top. Dark brown strands of hair tousled like waves across his scalp, and his face was clean-shaven.

“Who’s to say it’s only my second?”

Kora rolled her eyes at her sailing master.

“So, Aryn’s here because?”

“My skills are valuable in the desert. Archery will be the one of the best defences we have, as well as hunting for food, if we run out. Something I have assured Erick about.”

His youthful face didn’t match his wise tone, and it unnerved her.

She nearly choked on her food at the informal address. Bold. Very bold move from Aryn. This archer was becoming quite the interesting character in her crew.

“I promise, that’s it. I’m confident in the four of you.”

Erick’s strained smile didn’t reach his eyes.

Kora eagerly gazed towards the entrance to the room in hopes of seeing a tall, dark familiar shadow, but was met with the consistent absence of whom she longed for. He’d said they’d meet at first light, but that’d been nearly two hours ago. Erick followed her gaze and shook his head disapprovingly.

Of course, he wouldn’t allow Blake here unless it was vital. He always sought to keep them separated as much as possible when they were in Aldara, and it added to Kora’s continuous simmering temper. She glared at Erick, followed by a jerk of the chin to her crew at the table.

Protection, my arse. You invited them on purpose. He wasn’t worried about exiles in the desert, he was concerned about Blake getting in her trousers. Their plan for the desert had been sliced to pieces by Erick’s sword. They wouldn’t get a moment of peace together, especially with Samuel as part of the envoy. And Aryn was too insightful for his own good.

“There’ll be more of you travelling back, but travel light, and travel fast. You’ll be a bigger target as a larger group. The rebels will want your resources, maybe even the sentinel for ransom.”

Erick averted his stare from Kora, addressing the males.

“I hope this sentinel isn’t completely useless,”

she moaned quietly.

Royal sentinels were uppity advisors to the royal family. They lived and breathed by the laws created by the monarchy, and sought to ensure the citizens of their lands abided by them. They frequently travelled across the continent in disguise, returning their findings to the king to advise on how best to enforce the law on heretics and criminals.

In this case, the sentinel was coming to snoop on the islands, the noble houses, and viceroys. Plugging the gap in advance for the king, on the island’s weaknesses and strengths, and to commence establishing new laws for the unification of the islands and continent.

“Aye, I’ve mapped the route already,”

Samuel mumbled through food.

“We’ll avoid the desert until we reach the border, but we’ll have no choice the closer we get to the south.”

“Just keep away from the Southern Oasis. My scouts say the exiles are getting closer to claiming it.”

Erick cast a glance at Aryn, who disinterestedly observed Samuel fitting as many eggs as he could in his mouth.

As the males discussed strategies, Kora attempted to finish the remainder of her food. They had to take the bare minimum with them, to not overload the horses. It was the peak of the summer months, and the desert would be deathly hot, with the Southern Oasis being their only salvation if they ran out of water.

Erick’s hot-and-cold eyes kept flickering back to her, but she moved her fork from her plate to her mouth as if she were a mindless phantom, her mind lost in thought. His observant gaze lingered on her hair, and she was glad to not be having that conversation any time soon.

“Wow . . . that lemon is huge!”

Samuel exclaimed.