Page 3 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

You were saying?”

Kora asked Blake with a smug grin. Adrenaline coursed through her, strengthening her weak legs, and he rolled his eyes.

“Just don’t get too close to the Mist. I’ll get the crew ready.”

He sauntered to the main deck with that annoying prowl in his gait. Kora hesitated, a strangeness tugging at her from the shimmering, grey expanse drifting on the rolling waves.

The short war that had raged between Galen and the remaining islands ten years ago left a scorched mark upon the islands. Countless lives lost from of the brutality of Galen because they believed they should’ve been the rightful rulers instead of Talmon.

Endless epic tales, spoken in hushed tones to her over the years, caused shivers to snake down her spine. Tales of the mountainous piles of bodies Galen left in their wake as they cleaved through the young empire, jealous of the unity they had achieved after the two-hundred-year war with pirates and rebels devoted to the old ways. Galenites had showed no mercy to innocents, wives, and children.

Before the Mist, Galenites were infamous for stringing up their victims and staking them on the shores of their island for ships to witness. The victim’s backs were split open, and their lungs strung out behind their corpses like a colony of blood eagles.

They were bloody barbarians.

Kora had never been this close to the Mist before, or Galen, for that matter. It was thick, grey, and lifeless and, the longer she stared at it, the more she thought she could see shadows dancing within. Erick had forbidden her from venturing too far into the western waters. Her gut twisted at the intrusive thought of her adoptive father and her commodore. She never disobeyed him. Ever.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

He’d saved her from a ship wreckage, her presumed family slaughtered by pirates, around the time the Mist had manifested. She didn’t remember anything from before that, but a strong belief powered her resolution that she had a family. A warmth, deep in her core, stirred as she conjured blank faces with sweeping white hair matching her own, framing the same round, lapis-lazuli eyes she possessed.

Kora had a nasty bash on the head, from murderous pirates, to thank for her missing family and broken memory. She traced the jagged scar on her left temple as it arched over her ear and hid below her short hair, following it as unfavourably forked from her temple. The two, wavy, pink lines drifted apart, one ending just by her eyebrow, the other curling over her cheekbone.

Erick had said she’d been close to losing her left eye in the accident, and it was a blessing she thanked the gods for everyday that he’d saved her when he did.

The chilling Mist trailing beside them, and the jagged sharpness of Peril Cove ahead, set her teeth on edge, and a trickle of a dark memory haunted her mind. The sounds of screams, the crash of waves, the splitting pain of her skull cracking open. She hissed as she wondered whether the bodies of her parents rested beneath the deep ocean’s surface.

She’d sworn vengeance on every pirate for what they did to her. What they took from her. And she wouldn’t stop until they’d crumbled, disintegrated, vanished, like her previous life had. Like her family had. Like her identity and memory had.

“Ahead, you’re almost there,”

the voice brushed against her ears and shivers rippled down her spine. It normally uttered only a word or two, never more, but now it was so vocal it practically shouted. Sometimes, Kora doubted whether it truly was a voice, or if it was simply her intuition? She couldn’t speak of it to anyone. That’d be a one-way ticket to an asylum, or exile to the desert.

She’d never been able to speak back to the voice; always a one-way system in her mind. Even if she screamed her thoughts, there’d be no response. She’d become a master at hiding her reactions to it. At first, she’d been panicked, screaming to Erick she was hearing things. But he instantly knew what to say, how to reassure her. That her injury had caused minor damage and, over time, her mind would settle and adapt.

But it never did. So Kora had to learn the art of poker faces. Swapping one mask for another, and keeping her expression in neutrality, whilst the voice ravaged her mind, telling her where to go and what to do . . . albeit in a minimal number of words.

Blake barked orders at the crew to get into offensive positions, and the stamping thunder of boots vibrated on the ship as they descended below deck to prepare the cannons. Lancers armed themselves with jet-black, sharp spears that were long, lethal, and capable of impaling bodies from a great distance. Archers climbed the shrouds up to the several masts for a better vantage point, longbows slung over their shoulders as Kora’s head archer hollered instructions at his squadron.

Sailors with shining silver shields raced to her and inclined their heads as they stationed around the quarterdeck. No sign of any mutiny or discontent in their faces, but shadows lined their eyes. One of them openly stared at her, shock plastering his slender face as his dark eyes tunnelled onto her scar. His uniform was too big for him, the jerkin held together by the scabbard attached to his back, containing a unique broadsword.

“What are you staring at?”

she snapped, rolling her eyes. The sailor averted his gaze, a blush creeping up his neck. A waver trembled in his step, vibrating up into his hands, causing a sliver of guilt to slice through her. He must be starving.

Forged from the hardest silver, black bolts adorned the edges of the shields, with a golden insignia plastered on the front. Kora swallowed her distaste for it, and firmly gripped the helm as they ventured closer to the red pirate ship.

This was it. The thrill of battle crested within her as their ship raced on the southwestern winds. Another pirate ship to hunt and destroy, another one marked off her list—

No . . . it can’t be.

Kora frowned as a picture formed in the distance, and the wood of the wheel spokes bit into her skin, her grip so tight her callouses cracked.

“Blake!”

her voice rang.

He whipped his head up to meet her panicked stare and scanned ahead. Five sets of sails. All different colours and patterns. They hadn’t stumbled on a couple pirates, but a full flotilla.

“Shit,”

she whispered. This wasn’t an ordinary pirate meeting.

Blake raced up to the quarterdeck, taking two steps at a time.

“We’re not prepared for this,”

he breathed.

“Turn around, now. Before it’s too late.”

The sailors shuffled in wariness, but something in her core urged her forward. “No,”

she replied sternly.

“We’ve battled this many before. We can do it again.”

By the gods, she wouldn’t miss this chance.

Miss her chance at five ships full of filthy pirates. These might be the last pirates left. By her record, she’d decimated over half of the pirate scum, the majority of them now locked up in the dreaded Deadwater Prison. Or sunken to the bottom of the ocean, along with their victims.

“Kora,”

Blake grabbed her wrist, pulling her left hand from the wheel, her nerves heating at the contact. A sailor’s gasp cut through the air and she glared at Blake. She would have to reprimand him later for the informal address. Kora forcefully tugged her wrist from his firm grip, her skin smarting.

“Kora!”

Blake repeated, ignoring the shock from the sailors that he’d addressed her so casually.

“These aren’t normal pirates.”

A chill settled in Kora’s bones as she took in the pirate ships a few miles ahead, preparing for warfare. Their ships were grand, with mighty sails billowing in the wind, and masses of sturdy, hydrated crew members.

“Where did they get those ships?”

she spoke quietly.

Pirates normally had run-down, pathetic little vessels that could barely survive a few rounds of cannon fire before they were destroyed. Their crews usually in a panic at the presence of the empire flag. The red-sailed ship had taken the forefront of the five. It was large, with deep mahogany wood and green shrouds.

“They’re our ships,”

she hissed. She recognised unmistakable accents of green across the flotilla, signature embellishments of jewels and carved wood exclusive to the empire. Her mind raced. When had the admiral’s ships been raided? Had they missed an attack whilst venturing across the Shaurock Sea? Worst yet, had Aldara, her home, been attacked? Dread surfaced in Kora’s chest and she squashed it down, maintaining her mask.

“They’re our ships,”

Kora repeated confidently.

“We know their weaknesses.”

Shock raged on Blake’s face; his knuckles clenched white at pirates using their prized fleet ships. Vengeance coursed through her body, propelling her into action.

“See there,”

Kora pointed to a small archipelago of rocks southwest of Peril Cove.

“We can lure them in there and use the reef and rocks to slow down and break apart their ships.”

Blake’s gaze followed as he surveyed the reef, before his face hardened and he nodded.

“We’re faster than them.”

He ran his hand through his hair, pushing it out of his eyes.

“If we can trap them, they won’t realise until it’s too late.”

A little spark ignited within Kora as their plan knitted together. It felt like old times—working together to achieve the best outcome for them. It’d be so long since their duality had surfaced, and she vibrated with anticipation. Blood pounded in her veins with a rush and the ship rocked, the ocean waves cresting along with her heart.

Blake met her gaze once last time, studying her face, before sprinting down to the main deck to deliver new orders. The sailors behind Kora quivered, their longbows and swords armed in their hands, shields hoisted against their backs. She lingered on the nearest sailor, his broadsword slack in his grip, as if he couldn’t bear the touch. He returned Kora’s inquisitive gaze, his own sparkling stare reflecting curiosity, and a hint of fear.

Once the ships were close enough that Kora could count the feathers of the fallen-angel figurehead of the red ship, its eyes made of malachite stone, she braced her legs as she deftly spun the wheel of Hell’s Serpent. Her nostrils flared, heat consuming her. She knew that figurehead anywhere. The empire’s navy prided themselves on their uniquely tailored ships. Each one purposefully designed to be lethal; reflected in their figureheads.

“Come about!”

She gritted her teeth against the rough turn, her ship swiftly avoiding colliding with Fallen Angel, and a sudden, warm southern wind propelled them towards the archipelago. Kora sent a prayer up to the gods as they narrowly avoided a round of cannon fire.

Hell’s Serpent was the fastest ship in the armada, and she patted the helm in appreciation as they gained speed.

“Atta girl.”

Adventure speared through Kora, and she grinned as they sailed away from the jaws of evil—until a foghorn sounded behind them.

The sound of war.

The sound of pirates.

Cold crept up her neck, around her skull, as an echo of a memory crashed through her body and she faltered, losing her grip against the currents. Hell’s Serpent rocked aggressively, and sailors cried out as they stumbled, their lances skittering across the deck.

The foghorn roared in her ears, murky ocean mixed with blood swirling in her mind as an unforgiving pain swept through her. The Mist filled her vision . . . beckoning her . . . inviting her . . . to succumb to its inky depths. She reached out, her mask falling away as she cried out from the agony.

What in the gods was happening?

“Captain!”

the sailors yelled, and they braced her body as she sucked in a breath, her mind clutching at fragments of a memory fading as quickly as it appeared. She regained her composure, remembering she was the infamous Captain Kora Cadell. The fiercest captain in King Staghart’s armada.

And she would not be conquered.