Page 30 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Will you stop that racket? My ears are bleeding!”

Aryn snapped from the rear of their convoy, a scarf covering his head and lower face from the heat of the desert sun.

Blake led their small entourage, perched tall on Erebus, the horse a striking obsidian with a midnight blue shimmer that glistened in the sun. He consistently scanned the endless, yellow horizon, pausing at the top of every dune to scout for exiles or rebels before motioning for the others to proceed to join.

Samuel and Kora had settled in the middle, joking, teasing, and jostling with each other. Their horses were twins, according to the stable boy. Both a sandy palomino colour, blending in with the grains of the desert, with darkened hooves and pale-wheat manes.

Leaving Aryn at the rear, always several feet behind, as their lookout. His horse had a fierce temperament, and had tried to buck him off a few times already, resulting in hushed curses that’d make a pirate blush. The horse was a fascinating chestnut red, like the shores of Scarlet Bay, with a strikingly pale mane, and it didn’t take kindly to being too close to the others.

“I can try a different song?”

Samuel grinned over his shoulder at Aryn.

They’d ventured south from the mid-districts of Stormkeep Fortress, following the border of the Bellmoor family’s farming territory for as long as they could before they’d entered the Silent Tundra.

And how silent it was.

Even when the wind picked up, creating a biting whipping slash of sands barrelling against their faces, it was still silent. Once they’d crossed into the desert this morning, Samuel had sung shanties non-stop, and Kora was thankful for the slightly off-pitch, tone-deaf voice.

“Please don’t,”

Aryn moaned.

“Well, I’m grateful for your singing, Sam,”

she smirked.

“That makes one of us,”

Blake muttered from the front.

“I’m with Aryn on this one.”

Blake had increasingly become withdrawn during their journey. The further they travelled south, the more his dark, brooding nature consumed him. He’d barely spoken more than a few words at a time as they’d trekked through the farming fields and dry desert. And he hadn’t neared Kora either. Not as her first mate—nor her lover. Maybe he was also angry at Erick’s order for additional guards?

She quashed the feelings of upset down. He was maintaining the illusion they were nothing more than co-workers. Yet, since that unfavourable encounter between him and Bree, Kora was unable to shake a sensation gnawing at her sides.

Not to mention the gentle hum of the talisman on her chest, constantly reminding her to seek out the Silver Sisters. She had to get rid of this charm as soon as possible, before someone noticed she was channelling a new, unknown power to it—or before it sucked her dry.

The thought of potentially losing her new magical discovery flowing through her veins made her heart droop, and she twirled her fingers through her horses’ mane—Cadence—as she considered the possibilities of mastering the magic. Wielding it. Making it yield to her.

She could tame the seas, become an unstoppable force within the armada for the empire.

Or for yourself.

Kora had been gifted with the rarest of the magical factions. She had elemental magic. To possess it even now—centuries after the gods had faded—was near impossible. Elemental magic could only be bestowed as a gift from a god . . . or through their descendants.

What had she done to earn Calypso’s gift? Why was it manifesting now? The talisman hummed, as if attuned to her thoughts. This all started happening when Blake gifted the charm. Clearly it possessed some kind of property to draw magic out of mages.

Did her family possess the same power? Had they descended from Calypso? It was an ultimate secret, and one that laid on her as heavy as the ocean’s depths. No one could know, not even Blake, and the crack of shame and guilt split open a little bit more within her, pushing against the mask of neutrality smoothing her face.

It was a known law. Mages, and practising witches outside of their territory, were either enslaved or executed—more likely the latter now. King-soon-to-be-Emperor Staghart and his predecessors, through the decades, had decreed magic was a myth, and the one true power was the royal family who governed these lands. Their family was the closest to divinity the world would encounter. Anyone who still remembered magic, or believed it to exist, had long passed since the decree.

To be graced with their presence was a holy blessing, and many citizens refused to wash after meeting the king and his family, fearing to cleanse away the godliness they’d experienced.

Absolute hogwash, Agatha always said. And there was a room full of mages in a tavern to disprove it.

A minority of people in the lands believed King Staghart was not their true leader, and still wanted to invoke the old ways of Devania. Not the magic, but their customs and beliefs. But to speak of such things landed them a one-way ticket to Deadwater Prison—or here, in the desert.

It was the tear in the Azarian Islands. Those who believed in the king, and those who didn’t.

“You’re practically screaming to the exiles where we are.”

Aryn galloped closer, his horse bucking her head in protest.

“If Sam’s singing is so bad, maybe they’ll stay away.”

Kora smiled at Samuel who feigned being hurt, a large hand clutching at his chest.

“They’ll probably think we’re murdering someone out here.”

“Oi!”

Samuel swiped for her reins to knock her off course, but she tugged Cadence away. The horse exuded a sweet nature that warmed something within Kora. She regularly swished her tail in a cheery manner, and Kora told her stories during nightfall of her adventures at sea.

Samuel often ridiculed her for talking to Cadence, stating the horse wouldn’t understand what she was saying. But whenever Kora looked into Cadence’s dark eyes, a level of understanding stared back at her. She was a creature with a conscience, with thought.

Samuel reached out and lightly smacked Cadence’s hind, and the horse suddenly bolted forward with a neigh.

“Aye, she’s off!”

Cadence galloped ahead, picking up speed as they raced towards Blake, who reeled in surprise.

“Kora!”

he snapped as she charged past.

She should have tugged on the reins, halted the horse, or turned back, but they were still so close to Bellmoor’s borders, and hadn’t seen a single exile in two full days.

So, Kora galloped, and she cried out happily as Cadence’s powerful legs pounded against the desert sand, propelling them up the oncoming sand dune.

“Stop!”

Blake’s voice was a faint whisper, carried away by a gentle breeze.

“Run.”

Kora’s heart leapt inside of her chest as her guiding, invisible voice urged her on. Her watchful spirit, her floating protector. Cadence’s speed picked up, and Kora wondered if she also heard the faithful spirit voice. Exhilaration flowed through her, and a laugh bubbled up to her lips as the winds of freedom toyed with her hair.

The sound of hooves chased them as Blake advanced on his midnight stallion. A thundering black speck against the vastness of the desert, with a matching darkened face. Maybe this will get his mood to dissipate; some friendly competition. Maybe he’ll catch her and devour her on top of the dune.

Kora flicked her reins, enjoying the race, and Cadence pushed up the final hurdle of the dune with a fierce neigh that rattled through Kora’s bones. She felt the might of the horses’ muscle, the strength of her legs, the depths of her lungs.

A black shadow darted past them, and Blake pulled Erebus around to cut them off at the top of the dune. Cadence reared up, and the bags attached to the saddle swung backwards. Kora clenched her legs, holding on before she toppled off. She ran a hand down Cadence’s mane, attempting to soothe her as the front of her body crashed down, causing Erebus to step back warily. Sweet but challenging-natured Cadence. She liked this mare.

“What are you thinking?”

Icy words flew from Blake’s lips.

“You don’t know what’s past these dunes—there could be exiles lurking, waiting to attack any second!”

Good, time to start their game.

“There’s not been anyone for two days—”

“That’s beside the point, Kora! You’re not thinking. You could’ve gotten yourself killed . . . or us!”

“Cadence wanted to stretch her legs,”

she replied sulkily.

“It’s nice to hear you speaking to me for the first time in days.”

Her tone had taken on her unmissable striking edge. This was it. He’d laugh, and they’d race across the desert, enjoying the thrill of heightened tension.

Blake stilled. His face unreadable, and a chill crept over her despite the baking hot sun burning high above them. Oh. Wait—was he actually angry? At her?

Despite her protective clothing, consisting of a mix of leathers and shirts, her skin iced at the hardened, emotionless stare emitting from him. She tugged on the light, tan bandana wrapped around her head, and nervously wiped the glass of her goggles that protected her eyes from sand blasts.

“Don’t do this. Don’t start acting out because you’re not in charge here.”

The chill turned into a permafrost. He said what?

“What?”

“You’re a captain, Kora. Of the mighty Hell’s Serpent,”

sarcasm oozed from his mouth.

“You need to start acting like it. But out here—out here I’m in charge.”

“We were both asked to escort the sentinel. It’s a joint effort,”

she bit back.

“Not here. You will do as I say—that’s final.”

Blake’s glacial green eyes bore into her unflinchingly. The male was serious. This wasn’t an act for their relationship. He’d been distancing himself purposefully—all for the sake of authority. For leadership. For a title.

“What’s this patriarchal male bullshit?”

“Kora!”

he hissed, motioning to lower her voice.

“Erick put me in charge of this mission, and I’m seeing it through. Now get in line. Before someone gets hurt—or killed.”

The words settled in her mind, and she became as quiet as the surrounding tundra. Had his desperation to impress Erick trampled all over their relationship? Was she no longer important to him?

Kora scanned his face, searching for the male who always supported her, who had vowed to serve and be with her to the end. Not even a hint of a smirk, or lust in his gaze. She was greeted with a cold, harsh face. A stranger’s eyes that were not the warm emerald she had grown to love.

“Do not undermine me,”

his voice lowered as Samuel and Aryn trotted up the sloping edge of the dune.

“You’re here as an escort. I’m here as a leader.”

The words were knives cutting into her skin, into her heart.

“Well then,”

she simmered as hot as the Sulfire Sea of the north.

“Don’t let me stop you . . . leader.”

And as she trotted forwards, edging around Blake’s horse, she leaned over and whispered.

“I see all I’m good for is escorting to your needs.”

Rage bubbled to his cool surface as Kora disobeyed him by taking the forefront of the convoy. Cadence brazenly swished her tail, her hair flicking into Erebus’ face, and Kora hummed to combat the silent loneliness as they trudged on through the desert.

Samuel didn’t sing another sea shanty after that.

They had ridden through two more, awkwardly silent, blisteringly hot days.

Two nights of sitting around their small fire, silently eating their small-portioned dry food and sipping at their emptying waterskins. Rationing whatever they had till they arrived at Whitestone Bay was becoming a challenge.

Blake had kept his distance so far from Kora his tent may as well have been in Galen. When he was present, he barely acknowledged her presence, but his jaw constantly clenched, his fingers repeatedly curling into fists.

Oh, she’d love to punch him. Get a few strikes at his legs, too. Maybe his groin.

She wasn’t getting much use of it anyway. Their five-day trek across the desert, romancing each other under the stars, curling up in a tent together. Obliterated. Gone.

Their new routine consisted of retiring to their single, popped-up tents, shivering through the ice-biting darkness. Cadence slept by the entrance of Kora’s tent, which she found comforting and endearing, and she’d sacrificed one of her blankets to cover Cadence’s rippling, muscled body during the brisk, dark chills of nightfall.

Then they’d rise before dawn, packing their camp away in uniformed motion, working in a rhythm they’d now perfected, followed by covering their bodies with light clothing to protect them from the extreme heat and sun.

And then the authoritative pissing competition would begin.

At first, Blake hung back, perhaps in guilt, allowing Kora to lead the convoy on the day of their fight. Her chin had been high, proudly guiding their group through the dunes, liaising with Samuel for directions and ensuring they didn’t wander too close to the Southern Oasis. After a few hours, he’d galloped to the front, forcing Cadence to retreat from the might of Erebus, the shadow.

Since then, it’d been consistent, unspoken overtakings. One leaping in front of the other, steering the convoy in a ridiculous zig zag path down the centre of Aldara. At least the exiles would struggle to track their footprints from the patterns. Hopefully. Perhaps Blake did have a point about compromising their position, but it was clear the exiles were nowhere near. Should she apologise? Her gut screamed, stubbornness sinking its claws. No. He’d called her an escort. He didn’t deserve one.

“We’ll be at Whitestone Bay early,”

Samuel called as they stopped to water and feed their horses under the shade of a rare cluster of palm trees. He flicked his ancient map in his hands, thick bands of rings sparkling on his fingers, unfurling the fraying edges as he peered at various lines intersecting the land.

“How soon?”

Blake asked.

“At this pace, we should be there tonight. That’s a record, for sure.”

“Good, let’s go now. The sooner we get there, the better.”

Blake studied the map briefly before nodding.

Blake hoisted onto Erebus, and motioned them all to follow him onwards. With a scowl, Kora mounted Cadence, and gently stroked her mane before squeezing her thighs, signalling to trot. Samuel sidled up to her side, with his twin horse—Rayne—gently nuzzling Cadence.

“What’s going on with you two?”

Samuel whispered.

“Nothing.”

“Are you fighting?”

“No.”

“Well, something’s wrong between you.”

“There’s nothing between us.”

Kora’s heart splintered.

Samuel arched a blonde brow as he glanced from Kora to Blake’s stiff straight back.

“I never said there was.”

Kora bit her tongue. Damned the gods, her tongue was loosening of late. Her mask slipping. She needed to tread carefully, especially with this metal noose around her neck. A huff sounded to her left, and Aryn joined them, precariously eyeing his horse. She was stunning up close, and Kora was mesmerised by her colouring.

“I think she’s slowly warming up to the others,”

Aryn spoke evenly, as if the slightest change in tone would set the horse off. Kora snickered as Cadence moved a couple inches closer to Rayne.

“She’s lovely.”

“Her name is Fajra,”

Aryn hesitantly stroked the horses’ back with two fingers.

“The stable boy said it means fiery, and he’s certainly not wrong about that.”

Fajra flicked her tail in response.

“Maybe she should’ve been my horse,”

Samuel teased.

“I like a fiery woman.”

“Absolutely not. Not after all the effort I’ve gone to get her to warm to me.”

Aryn tightened on the reins. Fajra snorted, and Cadence flicked her head.

“Aye, that’s how it is. Put in all the effort for scraps in return,”

Samuel laughed, patting Rayne’s back. Kora’s stare snagged on Blake. He was dressed in all black as usual, never wavering from the empire’s uniform, with a wrap protecting his dark head.

“Rayne’s a good boy, aren’t you, bucko?”

Samuel’s large patting hand eased, teasing the horses’ mane. Rayne arched his neck, guiding Samuel’s fingers to a spot and he scratched it, the horse visibly enjoying it. Who knew they were such conscientious creatures?

“I thought you said I was ridiculous for talking to Cadence?”

Kora elbowed him.

“Aye, because you speak of such trivial shite. No horse wants to listen to the top five manoeuvres with daggers, or the rankings of the crew. I tell Rayne real stories.”

“Like stories about how you bed a barmaid at every port?”

Aryn added.

“Let me guess, Circe was your latest conquest tale to Rayne.”

“You’re just jealous,”

Samuel flexed his bicep.

“Get some meat on you, lad. Then the lassies will swoon all over you.”

He smiled, but it wasn’t his usual dazzling charm.

“But if you must know, no. Circe is playing hard to get.”

Kora patted his thigh. His quest for love was overshadowed by his sheer, devastating handsomeness. One would think females would flock to Samuel, eager to secure him as a husband, but it had the opposite effect. He could pick any female, but none of them truly picked him. A blush burned Aryn’s cheeks, his dual tattoo dark against the reddened skin. She eyed the archer, his body tensing, the blush deepening as his golden-flecked eyes met hers.

“Is there a woman waiting for you back home?”

she asked. Where even was his home? The accent in his voice was not of Aldara.

“Oh, no. I’m not into that sort of . . . thing.”

“Liar. I know love when I see it,”

Samuel pushed.

Aryn’s blush was borderline worrying, his colouring matching Fajra’s, and he cleared his throat.

“There may have been someone, once. But I don’t know if I’ll ever see them again. It’s been years, and I find it easier to not create romantic attachments. Less pain, that way. They’re better off without me, anyway.”

Kora paused. Who had Aryn left behind to join her crew? Were they in the north, safe behind the Citadel? She bit her lip.

“Well, whoever they are, I’m sure they’d wait for you. You’re alright, Aryn Di Largo.”

He impishly smiled. Maybe she should follow his philosophy of romance. Because her attachment was currently acting like the bilge grease on the underside of a pirate’s boot.

“Well, this chipper conversation makes me crave some grog,”

Samuel muttered.

“I think you need a detox,”

Kora joked. But gods-damned, was her throat parched.

She hadn’t considered how far away they were from any water source and her fingers itched. Blake had been at the forefront of her mind for the past two days, and she’d been bitterly obsessing over his comments calling her an escort.

Alongside her masculinity, her doubts skyrocketed. A year . . . and they’d never been fully intimate together. The desert had been her solution, to break the final barrier between them. But now . . . that barrier had grown, towering so high and thick she couldn’t reach across.

Escort. Murderer. Thief.

The insults branded her mind. Did she deserve to be captain? To lead others when she’d committed atrocities that’d cause an executioner to re-evaluate their decisions.

“Everyone knows grog solves all of life’s problems,”

Samuel’s smile beamed, the initial sadness fading as he discussed his second love—alcohol.

“To be fair, I’d have a drop in this heat—"

“Aryn!”

Blake snapped, interrupting him.

“Return to your post.”

Aryn bristled, his hands turning white as he fisted his reins. Kora inspected him with surprise—and curiosity—by his physical response. His jaw clenched, and his eyes narrowed at Blake through his thick lashes. Kora was glad to know she wasn’t the only one annoyed by Blake’s swaggering arrogance.

The bilge-sucking, mega scurvy—she couldn’t finish the thought. Not when her insults were reserved for pirates and rebels.

“As you wish.”

He pulled up his scarf to cover his face, and guided Fajra to guard the rear of the convoy.

Blake’s gaze snapped to Kora and she maintained his glare. Harsh against her vision, the sun beamed behind him like he was some kind of saviour. She scoffed, but her pulse doubled as she squinted. Darkness writhed around his frame, coalescing with Erebus until a huge form stared at her with ethereal, green eyes.

In one blink, it vanished, and his glare transformed into a frown. She shook her head as they continued their parade across the desert, downing the remainder of her waterskin in hopes of warding off the hallucinations.