Page 36 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

The rolling, lush green lands of Bellmoor’s territory were in their sights, and the terror and tension eased from Kora’s traumatised body as they neared the border.

She was sick of the desert. Sick of the sun. Sick of males.

Aryn had barely given her a glance over with his medical field training expertise. Mumbling to himself about gods-knew-what before mounting Fajra with Ivar after a very quiet, very awkward breakfast. All the males seemed to be taking a wide berth around her, so she stuck close to Cadence, repetitively running her hands through the mare’s mane for comfort.

Blake and Theron had taken charge of the convoy, leading them across the final dunes. Aryn and Ivar scouted the rear, leaving Kora in her familiar position of riding next to Samuel.

His face had remained pensive for most of the journey, his usual jovial personality muted. Even his eyes seemed duller. Whenever she tried to capture his gaze, his grey stare would dart away, shame riddling his face. Why was he ashamed? He hadn’t been the one to violate her last night. She shuddered. She hoped he didn’t see her differently after Callan proved how easy it was to infiltrate her . . . tent.

Thank gods that was all he’d achieved.

She felt how Samuel looked. Kora had awoken with a hollowness within her, and her mind was lonely, confined to her new mental dome. She cast her eyes over Samuel. He’d tied his blonde hair up, knotted at the base of his head, with a selection of braids weaved throughout. She needed to know their friendship hadn’t changed. That he didn’t perceive her as weak. A question poised on her lips; she opened her mouth—

“CAAAWWWWWWWWW!”

Her head whipped towards the sound.

“Halt!”

Blake yelled from in front.

They came to a stop atop of the final dune. Before them laid the remainder of the sparse tundra, blending into a canopy of palm trees and lush foliage lining the House of Bellmoor’s border. Pushing her goggles up, Kora scanned the horizon, squinting against the early afternoon sun. In the far distance, she could just make out the pale, towering turrets of Stormkeep Fortress. The tension eased a fraction more. She’d never been so glad to see those ivory stones.

“CAAAWWWWWWWWW!”

The cry sounded again, from the west, near the edge of the green land cutting through the desert leading to the House of Blackstone territory. Six heads angled towards it.

“What the fuck is it? A bird?”

Samuel looked at the clear skies. Kora’s scalp prickled, and her body thrummed.

“I’ve got a bad feeling . . .”

She swallowed the knot forming in her throat. A perfect bruise of the chain circled her throat, and she tentatively brushed her fingers over it. A painful reminder.

“CAAAWWWWWWWWWOOOOOOOOO!”

Another bird-like cry followed, from the east, and she peered at the dense greenery trailing to the bountiful farming lands.

“It’s a signal,”

Theron hissed.

“We need to get to cover. Now!”

He pointed towards the palm trees edging the Bellmoor family’s territory directly in front.

“Flat out, it’ll take us thirty minutes to cover that distance,”

Samuel replied, his large hands tightening on the reins.

“Then we better get moving.”

Kora glanced at Aryn and Ivar.

“Can you cover us from the rear?”

Both archers nodded solemnly. A solid inch of space rested between their bodies, their muscles tight, holding their frames apart. What had Aryn seen when he’d tracked Ivar last night? Something was going on with them.

“Drop any excess baggage,”

Blake ordered her.

Out of them all, Cadence carried the most saddle bags. With a curt nod, Kora cut the ties to several bags with one of her daggers. Some of the others followed suit, dropping excess rations, even a tent and clothes. Anything but water and weapons.

“Don’t look back,”

Blake commanded.

“Don’t veer off course. The horses will pick up speed as we converge onto harder ground. Have your weapons ready. And don’t stop for each other, your goal is the border.”

The cries continued, growing louder, turning into a low chant, and Kora’s skin prickled in response, her breathing quickening. She couldn’t spot anyone—anything—around them, and the chanting echoed everywhere with no source. A bolting shiver skittered down her spine. This was bad.

“Now!”

She flicked her reins, her knees tightening as Cadence leapt forwards. The horse’s strong legs pounded the sandy earth, and they flew down the curving slope of the final dune of the Silent Tundra. Kora exhaled as the desert faded away.

She raised up off the saddle, keeping her head low as Cadence gained speed, her beautiful pale mane flying in the wind. A dark, thundering shadow galloped to her left, and Erebus approached with Blake and Theron atop, the latter wielding his axes, his deep, chocolate eyes scanning around them, high on alert.

“Cadell!”

Theron’s voice cut through the blasting winds.

On instinct, Kora veered Cadence to the right, just as a wooden, iron-tipped lance speared through the air, plummeting into the sandy ground a foot to her left. Shit. That’d been close. She reached behind, grasping one of her curved, sabre daggers, palming the malachite hilt. Its presence strengthened her nerves, and she urged Cadence to keep galloping.

A group of exiles converged from the western edge of the palm trees, armed with bows, lances, and crossbows. Giant boars, with thick tusks erupting from their dark, hairy jowls, interspersed the diaspora. Her gut hollowed as they advanced.

They bore weapons of the empire.

The ground flew fast beneath them, hardening as sand faded into grass. The horses’ speed increased, shortening the distance between them and the exiles.

The exiles charged, raising their lances and bows. Samuel yelled from Kora’s right and she spared a glance—a second group poured from the cluster of trees, equally armed to the teeth. Bearing the shining, silver armour of the empire.

Kora’s mind roiled. First, their finest ships in the armada, and now their weapons and armour were stolen, as well. A puzzle piece clicked in her mind, the grand picture that was shrouded in fog brightening. The attacks on the outposts.

“Keep going!”

Blake’s voice commanded over the sound of the wind, the beating of the hooves, and the squawking hollers of exiles.

Kora’s heart pounded as the enemy neared and her chest tightened, her body breaking out in a sweat. They were seriously outnumbered.

Ivar began firing arrows as he expertly perched on Fajra, his legs wrapped around Aryn’s slim waist to hold him steady, their bodies flush. Each body he shot crumpled—their fellow deserters stumbling over the bleeding corpses to continue their hunt of the royal convoy. The edge of the border neared, but it was blocked on both sides as their enemies closed in.

Kora paled as Theron revealed a small selection of throwing daggers from a hidden compartment in his leathers by his legs. No harm could come to him—at any cost. They needed to get him out of here. Erick’s stern face flashed in her mind. She could not fail.

Blake whipped his reins, urging Erebus forward. The exiles’ wild cries and stomping feet became a shrill noise in her ears. All she had were her two daggers to defend herself, to defend her crew . . . she had her powers . . . but she couldn’t use those. Even if it could save them all.

Up ahead, she spied a small break in the swath of baying palm trees, leading to a narrow path within the foliage. They were roughly a mile out as she gauged the distance. It seemed wide enough for the horses to fit through, and an easy way to escape.

She squeezed Cadence with her knees, her voice tearing from her throat, challenging the horse to run, and to run fast.

Lances and arrows rained down upon them, and the cabal dispersed, evading the threatening might of weapons spearing their way. Kora sucked in a breath, momentarily thanking the gods as they weaved around the deadly metal rain.

Their luck was surely about to end soon.

Ivar fired more arrows, rowing down another ten exiles, yet they kept converging—pressing in until they circled the sides. She cried out to Aryn as a crossbow wielder took aim, standing atop of a cluster of boulders, steadying himself in the wind. Ivar reached around Aryn to take control of the fiery Fajra as Aryn nocked an arrow in his longbow, pulling the bowstring taut.

For a moment, his eyes blazed, the golden flecks burning as bright as the sun, before fading. Kora blinked, wiping the lens of her goggles.

He inhaled once and released, the arrow zinging through the air and plummeting into one of the crossbow wielder’s eyes. He toppled off the boulder, his scream a whisper on his lips, blood spurting from his head.

But it wasn’t enough.

Another male approached the fallen body, collecting the weapon to fire at them again. Gods, how many people had been banished as exiles?

They were so close she could distinguish their features. Their deeply tanned, rough skin. Their thinning hair, the loose, dirtied clothing, and makeshift leathers from hides of wild animals—and the brand marked on the centre of their foreheads from a hot poker. In the shape of the empire’s insignia. Marred for life, by the kingdom that cast them out.

The sound of Aryn’s longbow firing continued, a constant whoosh of air, and the eastern exiles fell in quick succession one after the other. A trail of bleeding dead, staining the sand. The exiles to the west faltered for a moment and Kora seized her opportunity.

“Ahead!”

she yelled, pointing to the narrow clearing. They could make it. They just had to listen and follow her.

“We’re out!”

Aryn shouted, slinging his longbow over his shoulder.

“Stop!”

A sudden commotion from Erebus had her twisting towards Blake. Theron argued with him before he vaulted from the rear of the horse, landing on the ground in a crouch, speckles of sand billowing around his huge form. Before Kora could comprehend what was happening, Ivar silently followed suit, dismounting Fajra with a feline’s grace that unnerved her.

“What are you doing?”

Samuel pulled Rayne up short, the horse rearing in protest. Aryn deftly pivoted Fajra, heading for Ivar, yelling at him to get back on the horse.

No . . . they had to get to the border.

“We will hold them off!”

Theron armed himself as he sprinted towards the exiles. He threw his throwing daggers with an impressive precision that Kora couldn’t help briefly admiring. As she slowed Cadence down to a precarious trot, Blake signalled her to gallop towards the border, his face urging her to get to safety.

The exiles spotted Theron and Ivar, and with a unified bellow, barrelled towards them, swords and daggers raised; a couple boars chuffing hot air.

As soon as Blake dismounted Erebus, giving the horse a light slap on the rear to escape to the trees, Kora yanked on Cadence’s reins, causing the horse to whinny as they stopped. Blake squaring off with the incoming slaughter of exiles, armed with only his golden cutlass sword, made her gut drop entirely.

He shouted at Aryn and Samuel to take Theron and Ivar away—that he would fight the exiles alone, and Kora’s heart knotted and folded over in response. Her bowels twisting, mind screaming, ears roaring.

The Darkoning Trials snared her mind as she relived the final contest . . . Blake fighting through wave after wave of soldiers to become the champion. She could still smell the blood, and the dirt-packed arena. The scent of burnished metal . . . and leather and petrichor.

That champion stood before her once again now, his green eyes blazing with fury. But this time, he wouldn’t survive.

The red haze blanketed not only her mind, but her entire body. Her vision blurred, her features smoothing as the mask suppressed her fear, and allowed rage to grab hold.

Before she could convince herself to run to safety, Kora led Cadence to the edge of the palm trees, promising the horse she would return. Clasping her daggers in her sweaty palms, she ran towards the mass of raging exiles.