Page 39 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

I’m the sailing master, and I say this is the best route.”

Samuel exasperatedly pointed at the large map stretched across Erick’s mahogany desk.

“No, that’s too long. Why not go straight across towards the Sulfire Sea?”

Blake traced a line across the map.

“No, no, no!”

Samuel moaned, pulling on his beard.

The bickering sounds faded out as Kora hung back, leaning by the entrance to Erick’s office. It was made entirely of wood—a similar chestnut tone to his hair and eyes—and decorated with floor-to-ceiling wainscoting. Deep-green velvet drapes hung from the large, black-arched windows on the left side of the room.

“Neither route will work,”

Theron’s voice cut through the grown males quibbling.

A small lit fireplace donned the rear of the room, and bookcases with glass cabinets lined the right-hand wall, filled with an impressive suite of literature and endless reports. Right in the centre of the room, beneath a brass candle chandelier, laid the large mahogany desk.

Her attention snapped back to the group. Samuel stood near the fire, his large hands pressed on the aged, faded map of the Azarian Islands. Blake stood to his left, Theron to his right, and Erick next to him. Ivar hung in the shadows pocketing the corners of the room, his dark clothing and hair blending in.

“What did I miss?”

Aryn strolled through the doorway, taking position against the wall next to her.

“Just . . . this.”

She waved a hand to the males arguing over the map, pointing at which route to sail to Talmon Island. Gods spare her.

Erick had called a meeting for a debrief of their ten-day escort. After seeing the bruises on her neck, he knew all didn’t go well. Blake had given a shortened, yet tense, explanation of the voyage, expertly skimming over what happened with the exiles—not letting Erick know how many there had been . . . and what a bloodbath it’d become.

If the truth came to light, they’d be stripped of their ranks for gross misconduct. The exiles may be banished from society, but they weren’t fully-fledged criminals.

And their blood stained their hands.

It wouldn’t matter now. Their bodies would’ve become food for the wild animals lurking in the desert, perhaps the boars. Or any surviving exiles who were starved enough to taste one of their own, but there weren’t many of them left. Just like the pirates, she’d trimmed the exiles down to a scant amount. Still, the Skytors must be powerful to organise a large number like that. What kind of power had Finlay possessed in his trembling hands?

Theron had barged into the manor mid-meeting, walking with a royal’s pride as he declared he required passage to the Citadel immediately—and he was invoking their contract as his escorts. Most probably to ensure they didn’t blab about what happened in the desert. Whether it was the exile massacre, or Callan, she wasn’t sure. Either one would stain his royal reputation.

The relief had washed over Kora like a thunderous wave. It meant Blake had to remain employed to Hell’s Serpent just a bit longer as Theron’s escort. They hadn’t had the chance to speak of his future yet. She feared she would become utterly undone once they did. That a line would be drawn in the sand that neither of them would be able to cross again.

“The Black Abyss has grown more treacherous,”

Theron gestured to the black spot staining the map between Aldara and Talmon.

“If we attempt to cross it, we will not survive.”

“You know this how?”

Suspicion creased Samuel’s brow.

“I wouldn’t be a very good sentinel if I didn’t know these things.”

She bristled at his words. Something about them was so . . . strange. Odd. Familiar? She rubbed the dull ache in her temple. Aryn glanced at her, raising a brow, the tattoo on his face stretching from the movement.

Indeed, Theron was an especially intuitive sentinel. Kora narrowed her stare, raking in his rippling muscles, untarnished armour, and secret compartments woven throughout, containing his throwing knives. The way his eyes seemed to be all-seeing, ever observing his surroundings as if he could see through to someone’s core.

She’d met a sentinel once before. They’d been a weedy, snivelling thing, turning their nose up at anything they deemed less than—which included Kora herself. She had flashed her teeth and daggers at them and sent them scarpering back to their dry kingdom.

No—Theron was certainly not the usual kind of sentinel.

“Can we sail around it?”

Blake traced a slim gap between the Black Abyss and Peril Cove on the map.

Kora stepped forward to the desk, slipping between Erick and Blake, Aryn silently hovering near her as he too scanned the map.

“We’ll be too close to Peril Cove,”

she murmured.

“and last time we did that . . .”

She trailed off as she met Blake’s emerald gaze.

She’d miss that gaze. Those secret looks they would shoot each other, their unspoken connection coursing between them. She averted her stare before the cracks in her world shattered.

“What about the other side?”

Theron pointed towards where the Sulfire Sea engulfed the coast of Otrovia, famous for its marshlands and swamps.

Samuel shook his head.

“The Sulfire Sea is also treacherous. It’s like sailing through boiling water. It’ll break the ship apart before we even reach the shore.”

“And it’s acidic,”

Aryn added.

“The king wants to control these islands. Fat lot of luck it’ll do him,”

Samuel muttered to himself, rolling his grey eyes.

“Draining us dry of—”

Theron and Erick combined threw Samuel a glare, and Kora kept her eyes glued to the map, unable to handle another confrontation as Blake hissed at Samuel about holding his tongue.

“I just don’t understand why we’re sailing again. We’ve just completed a contract,”

Samuel retaliated. He’d been exceptionally quiet during the journey after the exile attack, his soul wearier than most. Samuel loved sailing. But now he didn’t want to?

“My reasons for reaching the Citadel are none of your concern,”

Theron snapped.

“Appreciate that I want to continue lining your pockets with silver, sailor.”

Kora blocked out the bickering as the Black Abyss captured her attention. Legend said it started as a trench, formed when the islands were cleaved apart by the gods, each island becoming a home to a strong, elemental force. The Devanian scholars never confirmed which island belonged to which deity, but Kora liked to think Aldara was Calypso’s.

Over the years, the trench had expanded deeper and wider until it eventually became the yawning jaws of death within the ocean. Any who dared to cross it would meet their demise. Sucked into it, never to see daylight again. It resulted in the unfortunate black splash of ink on every sailor’s map of the islands. The darkest part of the seas. So deep and black that sailors couldn’t see their fingers in front of them if they succumbed to its depths.

“We have to go around.”

She traced a line with her finger.

“Around Peril Cove, past the Calypso Islands.”

Her finger moved westward, towards the Mist, before shooting northwards past the small littering of tiny islands and looping back round to the east above the Black Abyss.

“You’ll be risking yourselves between Peril Cove and the Mist,”

Erick observed.

She chewed the inside of her cheek. It was a risk sailing towards Galen—towards the growing Mist. But there was no other way when observing the map . . . and something about the shrouded, red-marked island tugged at her. Beckoning her to sail to it.

“It’s the only way,”

she pressed.

“It’s either that, or risk the Black Abyss.”

“Those pirates may still be there,”

Erick pushed back.

“Last time you sailed there, you nearly didn’t make it back.”

Blake cut her a warning glance and she suppressed a glare. She didn’t need prompting about holding her tongue, too.

“We’ll follow the standard shipping routes,”

Blake proposed.

“We can sail under a fake flag, try to blend in with the exports.”

Theron nodded.

“It’s a good idea. Sail under the guise of one of the noble houses’ goods shipments.”

“What’s to stop the pirates attacking us anyway?”

Kora replied bitterly.

“Besides, they’ll recognise my ship.”

“Unless we sailed with another captain?”

Theron’s question was brazen.

“You’re welcome to join, as a crew member.”

Deathly quiet settled as Kora peered through her lashes at the dark male. His vambraces glinted in the sun where his arms folded across his chest. If he offered the contract to another captain, it would free Blake, and push him towards the army. Her heart seized. She’d have to settle for impersonating goods shipments.

“We’re taking my ship.”

“Captain . . . maybe we should—”

“We’re taking my ship!”

she snapped at Samuel.

She wouldn’t have her plan to reach the Shannara Territory jeopardised. By sailing with her own ship, she could control the navigation—and Blake’s employment. It’d worked out perfectly so far, with Theron’s urgency to reach the Citadel.

As his escorts, they would be invited onto Talmon Island, and into the renowned Citadel. Where she could sneak off and trek across the island to Shannara, leaving Blake in charge of Hell’s Serpent and the crew. He wouldn’t be able to join the army if his captain had abandoned her post. It was a risk she was willing to take. For him.

And it’d keep her at a distance from the Skytors. She’d bet her entire coffers they’d avoid Talmon if they could, seeing as it was the empire’s headquarters.

Yes, it was all coming together nicely.

Even if it meant she may never become admiral. May never fulfil her vow of eradicating pirates. But she couldn’t do any of those things anyway with this death sentence hanging around her neck every second of every day.

“Taking your ship where?”

Kora blinked at the figure lurking in the doorway. “Bree?”

Bree stepped forward, holding her chin high as her rounded blue eyes grazed over the tense individuals in the room. Her royal-blue skirts swished around her, so eerily similar to the colour of Demon Sea Siren. The finest gold jewellery adorned her, dazzling against her deep, rich skin, and her braided hair was swept up, the golden-infused braids floating around her neck with each step.

“Miss Hydrafort,”

Erick bowed.

“We’re just in a meeting—”

“I can see.”

Only an individual of noble status would dare cut off the commodore. Bree’s inquisitive stare flicked over Kora before landing on Blake, and Kora’s gut knotted. No, not now, please.

“Where are you taking your ship, Kora?”

Bree approached, placing a hand on her friend’s shoulder, her fingers curling until they bit into her tunic.

“Are you leaving me again?”

Kora forced a smile.

“I can’t stay, unfortunately. We’re heading to the Citadel.”

“Oh!”

Bree clapped her hands.

“Amazing news! I also require travel to home.”

“You’re going home?”

“Yes, my father has summoned me,”

Bree glanced sideways at the map.

“Can I travel with you? It’d be so good to spend some more time together.”

Bree smiled sweetly at Blake, and nausea churned within Kora. Calypso spare her.

“We have no time to escort civilians,”

Theron’s brooding voice cut through like a cold splash.

A small snort sounded from Samuel as Bree twirled on her foot to face Theron. Their similarities were uncanny as they both regarded each other, casting the same, judgmental royal stare over each other. She hovered at his muscled frame, breath hitching.

“I can assure you I’m no mere civilian,”

Bree paused, her full lips pursing.

“But . . . who are you?”

“Theron,”

he replied bluntly.

“Royal sentinel to the Staghart family.”

Bree’s slow blink was her only indication of surprise, followed by a toss of her braids over her shoulder. She stepped closer to Theron.

“Well, Theron with no last name. My family owns the Citadel, and I will be coming on this voyage. I’m sure, as two people cut from the same expensive cloth, you would understand the necessity of a summons.”

Kora raised a brow at Bree’s boldness and cut a look towards Theron. Indeed, he’d never shared his last name, or Callan's and Ivar’s. A shroud of mystery surrounded this male, as dark as his own shadow. Theron stilled as Bree invaded his proximity, her bosom fluttering with each breath.

“Perhaps we can spend the voyage getting to know each other,”

she purred.

“I’d like to get an insight to what my cousins are up to across the seas.”

She placed a jewelled hand on his armour and Blake tensed. Bree was outrageously brave. No, stupidly brave.

Theron looked down his nose at Bree. Disgust, or something similar, fleeted across his face before it tightened, and he adverted his gaze from Bree to Kora.

“Be ready to set sail at dawn, Cadell.”

He strode out.

Ivar melted from his shadowy corner, silently prowling across the wooden floor. He paused next to Bree and dipped his head, his dark eyes devouring her, before following Theron out of the manor. Aryn’s inquisitive stare never left Ivar’s movements until he was out of sight.

“Well,”

Bree flicked her fan open and fanned her chest, drawing the eyes of all males in the room, except Erick.

“Isn’t this exciting?”

“It certainly is,”

Blake responded tensely, his jaw clenched.

Kora was sure excitement wasn’t the word for what she was experiencing.

The glowing white figure had been drifting around the dome for a while now.

Kora sat, her legs crossed inside the protective glacial blue bubble she had built brick by traumatised brick.

Her sanctuary.

For the past few nights, since the exile attack, she’d been materialising here. Waking up in the in-between of reality and dreams. Past and present. Life and death.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

The white thread, slithering like a snake, had taken the form of a tall figure. Its glowing hand created a constant tapping noise as it searched for a way in. A way to break through. A way to break her.

“Go away,”

she moaned, rubbing her face. Would she ever get any peace?

Since she’d built the mental dome, it had waited patiently outside, as if it were watching her. Never leaving, never moving . . . that is until now. It circled the curved structure, tapping every clear, blue-tinted brick. Its glow had dimmed, but it lit the void lingering outside.

Tap. Tap. Tap.

“Go away!”

She fell back, summoning a plump cushion to soften her back and head. She wasn’t sure why it still lingered. Why the connection was still hanging on by a literal thread. Why she could hear a voice no one else could.

Was she insane? Probably.

The incessant tapping continued, steadily growing faster and louder until it became a ringing in her ears. She marched to the edge of the dome, glaring at this simple, white, annoying, mystical thread pretending to be a person.

To be someone she knew.

“What do you want?”

It responded with a single tap.

“I don’t need you anymore,”

she growled. Her rippling, water humanoid form was all she could manifest in this place, and her growl bubbled in her liquid throat.

The white thread spasmed, the figure shuddering, almost as if . . . as if it were laughing at her.

“What?”

she snapped. Her temper flared and her skin steamed.

“I needed you. And you weren’t there. You’ve been in my head, yapping and nudging for as long as I can remember, and when I needed you—where were you?”

The glow dimmed further.

“That’s what I thought,”

she muttered.

She sat down by the edge of her shimmering, protective dome, and rested her head against the mystical bricks. She could almost feel the cool surface. Pity it wasn’t real, it was a nice reprieve for her headaches.

“Let me in.”

Kora shot forward as the thread spread its fibres against the brick by her head. Its hand stretching and unfurling into a webbed structure.

“No.”

She shuffled back.

“Never. Never again.”

Part THREE

The CITADEL