Page 44 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

The inn Erick had chosen was decadent. Floors lined with emerald and gold runners, and rough cave walls covered in tapestries depicting the Talmon Empire’s history, interspersed with wooden doors leading to rooms.

Kora followed the winding tunnel, her fingers brushing over the tendrils of ivy hanging from the ceiling. Room four, the innkeeper had said. It was like a maze, and she exhaled with relief when she located her door. A brass plate, entwined with leaves and the number four etched into it, shone in the flickering light, next to a tapestry depicting Admiral Darkon.

He stood atop a pile of bodies, Staghart flag in one hand, the flames of the land roaring behind him as he fought in the end of the conquest, before the empire existed. His black hair shrouded his equally dark eyes, hiding his face. Darkon had perished not long after uniting the islands, succumbing to infection and illness from the war.

Shame he didn’t have Koji there to help him. His salve worked wonders. Despite its stench.

Key in hand, she moved to unlock the door, but stilled as the sound of a familiar voice floated through the cavernous tunnel.

“It’s growing stronger every day. I’ve had reports of it escaping the trench.”

Erick.

“We cannot kill it—we have to find some way of containing it.”

Theron.

She glanced at the brass key hovering by the lock. After a moment’s hesitation, she pocketed the key and followed the sound of their voices. Keeping her steps quiet on the runners, she clung to the shadowy walls, hiding from the light of dotted lanterns. She paused when she reached a door slightly ajar, a thin beam of warm light cutting through the tunnel.

“I know, I know.”

Erick’s sigh was familiar. Kora was sure he’d be pinching his nose.

“I have connections with Shannara,”

Theron’s voice was hushed.

“I can request them to—”

“No, no,”

Erick cut him off.

“We cannot get the witches involved, not with the war looming.”

She bit the inside of her cheek. It wasn’t uncommon for the empire to offer contracts and resources to the witches in return for their services. Surely, that’s what they meant. She desperately hewed to the idea that their connection with the witches was purely contractual, and in respect of the Shannara Accord Treaty.

Even if witches were allying with pirates . . .

“There’s someone else we can ask, but you may not like it.”

A thick pause.

“Who?”

“The Skytors.”

Almighty Thanos. Had she heard that right?

Kora’s hands shook. Her mind roaring. Cold shock swept over her, and she leaned against the wall for support as her world tilted. The gods damned Skytors.

“Absolutely not,”

Erick snapped.

“They will be able to do it undetected.”

“No. If they get caught, it’ll be catastrophic. We cannot risk it. It’ll jeopardise too much. If they discover my name, they will turn against us.”

We? Us? Her vision swayed. Erick and Theron knew the Skytors—knew what they were, who they were. Had he known Finlay, or John? What was Erick doing, working with rebels? Was he aware of the mages they harboured? Or the exiles they’d enlisted to capture her in the desert? And how did Theron know them?

Just when she thought she’d escaped the Skytors, they still followed her.

She collapsed against the wall, her legs unable to offer support. She placed a hand over her mouth, muffling her ragged breathing.

“We have to do something,”

Theron’s dark tone levelled, his words so sharp they could slice flesh.

“The kraken is close to escaping. My king does not need a creature capsizing and killing every sailor in the seas. Not with a war at stake.”

What?

A kraken was a myth . . . wasn’t it?

“It won’t do that,”

Erick murmured casually.

Apparently, they’re real. She shuddered. A fucking kraken.

“What? It’s a kraken. Of course, it will.”

“Trust me,”

Erick exhaled, followed by the sound of a stein placed on a table.

“It is under control.”

“By who?”

“Davy Jones.”

Theron scoffed.

“That’s just legend.”

“The Black Abyss appeared ten years ago, Theron. It started as a normal trench, that’d been there for thousands of years, completely harmless. Then one day, it grew. The waters turning so black and so deep no creature could survive it. But one did—the kraken.”

Erick’s voice turned solemn.

“Yes, and now it’s trying to escape. I do not need the story, Cadell.”

It unnerved Kora to learn Theron called them by the same name. That it rolled off Theron’s tongue with such familiarity, as if Erick and him were . . . friends.

“There was a war between us and Galen at the same time,”

Erick continued, ignoring Theron’s growing impatience.

“A man involved in that war was Davy Jones. He fought for Galen, possessing impossible . . . abilities. He could do things I’ve never seen another person do.”

“And how does Davy Jones control the kraken? His legend is that he’s dead, and drags sailors’ souls to the depths of the Locker. A tale to scare children.”

“Some legends are real. He controls the kraken because the Black Abyss is Davy Jones’ Locker.”

Theron scoffed again in disbelief.

“How do you know this? How is this even real? His legend has been around for decades, not ten years.”

“Because . . . I sent Davy Jones to the depths of the abyss myself when—”

Crack.

Kora froze. Her hands had dug into the rocky ground without her realising, and water oozed from the terrain, latching onto her skin. No, no, no. The crack webbed, skittering up the rough wall, splintering the wooden doorframe, and the wood creaked, the frame shuddering.

“What’s that?”

Footsteps approached, the beam of light darkening.

Kora lurched forward, descending into the pocketed shadows of the tunnel. She couldn’t get caught, but she’d been unable to hear another word. Another lie. Surely it was all still legend. Blind trust in bedtime stories. Krakens weren’t real. Davy Jones wasn’t real.

But Erick’s association with the Skytors was real.

Her world had been created and nurtured on a bed of lies. No one was truthful, not even herself. How could she be if she’d been born from lies? If everyone around her lied, surely she was destined to become a liar herself?

Kora stormed into her cave-like room, flinging onto the rickety wooden bed and delving underneath the thin, sage-green covers. Her talisman burned her skin, and she was sure it was evolving again after her spectacle outside.

She didn’t care anymore.

Nothing mattered anymore.

It was hard to care when she wasn’t sure what was real anymore.