Page 50 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

The tension of the war council meeting hung heavy in the air.

Kora arrived late, and her cheeks still burned from the number of eyes that had turned to her when she’d stumbled into the grand chamber. Many of those eyes had lingered on her scar, whispers rolling across the crowd.

She hadn't expected an audience. Apparently, Barron didn’t do anything small.

The chamber was like an amphitheatre, with rows of circular stone seating jutting from stone walls. Moss had been sprinkled to create cushioned seating, and she wriggled awkwardly on it, feeling as though all the moisture had been drained from the atmosphere. Her leathers felt tight and constricting, and she licked her dry lips, wishing for a gust of ocean air or spray of water.

Even a trickle of rain would do.

At the bottom, in the centre of the great room, was one very large, golden diamond-shaped table. Barron sat at the head, flanked by the familiar brown and grey wave of Erick's hair, and Theron's gleaming dark head on either side. Sat with them, were the remaining seven viceroys, including Otto. His dreaded locks were swept to the top of his head, and he’d exchanged his shimmering, ballroom attire for a simple black suit.

Sunlight poured in from a gaping hole in the ceiling—no windows, just one, huge, perfectly round hole to the skies. Kora squinted. A whirling pattern had been carved into the rim of the hole, but she couldn't make it out.

Unfortunately, arriving late meant she was left with the empty seats right at the back of the chamber, so high up, and too far away from everything. She could do with Samuel's spyglass right now. She scanned the crowd, seeking a familiar head of blonde hair or longbow. Nothing.

But her gaze located Blake instantly. Like a gods-damned moth drawn to a flame. He was sat at the front and bottom, to Barron's right on the first row, and his entire demeanour was different. Gone was the drawling first mate, and instead he was as stiff as a gangplank, his eyes trained on the back of Barron's head.

And next to him . . . was Bree.

He’s got to be fucking joking.

Kora looked away. She didn't want to know if she’d imagined Bree placing her hand on Blake's knee. The ember erupted in her chest, and she sucked in moss-tainted breaths to tame her anger—her pain.

Why was she putting their friendship before her feelings? Clearly Bree wasn’t. And why was Blake sitting there? He had no business sitting on the first row of the council meeting. It was reserved for the closest advisors of the viceroys and their immediate family. Like Bree.

Unless he had sat there . . . for Bree.

Blake’s words earlier had nearly ripped Kora's heart. She was sure whatever they had was now over.

There was no water beast to soothe her, and a hollow emptiness had carved out her essence. The longer it was absent, the more a rage simmered, alighting her skin. A rage at Finlay for lying to her, at Erick for withholding secrets from her. A rage for Blake tossing her aside and seeking out Bree's affections.

Her hands shook. Despite the fire raging within her, the skin of her chest felt unnaturally cold. She missed the talisman. In her blind devotion to securing Blake’s employment, she’d disregarded the very thing strengthening her. Changing her. Evolving her.

Had she really wanted to hand it over to the Silver Sisters? Kora fidgeted on the moss dampening her leathers. Agatha never confirmed the talisman would truly suck her dry, turning her into a husk. If anything, it felt like it had stabilised her power, making it easier to channel.

But it didn’t matter now. It was gone.

“I'm here.”

A small, warm breeze tickled down the length of her neck and she breathed it in. It smelled and tasted of steel and something familiar. He smelled familiar.

But she had something new to focus on, to funnel all her rage and misery into. Her talisman was missing, along with her infinite sea of strength. And someone in this room was the thief.

And the Citadel had statues of Devani gods.

It was time to wipe the slate clean and start again.

What good was planning everything anyway? It’d only granted her disappointment and misery.

“Galen have announced their attack,”

Barron's voice was a clap of lightning, bolting across the amphitheatre, and she jolted from her seat, her back smacking against the stone wall.

“They seek to scare us, but they have only fuelled our fire.”

A murmur weaved through the crowd, but Barron waved his hand and it instantly ceased. She leaned forward. The male had power, and Kora could feel it rippling from him from where she sat.

It was how she imagined freezing to death felt like.

“I have invited you all here,”

Barron gestured to the grand room.

“to show you that we will stand with our people, and we will protect you from those who threaten us. My subjects, you are all so important to me. Each and every one of you.”

Barron’s gaze landed directly on her and she stopped breathing.

Indeed, she was confused as to why the majority of the citizens of the Citadel were at a war council meeting. She’d been expecting just Barron, his advisors, and her crew to be present. His eyes hovered on her for a moment, and he smiled before directing his attention to those at the table—the important people.

“What do you propose we do?”

a weedy-looking viceroy asked.

Wharton Bellmoor then, judging by the beansprout frame and white hair. And sat beside him, was Jacinth Blackstone. Drowning in black lace, a mourning veil obscuring her face, her black-gloved hands were placed on the golden table, twiddling a quill as she took notes. Kora shrank into her seat.

Most of the viceroys were also members of the noble houses, with a couple of independent wealthy males placed among them. Except for Jacinth. She had advanced as a viceroy over her husband, not for compassion in aiding citizens, but for her cold cunning in politics.

And they all looked to Barron for direction. Kora shivered. Why was he leading the meeting? Viceroys were meant to be equal rulers.

“We will meet them head on,”

Barron declared.

“We will take the war to them, away from our lands.”

“But how?”

a gruff voice asked—an Ironwharf. His name evaded Kora. There were only so many uppity nobles’ names she could remember.

“We don’t know what their defences are, or their numbers. We can only battle them on water, which means we are limited to our armada.”

The murmurs returned, voices panicking and worrying.

“My people,”

Barron’s cracking voice silenced them.

“Do not fear. Our—my armada is strong. I have no concerns about the capabilities of the fleets. But we are also prepared. I knew this day would come, and I possess a weapon. A weapon that has never been seen before, and we will use it to crush the parasites that plague our lands.”

An applause echoed across the room, and dizziness swarmed her. A sickening twist of her guts. What kind of weapon could battle an entire armada and pirates? Were the Skytors aware of such a weapon? For the first time, Kora worried about the enemy. They wouldn’t stand a chance.

“What’s the weapon?”

A viceroy leaned forward.

“I must keep it secret,”

Barron replied.

“As much as I adore you all, my subjects, I cannot risk your safety if our advantages are revealed.”

She surveyed the room. Did he suspect a rat? She knew the feeling all too well.

“We’ve had reports of pirates and rebels attacking our outposts. Witches in Shannara are leaving their territory and breaking the accord. Marshans are defying their noble leaders—the House of Draiglo in Otrovia.”

The viceroys squirmed in their gilded seats, and Kora sat back, exhaling a shaky breath. It was more than Galen—it was everyone they were up against. The Marshans of Otrovia were considered outsiders in the islands. Normally, the Draiglo family weren’t included in the suite of royal nobles, after a private disagreement between them and the Hydraforts years ago resulted in them being exiled from society. It was them versus the world.

A prickling sensation ran down Kora’s neck. Something wasn’t right.

“And when we defeat the scum, we’ll finally claim Galen under the flag of the Talmon Empire.”

Cheers and clapping roared, spectators beaming at their saviour for the islands. At the possibility of eliminating their decades-long enemy, Galen. Had none of them realised what Barron implied?

He was planning on killing them all. She knew it in her essence-empty guts. In place of her power, intuition screamed at her that something was very, very wrong.

Theron suddenly stood.

“Under the Staghart flag, Admiral.”

The tension grew so thick Kora could barely swallow, and the viceroys murmured amongst themselves as Barron and Theron stared each other down. Theron’s usual dark shadow didn’t linger. Maybe Ivar was sat in the upper levels?

“Sentinel,”

Barron’s voice purred, dragging out every syllable.

“You must understand, these are my lands.”

“You are mistaken,”

Theron snapped back, his armour shining beneath the sunlight filtering through the hole in the arched ceiling.

“You are an extension of the Staghart Empire. The Talmon Empire—the viceroys—are a hand on the body of the emperor. This final unification will elevate you to a recognised Staghart province.”

Barron threw back his head and laughed.

“Do you take me for a fool? I made this empire what it is today. The viceroys are the foundation of everything here. Without us, it’ll all fall apart. Without us, pirates would have run these lands into the ground, impoverishing them. Without us, there are no Azarian Islands.”

“As sentinel, it is my duty to remind you—”

“Enough!”

Barron’s voice made Theron flinch. Kora startled forwards. Where was Ivar.

“I brought you here for a reason, Sentinel.”

Barron clicked his fingers, and a pair of doors in the far corner of the chamber opened.

“Or should I say . . . Prince Eli Staghart.”

What. The. Fuck.

Theron stumbled backwards in shock as the crowd gasped, and he shot a look towards Erick, who blanched. Barron’s shark-like smile surfaced as a set of four soldiers marched through the doors. Kora rushed forward, her body moving without thought. The steps were three strides wide, and her short stature made it difficult to race down to Theron.

Where in the gods was Ivar?

“Barron! What are you doing?”

Erick shot to his feet, his face stricken, sending his chair flying back.

The four soldiers advanced, covered head to toe in black armour, with malachite slithering throughout it like cracks. They were the size of Samuel and Theron put together, and an acrid, sour stench filled the room.

“Theron!”

she warned, and he spun, unsheathing his axes as the soldiers advanced. Even their faces were covered with green-and-black helmets. A small eye slit was the only indication there was a living being hidden beneath the armour.

“Take the traitor away,”

Barron drawled in a bored tone.

“No!”

Kora flew down the stairs, her mind frantic as Theron wrestled against the guards. The closer she got, the more the cold permeated her skin, into her bones. Her head throbbed relentlessly. She had to do something.

“The king will take this as an act of war!”

Theron yelled as they dragged him across the stone floor.

Barron spun to face Theron.

“Good. I’ve been waiting to make my move on your father for a long, long time. Your defiance against our rule marks you as a traitorous spy for our oppressors—the Stagharts. You have ruled over us for far too long. Now, it’s our time.”

Kora landed into the ring with a grunt, and several courtiers cried out as she revealed her daggers. They scrambled back, fleeing into the ground floor tunnels connected to the council chamber. Screams and shouts echoed as the viceroys and their families remained on the front rows of seating.

Erick’s face melted into horror as she advanced across the floor, a blanket of red hazing her mind. Bree squeaked across the ring and leaned closer into Blake, wrapping her golden hands around his bicep. His face was blank—not an ounce of emotion as his eyes bore straight into Kora.

She snapped.

“Kora, don’t!”

Erick’s voice sounded so distant she barely heard it.

One of the guards released Theron, the remaining three wrestling to force him through the set of doors leading to complete, cold darkness. His hatchet axes swung, his face twisted with rage, eyes flaring as he fought for his life. The guard approached her, and her eyes watered from the odour—or was it just her rage? The ember in her chest ignited as she faced the mysterious guard.

“Stand down!”

Erick’s voice didn’t register.

All she knew was rage. Disgust. Pain.

“Stop!”

the voice begged her. She shut that out, too.

“Captain!”

a familiar voice rumbled. Probably just a stranger.

Her world visibly crumbled, and she threw all her rage into attacking the guard blocking her path to Theron, the prince of the royal family, who was being dragged to the dungeons by his legs. It was outrageous.

Her dagger shattered as soon as it connected with the guard’s black chest plate and Kora careened in shock, splintered pieces of silver clattering to the ground, leaving the malachite hilt clasped in her hand.

“What . . .”

A vice-like grip closed around her neck and Kora spluttered, her body lifting from the stone floor as the guard held her with one, impossibly strong arm. His thick grip tightened and she choked, images of Callan flashing across her eyes, merging with the faceless guard.

The sound of the doors closing behind Theron’s screams clashed through her skull.

“Barron, let her go!”

Erick beseeched.

Kora flailed within the guard’s grip, her vision tunnelling, her hands scratching violently at the armour until her fingernails bled. Erick charged, his hand poised on his golden sword, his face a mask of such pure terror that she wept, drowning in her tears.

“Belay, soldier,”

Barron commanded.

Air flooded her lungs as she collapsed on the ground, Erick’s arms sweeping to cradle her as she muffled her cries into his chest. She was never more grateful for his cape than in that instant, as he shielded her from the scarily silent crowd of noble spectators who were brave enough to remain.

Blake remained impassive. A walking phantom, and she frowned as Bree shook her head, shuffling so close to him she was practically in his lap, disgust dripping from her judgemental stare.

“Let that be a lesson to those who are not loyal to the Talmon Empire,”

Barron bellowed.

“The time is now for us to defeat all of our enemies. It’s time for a new world.”

She shivered in Erick’s arms as he rubbed her back. Her shattered dagger laid at her feet, and Barron approached, pausing before them. His boots prodded the jagged pieces of silvered steel.

“I hope your protegee understands what’s at stake here, Cadell.”

Kora looked up at Barron, his eyes tracking the tears on her cheeks, and the corner of his mouth quirked.

“She may be the turning tide in this war.”

“They’re gone.”

Kora peered around Erick’s cape. The indoor amphitheatre had emptied out of its viceroys and noble spectators, leaving them huddled on the stone floor. She’d been too ashamed—too terrified to move. Images of Callan still burned the back of her eyelids.

That, and the shock that Theron was a prince. She had been escorting a prince across the desert. She’d been joking around and drinking with a prince.

A prince Erick knew.

She tore from his comforting, warm embrace.

“Kora,”

he sighed as he stood beside her.

“What’s going on? Talk to me.”

She chewed the inside of her cheek, flesh turning sore as she collected the pieces of her dagger.

“We can get you a new one.”

“I want this one.”

Her back felt strangely unbalanced with one dagger sheathed. A part of her was missing, an extension of herself had vanished, leaving her disorientated. Along with the talisman, the two had become a parallel force, keeping her upright. Power blooming from her front, and steel protecting her back.

“Did you know?”

Her throat burned, and she was sure she’d sport a fresh bruise around her neck soon—a reminder Barron was all too happy to bestow on her. That he was king in these lands. She needed to stop landing at the mercy of males wrapped around her throat.

Erick stilled.

“Know what?”

“About Theron—Eli.”

He shook his head silently.

“What about Barron?”

“No. I’m surprised as much as you are. I knew he recently became a viceroy, but I didn’t realise . . . the extent.”

“Surprised?”

She turned to face him, clutching the pieces of her broken dagger in her hands. Her blood dripped on the floor.

“Yes, surprised. I’m not privy to a viceroy’s plans, Kora. Barron may be . . . an old friend, but he’s still my leader. Are you not surprised?”

Erick frowned at her hands.

“No,”

she trembled.

“I am fucking furious.”

“Kora,”

he inhaled sharply, reaching for her hands.

“We have to—”

“We don’t have to do anything. I’m so sick of this—of everything! The lies . . . the . . .”

She couldn’t talk about that with him just yet. That he had a friendship with the sentinel he’d ordered them to escort, and they both had connections to their supposed enemies.

“We came here to fight a war against bloodthirsty Galenites. But now, we’re fighting a war against everyone.”

Witches. Skytors. Pirates. Marshans.

“Lead by an egotistical male. If we are against everyone—then are we truly fighting for justice? For freedom for our empire?”

Erick flinched.

“And if we try to push back, it’s clear he’s ready to kill anyone who gets in his way.”

Kora threw her hands up, and the shards of her dagger rained around them. Erick winced as one caught his shoulder, but she didn’t even blink, her chest heaving with fury.

“He’s asking too much of us. This will kill us.”

“Kora . . . if we don’t do this, we may lose everything. Our home . . . our family,”

his voice cracked on the last word.

“This is what war is about. Making the hard decisions. When you become admiral, you will have to do the same.”

She scoffed at the word family, and his brown eyes saddened. For a moment they stood in the large, suffocating silence of the council chamber. Every second that passed, the more her fiery rage withered. Doubt filled her mind, and the only thing she knew in this moment was that this war was wrong.

She didn’t want to be admiral if it meant sentencing everyone else to the Locker.

“I don’t know who to trust anymore,”

she admitted.

“You can trust—”

Erick stopped short, his stare narrowing behind her, and she turned to face a tall, dark figure approaching from a tunnel connected to the ground floor. Erick stepped closer as Blake emerged from the shadows, his face taut.

“Kora.”

His voice was distant, cold.

“Blake.”

His eyes flickered to her bleeding hands, but the blank expression remained.

“I need to talk to you. Outside.”

“Marwood, not now. We’re in the middle of something.”

Erick placed a hand on her arm.

She glanced between the two males, as they stared each other down. Forest green against the brown of tree bark during a sunset.

“I’m going with him.”

She peeled away from Erick, and something close to pain and worry flashed across his face.

Blake’s mouth twitched as he gestured to the tunnelled darkness. Between Erick and Blake, Kora knew she’d rather face the despair of her broken relationship with Blake than face the lies and secrets between her and Erick.

Because if she ever lost Erick—her only family—or discovered he’d lied to her all this time, she wasn’t sure if she would ever recover.

She had already lost one father. She couldn’t lose another.