Page 52 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

The sound of metal clicking tore Kora from her dreamless sleep, and she pried her eyes open, blinking against the summer’s day light shining through the bay window of her chambers. As her vision settled, her eyes focused on a familiar, dark figure, holding her hands.

“Blake . . .”

Her mouth was as dry as the Silent Tundra, and she reached for a glass of water, but was met with resistance.

“Blake . . . let go of me.”

He wouldn’t look up. He kept his green stare trained on her hands, an audible swallow from his throat.

Click.

She jolted as cold metal snapped around her wrists, securing them in place. Pain seared down her shoulder, and she gasped as he sat back, revealing a three-pronged key to the shackles binding her wrists.

“What . . . what are you doing?”

He silently stood, expression set in hard stone, his black leathers still caked in mud that was dusting the ends of his hair. His shoulder was fully healed, and he leaned over, tightening the cloth wrapped around her, making her cry out from sudden, blinding pain.

She glanced at her side and paled. Her shoulder was gushing blood, with gauze and several cloths tied around it already soaked through.

“Blake . . . I’m bleeding out, you need to—”

He silenced her with a kiss. It was fervent, and she was trapped between his lips and the wooden headboard. Unable to pull away, he gripped her chin forcefully, placing bruising kisses against her lips. This male was obsessed.

The forest flashed, spearing her mind like a destructive arrow. He’d seen her power. She’d nearly killed him. Her throat closed, her guts twisting until she felt like her body was sinking into the bed. Deep into the belly of Umbra. Where she belonged.

He wanted the war. He supported killing innocents so the empire could maintain their illusion of control. So, he could win her, by superseding laws, and advancing in the war to possess power.

“Blake, no. Stop!”

She wrenched her head to the side, tears pricking at the agony of turning her head. But it didn’t hurt as much as her heart. That had imploded into a million pieces.

“I’m sorry. One day . . . forgive me.”

She frowned as he placed his lips against her forehead, his thumb stroking her bruised throat.

“She’s ready!”

he called, stepping back, his power-hungry eyes glancing to the door.

Several guards marched into her room, followed by Barron and the Ironwharf viceroy. He was clean-shaven, with not a single strand of hair to be seen on his head, including his eyebrows. Deep lines covered his permanently scowling face, and he sported the famous Ironwharf blue-steel armour, with a large longsword attached to his back.

His eyes looked simultaneously tired and kind, and she averted her gaze, granting Barron her attention. He wore similar royal attire to when they’d first arrived at Mossfell Castle, but every item was black. His tar-like hair was scraped back, tied at the nape of his neck, and she shivered under the intensity of his stare.

“It’s a shame this has to happen under these circumstances. I do love a female tied up.”

Barron flashed a smile and she blanched. What was about to happen? What was going on? Blake twitched beside her. The hunger in eyes had drained, resulting in a vacant stare.

“There has to be a misunderstanding,”

Kora spoke thickly.

“If this is because of what happened earlier with Theron—”

“Do not speak that traitor’s name.”

Barron flicked his wrist, then inspected a piece of lint on his sleeve. Kora looked desperately at Blake. He was her only chance of survival right now.

And it sickened her.

“Blake,”

she tried reaching for him, wincing through the pain, but he evaded her.

“What’s happening?”

“Don’t pretend,”

Barron crooned, approaching the edge of the four-poster bed. His stormy gaze roved over her body, pausing at her ruined shoulder, before continuing.

“You have committed a great injustice, Kora Cadell. You’ve spat in the face of my empire—after everything we have done for you.”

“If . . . if this is about the forest . . .”

she trod carefully. Had Blake told them about her power? If he had, she wouldn’t be shackled, she would be dead. Her shattered heart pounded so viciously, the individual pieces vibrating, her body thrumming with fear.

Barron paused, his eyes flicking from her to Blake, whose body visibly tensed under the weight of Barron’s stare. It shocked her to see Blake shrink away from someone. His confidence and drawl had evaporated completely.

Silence continued. It was unbearable as Barron surveyed them, his beady dark eyes assessing every square inch of Blake, and then Kora. Her lips trembled, threatening to explode with secrets just to alleviate the palpable quiet.

“No, this is about something else you’ve done.”

Barron clenched a hand around the pillar of the bed, his knuckles turning white. He radiated power, and it filled the room to the point she felt she were being crushed by his presence.

“I haven’t done anything,”

she whispered. Her pulse fluttered, and she glanced back to Blake. Was it about them? Had they found out about their relationship? Her emptied heart twisted. Their vow was as broken as her dagger.

They were broken.

Barron chuckled, rubbing his stubbled chin.

“Stop looking at him. Look at me.”

She whipped her watering gaze back to the dark figure before her. Was that a hint of jealousy in his voice? The Ironwharf viceroy cleared his throat, the kindness in his eyes replaced with irritation.

“It’s come to our attention that you are not . . . satisfied with your position,”

Barron dragged out the words, and she clenched her legs shut.

“You have decided it fit to steal from the empire. To take unsanctioned plunders and reap the profits for yourself.”

“I . . . what?”

The blood loss was making her lightheaded.

Barron clicked his fingers, and a guard handed him two leather-bound books. The colour drained from her face and dread coiled in her gut.

No.

“We found these stashed in your chambers today during a routine search.”

Barron opened one of her ledgers, reciting the contents of Hell’s Serpent’s plunders over the years—and every amendment of the treasure they’d acquired. To protect her crew, she’d only listed the profits going to herself.

She was a stupid, stupid girl.

“By my estimate, you have stolen thousands,”

Barron whistled.

“That’s quite a debt to owe.”

“What . . . how . . .”

She cleared the dryness in her throat, her mind racing.

“When did this routine search happen?”

She’d given those ledgers to Erick when they’d returned to Stormkeep Fortress with Jack Flint. How had they ended up in Barron’s hands? Erick wouldn’t betray her . . . would he? Shit, where was he?

“That’s none of your concern,”

Barron dismissed her, but he inclined his head to Blake.

Blake’s jaw twitched. He glanced down at her. His darkened eyes flashed, his fists clenching.

And he bowed his head to Barron . . . in submission.

“You!”

Kora bolted forward, rage dulling the tearing agony as she staggered to her feet, thrusting her shackled hands at Blake. She’d depleted her magic from healing him—what a stupid mistake. He deflected her attack, spinning her around and wrapping his arms around her chest, pinning him against her.

“Don’t do anything rash,”

he whispered in her ear like a lover.

“If you want to stay alive . . . and Erick, then you best behave.”

She glared at him, tears brimming in her eyes. How dare he. How dare he threaten Erick. She couldn’t believe she’d ever loved this fucking bilge scum.

“Where’s Erick?”

she seethed.

“Stop entertaining her,”

the Ironwharf viceroy huffed.

“Let’s get this over with.”

“Where is Erick?”

she screamed. “Erick!”

“Just a moment, Garvan.”

Barron approached her, flipping through her ledgers.

“This is rather impressive . . . such a shame.”

Barron invaded her proximity, a twinkle glistened in his eyes as he stared down at her. That twinkle made her stomach lurch, as he stroked the edge of the ledger across her jaw, to her lips. Blake stiffened, his grasp tightening across her chest.

“You were going to be very valuable to me in this war.”

“Fuck your war,”

she spat at him. With Barron this close, her head felt like it was going to explode.

Barron released a long exhale, wiping her spit from his face. Then he licked his fingers. She shoved against Blake in disgust as Barron smiled.

“Do you not want to save the world, Kora Cadell?”

“Not if it means killing innocents for power.”

She was so blind. The empire was as bad as Galen. Countless, futile wars, and for what? These islands deserved the gods' abandonment.

“People have killed for less. I will build these islands in a new image. Where only the most deserving thrive.”

“When it’s you versus the world, it usually means you’re the bad guy. You can’t kill everyone who disagrees with you.”

Barron merely laughed, and gestured to Garvan. Kora’s stomach plummeted, a cold sweat breaking out and puckering her flesh as he produced a second set of shackles.

“Kora Cadell,”

Garvan began as she fought against Blake, screaming as he clamped a thick metal collar around her throat.

“You are hereby stripped of your title as captain,”

the lock clicked and she kicked her legs out, her throat burning from screaming.

“You will be sentenced to the dungeons of the Citadel. Without trial,”

a chain looped from her throat to her wrists.

“as a prisoner of the Talmon Empire. You are charged with forgery, embezzlement, and thievery.”

Garvan knelt, and the guards pinned her flailing legs down as he secured a third set of thick, cold shackles around her ankles. The metal snapped together, allowing no give between her limbs. She couldn’t even walk. Tears poured down her face as she screamed for Erick—for anyone to hear her.

“You hereby acknowledge your status as a prisoner of the Talmon Empire, thus, you are now owned by the Talmon Empire. To recover the profits and loss to the state, you will work under the direction of the viceroys until your debt has been paid back. If you are unable to repay your debt, the viceroys will determine a just punishment . . .”

Garvan’s voice faded out as he continued reading her rights—which were none. Her life was over. Her dream no longer existed. Kora turned utterly numb as they guided her from the room, dragging her across carpet runners, down twisting gilded hallways of the Citadel. Tapestries lined the walls, depicting the empire’s ascension. The final one before they exited the guest wing illustrated Barron in all his glory. Surrounded by gold, his arms raised as citizens praised him.

She spat at it as they whipped round the corner. Fuck him.

She was no longer a captain. Her whole world, completely shattered into tiny, irreparable pieces. She’d been content putting Blake before her dreams, risking fleeing to Shannara for that pathetic trinket.

How wrong she was. This was inconceivable.

“What do I do . . .”

she reached out into the void, seeking the only companion she could think of.

Empty nothingness slammed against her mind.

The connection was severed, she could feel it. There was nothing on the other side of the void. Not even a flicker of him. Something was wrong. Her mind had never felt so silent . . . so alone. Ten years of comforting guidance had been ripped away.

And somehow, that hurt even more. Her muscles weakened as defeat consumed her. She had royally fucked up.

They descended the marble staircase leading to the ballroom, and the guards lifted her, allowing her the small reprieve of not bashing down step after gilded step. How thoughtful.

“Kora!”

Erick rushed towards them, his sword drawn, green cape billowing behind him.

“Barron! Stop this! What are you doing?”

Kora sobbed at the sight of Erick squaring up to his oldest friend, his face taut with fury. His rich brown eyes burned with rage.

“She has committed a crime, Cadell,”

Barron spoke calmly, signalling the guards to continue carrying her.

Erick snarled at Barron.

“Let my daughter go. Now.”

Barron stilled, his dark gaze sliding to Erick.

“You forget, Erick. I gave you everything, and I can just as easily take it away.”

Erick faltered, his face slackened as devastation consumed him. He glanced to her.

“You wouldn’t . . .”

“Try me,”

Barron challenged.

“Marwood, take him away. He doesn’t need to see this.”

“Tell me what happened,”

Erick pleaded.

“Kora, talk to me!”

She opened her mouth but only a hoarse rasp escaped after her screaming.

“She stole from me,”

Barron answered.

“Now she will be punished.”

Blake advanced towards Erick, forcing him back with surprising strength. Erick cried out, grasping for Kora, his fingers barely brushing her steel chains as Blake held him at bay. They continued their march towards the dungeons, and panic seeped into the edges of her numbness.

Garvan pushed open the gilded, large double doors to the ballroom, and she grimaced as they strode in, her body hanging between the silvered guards like a wet blanket.

“Why . . .”

she rasped.

“. . . here?”

“I like to make a show,”

Barron replied.

“Show everyone what happens if they dare to cross me. Fear is what keeps people in line. Fear is how you control others.”

Indeed, multiple courtiers lined the walls, and servants still cleaning up from the feast the previous evening. Their fearful eyes tracked her across the floor, and whispers floated across the grand room, echoing off the marble floors and stone walls.

“It’s her.”

“The adulterer.”

“She’s a whore.”

“She’s a killer.”

“The royal slut.”

“Filthy pirate.”

Kora closed her eyes against the painful words. She’d been branded many things in her life, but losing her title as captain hurt the most. Tears tracked down her face, splashing onto the marble floor.

After the ballroom, they paraded her chained body through various rooms—offices, the throne room—which was divine—grand living chambers, the solar room and, eventually, an attached barracks overlooking the cliff. Her gauzes and cloths were so soaked through they trailed down her arms.

She hoped the blood loss would make her pass out soon. She couldn’t bear this any longer.

Multiple guards pivoted as they entered a large space—an indoor training ring. The ground was packed with dirt, and weapons lined the walls beneath large square windows. Dummies interspersed the room, along with wooden benches that guards and soldiers lounged upon, drinking from kegs.

A domed ceiling curved across the space, decorated with detailed paintings of the Galenite war. Pictures of death, destruction, and blood. The ground was littered with red splotches—blood, she realised.

“Men!”

Garvan yelled.

Everyone stood to attention, their eyes ogling Kora’s chained, bleeding body.

“We have a traitor to the empire with us today.”

Garvan gestured, and she whimpered at the sea of male gazes trained on her. Most were disgusted, some were angry, and some were lustful—hungry. Those gazes made fear spike up her spine and her pulse race.

“Make her feel welcome.”

They flaunted her down the centre of the training ring, and the soldiers leered, shouted, and spat. Sweat dripped from their lethally honed bodies, humidifying the air. Some even jabbed her sliced open shoulder and she howled in pain, her consciousness teetering on the edge, only to have blood-dried dirt thrown at her.

Throughout it all, she prayed to Thanos. The only god she’d welcome right now.

As they made it to the other end, shame and terror smothering her until she couldn’t breathe, her body screaming with agony, a slender figure leapt out, stopping the parade.

“Mr Di Largo,”

Barron bemused.

Her heart lurched as she met golden-flecked hazel eyes. Aryn aimed his longbow, his hair tousled, and his muscles flexed as he nocked an arrow.

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you,”

Barron smiled, signalling the soldiers surrounding them.

“No one harms my captain.”

“She’s not a captain anymore,”

Garvan huffed.

“She is to me.”

Endless tears welled as Aryn cut Kora a hopeless look. All at once, he was young and old, his ancient voice soothed her, and a familiar scent of amber and cypress washed over her. He always appeared when she needed him, he always knew when she was in trouble. As if . . . as if he were . . .

Kora’s eyes widened, her scar flaring as Barron ordered him to stand down. Was Aryn her mystery voice? Had it been him all along? How could she have been so blind?

“Aryn!”

Samuel shouldered through the crowd like the boulder he was. He halted at Kora, chained and shackled, and smothered in dirt, her shoulder gushing blood. His mouth settled into a grim line, and he placed one fisted hand in the other, subduing his rage. Her legs shook in terror for her crew. Samuel’s grey eyes slid from Barron to Aryn.

“Aryn . . . stand down.”

“You can’t be serious!”

Aryn shook his head.

“Aye, listen to me.”

Samuel approached Aryn.

“Look around.”

His eyes flashed, and she understood—there was nothing they could do. No one could help her. Not while they were in the heart of the enemy.

Gods, the Talmon Empire was now her enemy.

“She has betrayed the empire,”

Garvan scowled.

“Learn quick and fast, lad, if you want to advance in our ranks.”

“She hasn’t done anything . . .”

Aryn whispered, his face going into shock. Samuel stepped beside him, placing a giant hand on his shoulder. His tattoos rippled in the light.

“I’ve failed . . .”

She sobbed as he lowered his longbow, his astute gaze drinking in the mass of soldiers surrounding them in the barracks. He flicked his gaze back to her and something passed between them—a silent promise. The tiniest kernel of hope bloomed in the torrenting darkness raging within her. A small slither of blue light, glittering in a sea of despair.

“Well, this is all very moving.”

Barron clapped his hands.

“We have a dungeon to get to.”

As they carried Kora out of the barracks, she kept her gaze trained on Aryn until the doors slammed shut behind them.

Part FOUR

GALEN RETURNS