Page 53 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Kora peered through the bars of her cell, inhaling the scent of death and ocean spray. Built inside the cliff, beneath the Citadel, the vertical dungeon tunnel consisted of rings of iron-barred cells leading to a death drop to the ocean.

Thick, curling tree roots and rotting vines drooped from hardened soil at the top of the prison spiral, and at the bottom was a wide mouth leading to the ocean, with clusters of sharp, jagged rocks. Her cell was right at the top, amongst the rancid earth. Vines coiled along the ceiling, reaching to ensnare her, and she squirmed.

“No! No, please!”

a shriek rang several rings below.

“Aye, get this wench overboard now!”

Garvan’s voice followed.

Kora couldn’t see the commotion. An iron-railed walkway spiralled downwards, allowing guards to assume watch, and separating the cells from the death drop. Several cells to her right was a gated section in the railing, leading to a wooden plank. She’d spied the very same plank upon every ring, allowing guards easy access to chuck prisoners overboard.

“Please! I don’t want to die!”

the other prisoner’s pleas echoed off the bars.

“Time to walk the plank, lassie.”

A screech of metal, followed by screams, and the wooden shudder of the walk plank. Those screams continued, down, down, down—

Splat.

“What have they done to you?”

Kora silently regarded the familiar healer working on her shoulder. A clump of red-stained gauze flew onto the cell floor, littered with dirt, debris, and gods-knew-what from previous occupants.

“Do you believe in the empire, Koji?”

her voice was barely a whisper.

His aged, deft hands halted sewing her wound and she winced. Even with heavily applied arnica, she could still feel the prick of the needle. It was nothing in comparison to the pain consuming her entire essence and soul.

“I told you once before,”

Koji murmured quietly near her ear, his golden eyes glinting in the torch light.

“I’m not the empire.”

“Right,”

she coughed from her feeble attempt to chuckle.

“You follow the coins.”

“Unfortunately so.”

She raised a curious brow at him as she gripped one of the bars of her cell. They perched on a wooden bed, connected to the blackened wall by rusted chains. Decomposing hay coated the bed, with a thin, torn woollen blanket as a pitiful excuse to keep the cold at bay.

“Before the trials, I’d never taken a life,”

she swallowed.

“But then . . . killing became survival. I had to survive those trials. I wouldn’t allow my stubborn decisions to become the reason I died.”

She winced at the needle sliding through her skin.

“I vowed I’d never do it again but . . . I’m a reaper. I’m the empire’s personal blade to their enemies.”

“We live in a harsh world,”

Koji replied softly.

“Survival to you may be a weapon, but survival for me is money. Survival to another is food. We all have our own demons.”

“I don’t know what to believe anymore,”

she admitted. She wasn’t sure why she was splitting herself open to this healer. She had no one left. He reapplied a salve over her fresh stitches, grog-soaked lavender permeating the rotten air, before re-bandaging the wound with clean gauze.

“Then find something.”

Koji sat back as he tied up his leather portmanteau and frowned at the wall opposite them, his wrinkles deepening.

“Sometimes, it can be as small as a symbol.”

She followed his gaze to the opposite wall. It was near-black, like all the walls in her cell, eroding from the elements, and covered in ghastly, slimy waste. A giant four-pointed star had been carved into it, the symbol stretching from floor to ceiling, wall-to-wall, with the circle connecting the four points as thick as her arm.

“Not all symbols are worth believing in.”

“Perhaps,”

he motioned to the guards to unlock her cell.

“but you’d be surprised at what you’re willing to believe when you have nothing left. A word of advice though . . .”

he lowered his voice.

“Be careful with who you trust to write your letters.”

As Koji’s steps shuffled away, casting Kora a final saddened glance, she opened her palm to find a single golden doubloon placed inside.

In dungeons built into a cliff, with the ocean raging at the bottom, and the wind whipping up like a contained cyclone, was the worst kind of sleep Kora had ever experienced. Even nights on the ship in sea storms were nothing compared to this. The woollen blanket did nothing to protect or shield her, and when her fingers turned blue with frostbite, she knew these dungeons were where they sent prisoners to die.

Propelled by basic survival, she snapped the chains of the wooden bed, which were so decayed they crumbled in her fingers. Fortifying the corner furthest away from the bars of the cell, and using the wooden bench as a shield from the bitterly cold winds, she packed the space with hay.

Collecting the pitiful woollen blanket, she draped it over as a final protective layer. And that’s where she stayed, curled up with her limbs enclosed beneath her, her teeth chattering as the winds blasted through the cells.

In the morning, several bodies were thrown off the planks.

It soon became her routine, as days passed in the dungeon. No one visited to demand she start repaying her debts. Koji wasn’t allowed to visit again, so she tended to her shoulder herself, keeping the wound clean and dry. Prisoners were given one meal a day—a repulsive, lumpy gruel that was tasteless, with one stale sea biscuit, but she lapped up the small cups of water like it was the gods' nectar.

Every day, she tested to see if her magic had replenished, and all she could muster was a tiny droplet of water in the air. Whenever she pushed further, her shoulder would explode with pain threatening to knock her unconscious, her breath escaping her lungs. Even with the ocean so nearby, she felt oddly disconnected from it.

It was an ocean of death. More and more bodies were hurtled over the railings every morning, and the splattering of their bodies against the rocks, followed by crashing waves, woke her up every night like a nightmarish melody.

And when she wasn’t sleeping, she was fighting against the cold of the brutally harsh and unforgiving winds. The cyclones were so loud her hearing was torn in two, her mind roaring until even her thoughts were painful night after night. And if it wasn’t that, then she was vomiting gruel into the chamber pot, unable to confront the pain and loss her broken heart was drowning in.

Kora sat back against the wall, twirling Koji’s gold doubloon in her grimy hands as she stared at the symbol across the cell. It was a constant reminder. The Talmon Empire was vast and mighty, and they were all small little cockroaches to be destroyed. It was oppressive, and it made her sick.

It made her angry. She wanted to see them all burn.

“Lucky you, it looks like you got the executive suite.”

That familiar drawl was like metal claws dragging down her spine, followed by the stench of petrichor. Blake hovered near the bars, his keen green gaze raking in her makeshift den in the corner. She quickly pocketed Koji’s coin and stood to face him.

“Although . . . you’ve seen better days.”

She growled, and he jolted back in surprise, and her stare scraped over him. He was dressed in fine attire, fit for a royal. The forest-green tunic was striking against his complexion, with black trousers and a belt. Gold accents crusted his collar and cuffs, and his cutlass sword gleamed at his side.

A glance downwards, and she was met with her black leathers, crusted with mud, blood, and dirt. Koji had torn the left side so he could access her shoulder. She ran a hand through her locks, but her fingers could barely brush through the matted, lank lengths. Her hands were filthy, and crusted with slime and blood, her wrists swollen with red welts from the shackles. They’d left the metal collar on her throat—a reminder she was property. That they owned her.

“What do you want.” A demand.

Blake opened his mouth then shut it, watching her warily.

“I’ve come to give you a second chance—a final chance.”

She huffed a laugh, withdrawing from the bars.

“I can put a good word in with Barron,”

his voice wavered.

“You’re of no use to me here—”

“I’m not a prized pet you can wheel out!”

Kora snapped.

“What were you thinking? That I’ll start doing magic tricks and win their favour?”

“It’s not about that.”

His eyes flashed.

“No? Magic is forbidden, Blake. Just like you and I were. We were never meant to be, and look where we are.”

“Kora . . .”

he swallowed, learning towards the bars.

“I want you. I need you.”

She paused, lifting her gaze to his eyes. They were pleading and desperate, and she faltered for a moment, the scattered remains of her heart lifting with shameful hope.

“I know we’ve never been good at words,”

Blake’s breathing turned ragged, and she tried to suppress the yearning cresting within her traitorous body.

“But I love you.”

Finally . . . after all this time. She’d waited for gods-knows how long for those words, for that admission of love. It was everything she relied upon to give her strength to become an admiral—to be able to have a world without pirates . . . and Blake at her side where they could finally express their love. And she’d nearly sacrificed her dream for it.

But now, she didn’t feel an explosion of warmth in her chest. She was as bitterly cold as the cyclone winds, and her toes curled in her boots in the worst kind of way. Blake blinked at her silence.

“Without you, I . . . without you we cannot win. We need you,” he urged.

“You’ve got to be fucking joking!”

She slammed her hand against the bars.

“The man who never believed in magic, who refused its existence, has come crawling to me so he can use me in this war. Using love as a tactic to push me into something I don’t want.”

“Your power is unique. With it we will win. We will get everything we ever wanted! Everything we talked about—together. I thought you still wanted that.”

Hurt pinched his face.

“I don’t want this.”

“Don’t choose this path, asterya.”

“Don’t. Call. Me. That.”

She bared her teeth in a snarl.

Blake’s face hardened, his desperation melting away like a fa?ade.

“Final chance, Kora. Join me, or you can die here.”

The coldness of his words penetrated her chest, turning it into a barren frozen ruin. Their fa?ade had been a fa?ade. There never had been anything between them, it’d all been one continuous lie. She’d been a pawn in his game—a way for him to excel the ranks and gain favour with Barron. Her dreams were never the goal for them to be together. To think she’d been willing to risk it all for love. It’d just been another fa?ade to mask his.

This entire bloody time.

“We were never real,”

she replied, the words spoken out loud, settling like a chilling confirmation.

Blake sighed against the thick slimy bars of her cell, a glimmer of regret rippling across his face before his features smoothed out into detached coolness.

“Are you going to tell him?”

Blake paused, frowning at her question.

“About me? My . . . gift.”

“There’s no need,”

he replied bluntly.

“Where’s Theron? Is he here? And Ivar?”

Kora inhaled sharply.

She’d wondered if the prince was contained in one of these cells . . . or if he’d been one of the many bodies tossed to the watery depths below. She’d called his name, and Ivar’s, the first night, but had been treated with a smashing visit from the guards.

She learned her lesson quickly to keep her mouth shut.

“They’re not here,”

she deflated at his words.

“You won’t see—”

“Captain!”

Her stomach leapt to her throat as she jumped towards the bars, hope blooming in her chest. Samuel and Aryn had come for her, they had—

An unrecognisable soldier hurried across the railed platform outside the cells—straight to Blake.

“Captain, we need you above. There’s been a . . . disturbance,”

he addressed Blake, who glanced warily at her, and that burning rage consumed her all over again.

“Captain?”

she seethed.

Blake shrugged disinterestedly.

“A spot opened up.”

“How dare you. How fucking dare you!”

And just there, sown in gold on the side of his healed shoulder, was the captain ranking. He’d taken her title, her position. Her life.

“You had to put me in a cage to get what you want!”

He arched a smooth brow.

“You put yourself there. I told you the impulsive plunders were unsound.”

“You gave Barron my ledgers,”

she snapped.

“You betrayed me. You betrayed our crew.”

He’d been stressed about losing his champion title. Claimed he was leaving Hell’s Serpent and changing career to become a commander. Instead, he’d taken a shortcut . . . straight to her position. That power-hungry gleam twinkled in his sickening eyes.

“It was illegal. Barron wanted a full report of Hell’s Serpent. Of you. I did what I must for the benefit of the empire.”

“I don’t stand by draining our workers dry. You should know better than most what it’s like to live in the slums. Surviving on scraps whilst the nobles hoard wealth.”

Blake stiffened, and a slow blink followed, a million emotions passing his face. His hand flew to the hilt of his sword, as if it steadied him. The stranger appeared once again, grappling to mould his expression into cool, frosted neutrality.

She knew that feeling. Except, this time, she’d tossed her mask so far away, allowing numbness to gracefully cocoon her.

“You used to be loyal,”

disdain dripped from his lips.

“You’ve changed.”

Oh, by the gods, she had. And she was glad.

“What of my ship? My crew?”

Her voice cracked as she gripped at the bars, her palms sliding over black sludge.

Blake’s mouth twitched.

“You don’t have a ship, or crew, anymore.”

“Captain,”

the soldier pushed.

“We must go.”

“I doubt you’ll see anything beyond these bars again.”

And he sauntered away, dragging her stolen life behind him. Releasing a shattering scream that burned her lungs and throat, Kora’s eyes brimmed with hot tears as she yanked viciously against the bars of the cell. She screamed and cried until her voice was a hoarse whisper, consumed by the approaching evening cyclone. As Kora curled up in her makeshift wind protector, her tears cleaning away the dirt on her face, she wished for the God of Death to visit her.