Page 62 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Raiden

Kordelia was alive.

She was gods-damned alive, and he’d nearly wept with fucking joy at the sight of her. She’d looked fearless—like a goddess, tearing her way through those forsaken soldiers.

He nearly took her right there and then on that deck.

Gods, it’d been so long. Ten long fucking years trapped inside the Mist. A male could only do so much with his hand. She was still as beautiful as he remembered—but her hair was short. He didn’t mind, but it wasn’t . . . her.

And that scar.

Anger spliced through him so intensely that a torrent of wind blew through the chamber, scattering papers across the long, opal table. Sun speared through tall windows lining three rectangular walls, and cheery laughter echoed from children running in the streets outside.

The Mist had receded to the seas, and for the first time in a long time, they could feel the sun on their faces. Families had been celebrating, rejoicing.

But he couldn’t spare a single minute. Not when the Galenite War was back on the table. Literally.

“Stop brooding,”

Aerion muttered, as he used his power to reorganise the papers on the shining surface.

“I’m not brooding,”

Raiden snapped.

He folded his arms across his chest. He’d been planning everything he was going to do to the Talmon Empire for stealing Kordelia away from him. He’d had ten years to think about it.

But now . . . it was much worse. So much fucking worse.

He was going to kill them off one by one—slowly. Maybe Kordelia would join in. His cock twitched in his trousers at the thought of them together again, enacting their revenge.

“They stole her memories,”

Raiden sighed.

“She doesn’t know who I am.”

Aerion’s deer-like gaze softened.

“She will. It’s in there somewhere. No one could break your bond.”

“And that scar. What have they been doing to her? What has he been doing to her?”

A snarl ripped from Raiden’s throat.

He could smell that earthy mutt all over her body, and it positively sickened him. But beneath all that stench, was their connection. That twining of steel, slicked in ocean spray, cool air basked in vanilla.

“Rai,”

Aerion shuffled some papers.

“She remembered me, okay? She’s in there somewhere. We’ll figure it out. As for that creep, I don’t want to know.”

Aerion had a point. Despite being trapped here in Galen, by the Mist, unable to leave for ten years, he’d still managed to distantly connect to her through their void. He’d caught glimpses of her life through her eyes, and he’d been able to send her his voice on the winds. There was still a chance. Hope pressed its harsh blade to his throat.

If their connection still existed, then there was hope.

Sometimes . . . Raiden had regretted it. Some of the things he’d seen Kordelia do and experience had been horrible to witness. And he’d been unable to help, stuck here in their city, useless and helpless when she needed him. Especially when that royal prick—

“Stop it.”

Aerion waved a hand, reorganising the papers once again.

“These are our strategies for the war. I need them in order. We can’t lose again, Rai. We really need to win this thing.”

“I don’t care.”

Raiden stood, the chair flipping back.

“They’ve taken Kordelia again. I fucking left her there! I’m going to get her back. There’s no winning without her.”

An arched, opal door slammed shut on the far side of the wide chamber, the sound bouncing off the citrine-painted walls.

“If it makes you feel better, I made you leave.”

Aryn strolled in, his boots echoing on the polished, pearlescent tiled floor.

He crossed the space in a flash, which was large enough to host two hundred people. They had sealed off half the castle during the Mist, and this ballroom had become a common space. Even city residents would sleep in here during especially dark winters, when the smallest of sun rays couldn’t pierce the Mist.

“Yeah, blame him,”

Aerion complained.

“Maybe I will. You were supposed to protect her!”

Raiden stared down at Aryn. His golden eyes always made Raiden on edge. They were not of this world, and spoke volumes about what lay hidden beneath his youthful skin.

Aryn glared back.

“It’s not easy. She’s not exactly hazard-free. It took an age to find her in the first place. Erick had hidden her well, and getting past him onto the ship was harder than you may believe.”

“Well, you’re not short on time, skildaj.”

Aryn’s ethereal gaze flashed, his shoulders hunching from the pressing force crushing the air in the ballroom. They were all tense.

Raiden’s hands clenched into fists. He needed to break something—or snap. That nature-loving mutt’s neck would do. Or perhaps a visit to Erick Cadell. He shuddered with violence. He couldn’t even unpack the list of revenge he had planned for Erick fucking Cadell.

“I nearly got her back,”

Raiden choked out.

“And we fucking left her. Gods know where she is now, or how we’ll find her again.”

It wasn’t a possibility to him. There was no world that existed for him without Kordelia. He’d rather die in the pits of Umbra.

“Trust me, we wouldn’t have survived, and Barron would have taken her regardless. We need to plan.”

Aryn approached Aerion, glancing over the papers.

“You need a better system, Aerion.”

“I had one,”

Aerion moaned.

“Rai’s full power reawakened now the Mist is broken, and this is what I’m dealing with.”

“Barron will regret ending the Mist. Now we can attack. In fact, right now would be good.”

Raiden smacked his fists, rolling his shoulders.

“Erm . . . Barron has nothing to do with the Mist,”

Aryn rubbed the nape of his neck.

“We all assumed it was the gods.”

Well that didn’t make an ounce of fucking sense.

“Why would the gods punish us like that? We were fighting to keep the old ways alive. To end the empire’s oppression,”

Raiden snapped.

“Maybe they thought you were too violent,”

his brother joked.

“Either way, we can come and go now, including Cassidy, Hector and Leto.”

“Shame Skylar isn’t awake to keep Raiden in check,”

Aryn snorted, and Aerion’s lips quirked.

Raiden growled in response, the sound resonating through the arched chamber. The towering, black-paned windows vibrated, and crystal chandeliers rocked, twinkling glass chiming.

“What do you propose we do? Just sit and wait it out for him to attack first?”

His voice grew fervent, and his power rippled around him like a constant shield—a shimmering diamond layer.

“What if they’re taking her memory again? We’ll have to start from square one and—”

“Raiden . . .”

He released a sharp breath, air escaping his lungs as he stumbled into the table. Aryn jolted as Raiden’s hands slammed down onto the surface, steadying himself. Deep in his mind—a flutter of a connection. A gentle breeze carrying salted ocean, and warming vanilla.

“. . . please help me.”

“Kordelia.”

He glanced up, meeting Aryn’s gaze, whose golden eyes were so wide, his power leaked into the edges.

“She needs me.”

To be continued . . .