Page 63 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

“What if he doesn’t return like he said? What if he’s dead?AndFinlay?”

The sound of bones snapping painfully echoed in Kora’s mind. Silence, followed by a deep sigh. Even her breathing stopped.

“We must suspect Finlay is gone. He wouldn’t leave John this long. We will be amiss without them, but if both of our leaders are missing, then you and I are the next to step up.”

Leaders.Kora squirmed.

Finlay was a leader of . . .what?An organisation? Kora’s entire being turned cold. Had Finlay lied about the ultimatum from his family, as a cover for this secret life? Had she cremated an heir of a noble house without just cause?

Finlay Blackstone was a fucking spy.

She should’ve listened to Koji and returned his body, but she wasn’t sure what to believe anymore. She should’ve listened to her instincts the first time about Finlay. Fiercely clenching her fists, her mind churned and spat out vitriol.

“Better get Circe to double up on the grog. It’s not a Skytor Heiring without it,” Digs spoke fondly at the mention of Circe.

What in the gods was a Skytor Heiring? She hadn’t come across the term in any of Agatha’s readings.

“You know she wants nothing to do with us. This is strictly John and Finlay’s clan.”

Clan? How archaic.

“Still, she could at least help us findher. We have a single description to go on, and it could beanyone.” Tension roiled in Digs’ voice.

“It’s been so long, I’m starting to lose hope. I—”

“Well, hello there,” a deep, sensual voice drawled by Kora’s side, and she startled in surprise. So lost in confusion and betrayal, she hadn’t noticed the male that had sidled up next to her. Way too close for her liking. Dressed head to toe in black, his dark face covered by a black mask, he laid on his side with a knee propped up. Unmistakable purple rings circled his dark irises from iridweed consumption. So, the drug had made it to the Skytors. He flashed a white, devilish smile.

“I’ve not seen you here before,” he spoke in Devanian, and she swallowed her cresting nerves.

Digs and his comrade made their way over to the red glass bar, helping themselves to grog. No . . . the bar wasn’t red. That was the reflection of the room. The bar was exquisite. Clear cut glass, banded by silver frames that snaked across the front like vines. The males warily glanced back over to Kora and motioned the lavender hostess over.

Shit.

“I’m just visiting,” she replied in Devanian. Once the male saw her beginning to get to her feet, he gripped her arm with force.

“Don’t go. We could have some fun. I’ve never seen someone like you in here before.”

He trailed a finger up and down her arm and wetted his lips. Nausea flitted through her as something dark slithered around her . . . something poking at the edges of her mind, looking for an invitation in.

Kora pushed back against the magic, imagining a strong watery current washing away the talons raking over her. The dark presence faded, along with her strength, and they both blinked with astoundment. She was sure this male had never been rejectedmagicallybefore. Gods, she reallywasa mage. They truly existed.

Agatha was right, power would never be lost. It had been reborn. And here it was, in the dark upper floor of a rank tavern, on the main street of her beloved port town.

“I’d rather jump out of the window than touch you.”

The male faltered at her magic block, and Kora took the opportunity to quickly skim around the hushed groups. She caught fleeting moments of strangers groping each other, their hands searching beneath veiled clothing, followed by poorly suppressed moans.

So, this room was also thatkindof business, as she’d suspected. She supposed being a mage ally requiredsomekind of stress release.

“Hey—you!” Digs called out from the side as Kora neared the door. “I don’t know you.”

“I’m new.” Thankfully her voice was muffled by the silk covering.

“Nobody is ever new here,” his voice darkened.

He was tall and broad like Samuel, but clean-shaven, with shaggy, dirt-brown hair falling to his shoulders. A pale ivory mask, with swirling silver marks resembling the currents of the wind, cut across his squared, unamused face.

“Tell me who you are.” His large hands clenched into fists as he scanned her dark cloak.