Page 69 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

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Will you stop that racket? My ears are bleeding!” Aryn snapped from the rear of their convoy, a scarf covering his head and lower face from the heat of the desert sun.

Blake led their small entourage, perched tall on Erebus, the horse a striking obsidian with a midnight blue shimmer that glistened in the sun. He consistently scanned the endless, yellow horizon, pausing at the top of every dune to scout for exiles or rebels before motioning for the others to proceed to join.

Samuel and Kora had settled in the middle, joking, teasing, and jostling with each other. Their horses were twins, according to the stable boy. Both a sandy palomino colour, blending in with the grains of the desert, with darkened hooves and pale-wheat manes.

Leaving Aryn at the rear, always several feet behind, as their lookout. His horse had a fierce temperament, and had tried to buck him off a few times already, resulting in hushed curses that’d make a pirate blush. The horse was a fascinating chestnutred, like the shores of Scarlet Bay, with a strikingly pale mane, and it didn’t take kindly to being too close to the others.

“I can try a different song?” Samuel grinned over his shoulder at Aryn.

They’d ventured south from the mid-districts of Stormkeep Fortress, following the border of the Bellmoor family’s farming territory for as long as they could before they’d entered the Silent Tundra.

And how silent it was.

Even when the wind picked up, creating a biting whipping slash of sands barrelling against their faces, it was still silent. Once they’d crossed into the desert this morning, Samuel had sung shanties non-stop, and Kora was thankful for the slightly off-pitch, tone-deaf voice.

“Please don’t,” Aryn moaned.

“Well, I’m grateful for your singing, Sam,” she smirked.

“That makes one of us,” Blake muttered from the front. “I’m with Aryn on this one.”

Blake had increasingly become withdrawn during their journey. The further they travelled south, the more his dark, brooding nature consumed him. He’d barely spoken more than a few words at a time as they’d trekked through the farming fields and dry desert. And he hadn’t neared Kora either. Not as her first mate—nor her lover. Maybe he was also angry at Erick’s order for additional guards?

She quashed the feelings of upset down. He was maintaining the illusion they were nothing more than co-workers. Yet, since that unfavourable encounter between him and Bree, Kora was unable to shake a sensation gnawing at her sides.

Not to mention the gentle hum of the talisman on her chest, constantly reminding her to seek out the Silver Sisters. She had to get rid of this charm as soon as possible, before someonenoticed she was channelling a new, unknown power to it—or before it sucked her dry.

The thought of potentially losing her new magical discovery flowing through her veins made her heart droop, and she twirled her fingers through her horses’ mane—Cadence—as she considered the possibilities of mastering the magic. Wielding it. Making it yield to her.

She could tame the seas, become an unstoppable force within the armada for the empire.

Or for yourself.

Kora had been gifted with the rarest of the magical factions. She hadelementalmagic. To possess it even now—centuries after the gods had faded—was near impossible. Elemental magic could only be bestowed as a gift from a god . . . or through their descendants.

What had she done to earn Calypso’s gift? Why was it manifesting now? The talisman hummed, as if attuned to her thoughts. This all started happening when Blake gifted the charm. Clearly it possessed some kind of property to draw magic out of mages.

Did her family possess the same power? Had they descended from Calypso? It was an ultimate secret, and one that laid on her as heavy as the ocean’s depths. No one could know, not even Blake, and the crack of shame and guilt split open a little bit more within her, pushing against the mask of neutrality smoothing her face.

It was a known law. Mages, and practising witches outside of their territory, were either enslaved or executed—more likely the latter now. King-soon-to-be-Emperor Staghart and his predecessors, through the decades, had decreed magic was a myth, and the one true power was the royal family who governed these lands.Their familywas the closest to divinity theworld would encounter. Anyone who still remembered magic, or believed it to exist, had long passed since the decree.

To be graced with their presence was a holy blessing, and many citizens refused to wash after meeting the king and his family, fearing to cleanse away the godliness they’d experienced.

Absolute hogwash, Agatha always said. And there was a room full of mages in a tavern to disprove it.

A minority of people in the lands believed King Staghart was not their true leader, and still wanted to invoke theold waysof Devania. Not the magic, but their customs and beliefs. But to speak of such things landed them a one-way ticket to Deadwater Prison—or here, in the desert.

It was the tear in the Azarian Islands. Those who believed in the king, and those who didn’t.

“You’re practically screaming to the exiles where we are.” Aryn galloped closer, his horse bucking her head in protest.

“If Sam’s singing issobad, maybe they’ll stay away.” Kora smiled at Samuel who feigned being hurt, a large hand clutching at his chest. “They’ll probably think we’re murdering someone out here.”

“Oi!”

Samuel swiped for her reins to knock her off course, but she tugged Cadence away. The horse exuded a sweet nature that warmed something within Kora. She regularly swished her tail in a cheery manner, and Kora told her stories during nightfall of her adventures at sea.