Page 7 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

The prisoners had refused to talk, eat, or drink for three agonisingly slow days. Kora didn’t mind the latter, it meant more rations could be spread amongst the crew, but it was infuriating they’d not been able to break the prisoners out of their stony silence.

She sat, with her legs crossed before her, on the ebony main deck, aggressively polishing her dual-sabre daggers. The briny wind of the Shaurock Sea whipped against her short, now curling hair, tickling the nape of her neck and curve of her ears.

Galen and Peril Cove had faded into the western horizon, and endless, glittering-blue ocean surrounded them, greeting sunset orange skies. It was heavenly.

Blake had taken a temporary reprieve of interrogating the prisoners and stood at the helm. His body tense, and his face thunderous, steering them home. Kora knew better than to approach him when he was in one of his moods, and she’d sent Finlay down to the prisoners to coax them into drinking water. They couldn’t die before they reached Stormkeep Fortress. She would not arrive empty-handed. Her reputation depended on it.

Exhaling a long sigh, she poured her frustrations into polishing a single speck on her gleaming silver daggers. Stormkeep Fortress was four days away if the winds remained on their side. They were making good time, and would likely see the dusty maroon coast of Scarlet Bay once again in a day’s journey.

The mighty fortress—the beating heart of Aldara—had been Kora’s home for the past ten years since Erick rescued her. Yet, the thought of being on land for too long made her feel trapped, her skin crawling with reluctance at returning. She didn’t know where her real home was, or who she was, and it fuelled her eternal rage from having her life ripped away.

Even Erick wasn’t sure, seeing as he’d discovered her, half-dead on a piece of floating driftwood in the Shaurock Sea. He’d said it had happened around the time Galen had vanished from the world, causing pirates to grow bold with the absence of the ruthless barbarians. They began attacking more vessels—including the one Kora and her presumed family had been sailing on.

Erick had assured her they’d scouted every inch of the vast Shaurock Sea for survivors, to unify Kora with her lost ones. But the ocean was wicked, endless, and deadly. One wrong move, and sailors succumbed to its dark depths, their lives snared by currents of death.

It was the sea she intended to tame. To make hers to command—and that would start with working her way up in the empire. Even if it meant accepting she was an outsider in this god-forsaken world.

But Admiral Kora Cadell had a nice ring to it.

“I don’t think they can get any shinier.”

A tall, lean shadow appeared by her side, interrupting her thoughts, and Kora suspended her polishing as Finlay plopped down beside her, his back resting against the railing. His bony shoulder brushed hers, and he wiped his hand across his sweaty brow, smearing dirt across his face. The healer had removed his bandage, and the wound to his forehead was knitting together, forming a pink and scabbed scar.

“Any luck?”

Kora quietly murmured, placing her daggers down gently beside her, beams of dazzling sunset bouncing off the shining metal.

Finlay nodded, taking a swig from his waterskin before offering it to her.

“They eventually caved.”

She patted his knee in appreciation, the water blissfully quenching her parched throat.

“Good. I need them alive.”

The azure ocean drew her gaze. She’d not heard her comforting, windful voice since destroying Demon Sea Siren three days ago and she kept finding herself repeatedly gazing towards the west, as if her soul longed to venture towards the Mist.

But that couldn’t be true. No one longed for the Mist. She was just tired, that was all.

“He’s not been the same since Demon Sea Siren.”

Finlay inclined his head towards Blake. Sailors kept a wide berth around him as he handed the helm over to Kora’s best sailing master and strode towards them like a walking black thundercloud.

“You could say that,”

she muttered, bumping his bony shoulder back.

Blake hadn’t fulfilled his promise the night they’d returned to Hell’s Serpent. He’d been focused on interrogating the prisoners around the clock, to Kora’s chagrin. In fact, since they’d set sail from Peril Cove, Blake had frequently found other things more important to handle, and she was sure he was avoiding her. He’d even stopped sharing their bed.

Her core ached with longing and loneliness, and it pained her whenever his dazzling charm evaporated, replaced with a crushing dark weight on his shoulders. Blake’s mood swings were an intermittent dilemma in their dynamic, and whenever she probed, he’d lash out and storm off to release his pained past in physical combat.

Whether that was sparring, or barrelling his knuckles into the faces of their enemies.

To distract herself, she’d spent more time with Finlay, training him to wield his family’s broadsword. His grip was always slack, the sword tumbling from his hand, and sometimes he’d flat out drop it, nearly severing his toes. Finlay had been hesitant at training, pain consuming his face whenever he gripped the broadsword. But recently, that pain had hardened into strength.

Blake’s large leather boots stomped to a halt in front of them, unlike his usual silent predatory grace.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

he snapped at Finlay with a glare. Annoyance sliced through Kora, heat rising to her cheeks.

“I-er, I was just updating Captain Cadell on the prisoners.”

Finlay heaved himself up to address Blake face-to-face, black eyes narrowing. His dark, blonde hair gleamed in the afternoon sun, absorbing the orange tones painting the sky.

“You can get to work. We don’t pay you to sit around.”

Blake clapped his shoulder, sending Finlay scurrying away. Kora threw Finlay an apologetic glance as he headed towards the lancers scrubbing the main deck and organising the recently stocked artillery.

“Blake,”

Kora sighed again, lightly rubbing the sore scar by her temple. She gripped the thick railing, swiftly rising, and sheathed her daggers into the scabbard attached to her back.

“Don’t speak to him like that!”

“What?”

Blake scoffed.

“You’re the one who likes to act cold and distant. I’m just following your example, Captain.”

His green eyes glinted wickedly—a challenge.

She stilled, sensing the brimming heat between them, a tension so thick Cannon’s sword couldn’t sever it. He possessed a troubled past; one Kora was still trying to coax out of him patiently. Nights spent together as she spilled her deepest, darkest worries, baring her soul open to him, only to receive scraps in return.

She’d treasured each vital piece of his past he offered, holding them close to her heart. Minute details of growing up in the lower districts, clawing to escape his abusive upbringing. But to hell with patience. This male irked her with his senseless bravado. Kora glared back.

“If you have a problem, Blake, then just say it.”

Sailors glanced up from their posts, pausing to listen to the fight building between their patient captain and irritating first mate.

“You need to do your job,”

Blake’s voice lowered.

“not fraternise with the crew.”

Fraternise? Was he joking? Did he really think that, or was he jealous? He’d never displayed a possessive streak before, and he was the one to suggest she get to know the crew more and reveal a more personable, warm side. She’d been enjoying it, not having to pretend all the time to be someone so cold and heartless. Gods, it’d been exhausting.

Multiple pairs of eyes ogled them. They couldn’t do this here and now. There was only one, easy way to dissipate his mood. By doing what they did best.

“Do you think you can do better?”

Kora raised her voice for all to hear.

“Are you challenging me to be captain?”

Blake’s eyes flared in shock, until he noticed the growing audience gathering. His stare slid to the hidden daggers attached to her back, and a dark smile bloomed on his handsome face.

“Oh! Yes.”

His hand tightened around the golden hilt of his sword, understanding their new game.

“I challenge you, Kora Cadell.”

A gasp waved through the crowd, and sailors poured in from all corners to watch the fight unfurl, shouting for their comrades to come witness the combat. Kora retrieved her polished-to-perfection dual daggers and chose a defensive stance, arms poised in the air. Come and get me.

Constructed from the finest Talmon silver, and as long as her forearms, the weapons balanced perfectly in her hands. Embossed with the golden symbol of the empire, below the dark, dazzling hilts made of smooth malachite stone. Enemies cowered in her presence whenever their eyes feasted on the serrated blades.

Blake withdrew his cutlass sword from its scabbard, his muscles rippling beneath his shirt. His teasing, dark smile seemed to say, be careful what you wish for.

Kora swallowed. The wound on his arm peeked through the rolled-up sleeve of his shirt. It had healed quickly, nothing more than a thick, red scar. Lucky bastard, he was always swift at healing. A natural gift from his family, he’d say, the only good thing they’d bestowed upon him. A gift, to survive the torrents of his father’s punches, and his mother’s wickedness.

His blade was similar size to Cannon’s, and the memory of his death sliced through her—the expression on his face as he was impaled on his own weapon, seared into her retinas.

Blake charged with a subtle warning yell, and Kora parried, swiftly darting around him, and driving her elbow between his lower shoulder blades. The crew laughed as he tumbled, spun around, and raised his sword to deflect her next attack. She leapt with surprising force, her blades crossed over the other to slice his neck.

She bounced back, her movements nimble, as Blake lunged again. His dark smile spreading as she deflected, twirling in the air, followed by a parry, slicing the edge of his black jerkin, but not injuring him. They’d done this many times before. Fighting for the audience. Showing off their moves. Telling the world they hated each other, when deep down . . . it was quite the opposite.

Love was forbidden in the armada.

As their weapons clashed, Blake leaned in with a grin.

“If you wanted me out of my clothes so badly, all you had to do was say.”

Her cheeks heated at his whisper, and his mood dissipated, replaced with a new kind of hunger.

They continued their deadly dance of ducking and sparring, their attacks missing slightly, to give the impression they matched each other in combat, when really, Blake was stronger. His weapon was impressive—she would know, she’d bought the damned thing as a gift—and could easily spear her to the deck in one lethal movement, ending her life. But Kora had speed and agility on her side.

She narrowly ducked Blake’s next attack. His blade a hair’s breadth from slicing her torso, and a shocked murmur rippled through the crowd. Kora whirled on her knees, whipping her daggers up as Blake swiped his weapon down to her head in a deadly blow, hovering by her thrumming scar. A move they’d perfected over the years.

Metal upon metal clanged, the force vibrating up their arms as they sprawled onto their backs, legs tangling together. Her body smarted with pain and sweat dripped down her back onto the warm deck. She pushed up onto her elbows and Blake smirked. She laughed as the crew stood in stunned silence.

Finlay shouldered through the crowd, concern and confusion clouding his slim, tanned face. As Kora stood, heading to Blake to shake hands over the friendly skirmish, she could feel Finlay’s curious eyes pinned on her back.

“Maybe next time, Mr Marwood.”

Kora flashed him a cunning smile.

Blake’s thumb slightly caressed the back of her hand.

“It would be my honour, Captain.”

He bowed his head and silently strode to the brig—or, as they liked to call it, Hell’s Pit—to resume his prisoner interrogation. Kora retreated to her quarters located beneath the helm with a spring in her step, sensing Finlay wasn’t far behind.