Page 8 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

Kora’s quarters were spacious and cosy. Warm, inviting cream bedding, with bright blue throw pillows, adorned a sturdy large bed, hidden behind a tall wooden divider she used for privacy. Heaps of identical jerkins, tunics, leathers, and breeches were casually draped over the top.

A stunning view of the ocean from the rear bay windows peeked through heavy, dark-blue drapes, lined with cream silk. A matching exquisite, cream chaise longue, with black claw-feet, stood before the windows. It was Kora’s favourite place to be alone when at sea, surrounded by stacks of books and an assortment of favoured weapons she hadn’t bothered to place on the rack.

A large desk, big enough for eight people, centred towards the entrance, was littered with maps and navigational charts of the Azarian Islands. The drawers stuffed to the brim with ledgers of their escapades from the past year. Nearby the chaise lounge, the two suspicious—yet stunning—ruby and moonstone chests were hidden under a swath of torn sail from Demon Sea Siren, their contents safely locked from prying eyes.

Kora quickly brushed one of Blake’s discarded shirts under the wooden frame of the bed with her foot, obscuring the makeshift knapsack containing Galen’s bribery hidden underneath.

She eyed the rumpled bed from where she’d tossed and turned all night from the absence of Blake. They’d never done the deed, so to say. As Blake regularly mentioned to her, their timing was never quite right, but it hadn’t prevented them from exploring each other’s bodies. She yearned for his touch, and his warmth.

Finlay stopped by the desk.

“That was all for show, wasn’t it?”

Damn, he was perceptive. His eyes took in her snug quarters, landing on the obscenely large brass tub located in the far corner. His nostrils flared, his mouth thinning. The tub possessed a clever contraption to drain water through an openable window, back into the sea, but she’d never used it. Water was valuable for her crew’s survival. It wasn’t for a captain to take luxurious, unnecessary baths.

Although, she was filthy, and probably reeked.

Kora sat behind her desk and propped her legs up, crossing one ankle over the other. The muscles in her legs and arms ached from the sparring she’d done since they’d been sailing home, especially against Blake’s strength. Her hand drifted to the cool talisman resting beneath her shirt, her heart fluttering that it’d been gifted by him.

Finlay arched a brow, waiting for a response. He’d grown confident recently since their friendship blossomed, but his scepticism remained.

“Yes,”

Kora replied.

Finlay exhaled sharply.

“I honestly thought he was challenging you for captain.”

“Trust him,”

the calming voice drifted through her mind, but it was quiet and faint—barely a whisper. It soothed her tension, and a wave of relief washed over her at its return.

“It’s something we’ve done for a long time to . . . maintain appearances.”

She placed her daggers on the desk and motioned for him to take a seat.

“Appearances? Why would you need to?”

His brows knitted as he sat in a chair across the desk, rubbing his thickly stubbled chin. He scanned the room once again, gaze settling on the large bed with enough room for two people. A twinkle in his dark eyes sparked, and his mouth gaped.

“You and Blake?”

There was that perception again. This male was intriguing. Kora picked up one of her daggers and twirled it in her hands as she explained. The light cascading through the rear bank of windows caught the shining surface and Finlay winced.

“We met nearly two years ago at the end of our participation in the Darkoning Trials, when we were both low-level sailors trying to find our paths in this world.”

Finlay’s face paled with horror at the mention of the Darkoning Trials—a famous, gruelling, militant training programme, that only the finest and most lethal males were subjected to. It contained physical, mental, and emotional feats, and not everyone survived. The trials weeded out the weak, producing only the strongest for the Talmon Empire to use at their will in their armies and armadas.

The programme had been created and named in honour after Admiral Darkon, who had campaigned for the Staghart royal family across the hostile islands during the Devanian Conquest that lasted two hundred years. He won the territory with admirable feats of strength and resilience, uniting the lands, and creating the Azarian Islands as Devania faded into history.

“The attraction to Blake was instant. But I hated him at first. He was so arrogant,”

Kora continued, rolling her eyes.

“But he grew on me, and we eventually allied together to make sure we both made it through the trials alive.”

It’d been incredibly tough. The trials were designed to break participants past their limits. To dispose of their fear and create soldiers of war. Males born and bred for violence in the north were pre-selected to participate, the trials fixed so they’d win, ensuring the prize money returned to line the noble houses’ overflowing pockets.

Blake had been a scrawny, penniless young male, with minimal chances of escaping the lower districts . . . or surviving them. The trials were the only way for him to ascend to something greater, and he smashed expectations by becoming the latest victor.

Citizens subjected to living in poverty, or as a servant to one of the noble houses, participated in the trials to achieve a new life. It was a cruel injustice. Weak, innocent civilians forced into trials designed to kill them, and meeting the sharp-tipped end of a sword wielded by those who were bred for it. Who lived for the kill.

How Blake had survived—and won—was a testament to his strength and his will.

And Kora was a female. A female with no past. But the first female to enter the trials and live, all because she was too stubborn to listen to Erick. And it’d changed her. She was a weapon, as cold and sharp as the blade in her hand.

“We were pitted against each other a lot, forced to become a skirmish duo in the fighting rings. We raked in audiences, creating large sums of bets for the trials. Coins filled the nobles’ pockets faster than they could spend them—all because of us. We learned to stage fights, pretending to wound each other, and became the favoured to win. People were fascinated to see a woman wielding a weapon, and a man from the slums fighting off multiple assailants. It was a circus act to them. We started infiltrating the bookers, to see what the punters were betting on us. We thought if we could ensure it won in the punters favour then—”

Kora stopped suddenly. The memory of the tormenting requests that’d been asked of her surged like a terrorising, sickening wave.

They had been sadistic. No one had been interested in her fighting. Punters had betted on her dying every time, and special guests had requested an audience to observe her chained up and violated. Once they’d discovered the bookers intentions, Blake had seen to it that every single of them met their demise . . . by slaughtering them all in the final conquest of the trials.

“Breathe,”

the voice caressed her, and Kora loosened a tense breath, regaining her focus.

“What you saw today was a simpler version of that. Word spread of us, the champion and the ‘woman survivor’, and the armada took interest, seeing our potential,”

she swallowed. Those had been their darkest times together, and they both had scars—physically and mentally—to prove it.

“We became junior officers on separate fleets, and spent several months apart. During that time, we realised . . .”

Kora twirled the dagger again.

“what we felt for each other.”

Finlay nodded, following along.

“And then you were stationed together on Hell’s Serpent.”

“I requested Blake to join my crew a year ago. I had some help getting him appointed.”

She’d pleaded with Erick, desperately convincing him Blake would bolster her crew and make them a formidable force. Erick had been furiously reluctant at first, stating Blake was pre-destined to advance the ranks of the empire’s army as their latest champion.

The trials happened every two years, and soon, Blake’s title would be stolen from him. Being stuck as a first mate was detrimental for a champion. By now, he should be a commander, or a commodore in the armada. But instead, he was here. Serving under a female. Because Kora couldn’t let go of him. Because she couldn’t live without him. Because he was the only one who understood the scars haunting her mind. Who truly understood what the Darkoning Trials had done to her inside.

Aside from the fact having a champion as her first mate made her pretty ruthless.

“So, what was that earlier then? Why keep up these appearances?”

Finlay warily eyed the continuously twirling sabre blade in her hands.

“To maintain the illusion,”

she stopped twirling the dagger.

“It’s a constant push and pull to show that we’re both running the show. Without one of us, the whole thing falls apart.”

She slammed the weapon down into the desk, piercing the wood, and left it standing upright. Finlay stared at the vibrating dagger, his gaze flickering to the wooden surface of the obsidian desk. Dents and scratches covered it from Kora repeatedly using it as target practise during long voyages.

“Relationships between crew members are forbidden in the armada,”

Finlay whispered, his eyes glancing over the shuddering dagger to her. She lowered her head. After the Devanian Conquest, the viceroys had enforced that relationships were a distraction and a weakness that would cost them everything.

They may have won the war. But the enemy remained.

“Can I trust you, Finlay?”

The malachite dagger between them stilled, and a palpable silence fell over the large cabin.

His dark gaze bored into her, as black as Hell’s Serpent. The colour haunted her. Maybe she should request for the ship to be repainted. She maintained his stare, praying to the gods it wouldn’t come to using the lethal blade between them.

“A truth, for a truth,”

Finlay finally spoke, and Kora gestured for him to continue, relieved.

“I know you’re curious about why I’m here,”

he paused.

“I had no choice. My family told me it was either join your crew or face exile to the Silent Tundra.”

Kora was stunned. Joining Hell’s Serpent was a punishment, and not a tactical move from the imposing Blackstone family.

“My lifestyle,”

Finlay wiped a shaky hand across his face.

“is not acceptable to them. I bring shame to my family.”

He hung his head, lips trembling. Kora silently skimmed round the desk to crouch beside him, her hand gently placed on his knee.

“You see, I . . .”

His gaze met hers and she nodded in comfort, a silent friend to lean on.

“I prefer the company of men. A lot.”

Kora’s face broke into a warm smile, and she let out a small laugh.

“I was so worried you were a spy!”

She squeezed his knee and Finlay stared at her shocked, his fists clenching.

“You . . . you’re not going to gut me with your dagger?”

His tremor became intense, so much so she paused. It was an unnatural tremor, and he flicked his wrists, settling the shake, as his jaw ticked at her stare.

She took his quivering hands in hers. He had every right to be afraid. Such relations were frowned upon in Azarian society—not illegal, but for the son of a noble house, it was unwarranted. He was expected to marry and continue the noble bloodline.

“No. Why would I hurt a friend?”

Finlay’s beaming smile melted the depths of Kora’s cool heart. The twinkle in his dark eyes suggested he knew what she was asking for. A friend, a companion, in this fucked up world. He released a shaky breath and thanked her for understanding.

“If I was a spy, I wouldn’t be hanging around you,”

he teased.

“Hey! Why not?”

Kora twirled.

“Am I not spy-worthy?”

“You’re worthy of many things.”

She blushed at his genuine words.

“But that tall, dark drink of water you like so much would be far more interesting to stalk.”

Kora pretended to grab her dagger and Finlay chuckled at her jealousy.

“I can’t disagree, I’d stalk him all day if I could.”

“Maybe you should try it, you might learn something interesting.”

Finlay’s stare glinted.

“Why send you here though?”

She directed the conversation away from Blake’s mysterious nature.

“They believed the armada could teach me a thing or two.”

He fiddled with his tied-back hair, pushing loose strands out of his eyes.

“You know, magically turn me into a womaniser. Or a heartless warrior.”

Kora rolled her eyes.

“Are we as dreadful as being exiled to the desert?”

“No,”

Finlay winked.

“you’re much more horrifying.”