Page 93 of Daughter of the Dark Sea

In a blink of an eye, Mags leapt in front of Doran, crying for them to stop.

It all happened too quickly.

“No!” Doran roared.

Blake’s sword sliced.

Mags’ gut split open; her bowels exposed, tumbling like ribbons. It was . . . she was . . .

“Mags!” Doran caught her limp body as she collapsed to the ground. “Mags! No, no, no.” He began to weep.

Blake paled as Mags bled onto Doran. Her thin, ripped dress sprawled around them, and Doran’s hands shook, hovering over her body as her lifeless eyes stared at the clear sky.

“My Mags . . .” he sobbed, bowing his head, pressing his scarred face against her thin strands of hair. He placed a kiss on her branded forehead and Kora’s stomach soured. “Yekilledmy Magdalena.”

“As an exile . . .” Chills skittered down her spine at how frozen and detached Theron’s voice had become. She had no doubt that thoughts of Callan fuelled his ire. “Her death is warranted.”

“Warranted?” Doran rumbled. “Ye all murderers! Look at ye!”

Kora refused to meet the eyes of her fellow cabals. To lift and witness the bodies scattered around them.Theywere the ones covered in blood. Their weapons—and hands—dirty.

“You attacked us unprovoked. We defended ourselves,” Blake retorted. Not an ounce of remorse. Should she beconcerned? She felt positively sick, and she was sure that, if she moved too fast, she’d vomit over Mags’ body.

“I heard aboutye,” Doran’s voice dropped so low, so faint, as he glared at Blake, who stilled as Doran continued. “I know who ye are.”

“Aye, everyone knows the champion of the Darkoning Trials,” Samuel summarised. “It’s hardly priceless knowledge.”

Doran’s smile was so sickening as his single-eyed gaze shifted to Kora, and across the remaining standing bodies of the convoy.

“There are many secrets among ye. What would the empire pay to know them all?” He cocked his head, and her heart leapt into her throat, threatening to cut off her air supply. Or maybe it had dropped, her body ready to expel anything and everything. Either way, she was going to combust.

“Enough!” Blake snapped. “We don’t need to listen to this, Theron.”

Theron’s jaw twitched as he stared at Doran. He surveyed their surroundings, his dark eyes soaking in the litter of bodies in the scant desert. His dark skin glistened with sweat in the sunlight, and she felt small in his all-seeing gaze. Finally, he hung his axes back at his hips.

“Cuff him. He’s going to Deadwater Prison.”

Doran sucked in a breath. “I’d rather die.”

“That can be arranged,” Blake replied darkly.

They hauled Doran to his feet and he kicked out, resisting Samuel and Blake as Aryn approached with a pair of iron cuffs.

“No, stop. Please!” He caught Kora’s stiff gaze. “Please, let me bury her. Let me bury Mags. She doesn’t belong out here.”

“Take him,” Theron replied, as he stomped back to the horses by the border, Ivar glued to his side. The archer’s black recurve bow hugged his spine, and his empty quiver bashed against his hip as he prowled.

Blake and Samuel dragged Doran across the sand as he cried out to Mags’ limp, lifeless body, and Kora’s gut churned as she peered at the thin, hollow shell of the female. Her cheeks were still wet with tears. Kora knelt, brushing her fingers over her eyes, and placed Mags’ bony-thin hands over the gaping, bleeding wound of her stomach, obscuring her organs.

“We can bury her if you wish,” Aryn spoke quietly.

“It’s not the way,” she replied with equal quietness. “We’ll be seen as exile sympathisers.”

A brief gust of wind circled them, ruffling Aryn’s hair and he shuddered. “Maybe there should be a new way.”

She turned to him. His golden-flecked hazel eyes resembled living gold as they burned against the simple desert. His face hardened, his jawline unmistakeably sharp from how hard he clenched his jaw. Even his hand tensely gripped the bowstring across his lean chest, and she placed a hand on his arm in comfort.

The tundra wind gusted around them, and she squinted as the sand lifted with the blast, circling, twining around their bodies like a cyclone, causing him to step closer. This near, a lingering scent of cypress and amber brushed against her senses. It was so familiar, and her mind sparked. Aryn’s almond-shaped eyes searched her face, waiting . . . watching. The thin, dual-lined tattoo on his cheek filled her vision, and she gently touched her own face in confusion.