Page 19 of Daughter of the Dark Sea
“Liar! He just wants the food, Kor—Captain,” Blake corrected himself, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Kora had pinned him down to chastise him about referring to her as Kora—not Captain—in front of their crew a few days ago. She handed the pirate his final piece of bread and stepped away, mulling the information over.
“Complete bullshit!” Blake slammed his hand against the cell, his face furious. “I hope your brother is smarter than you are, or at least a better liar.” He stormed off into the darkness towards the other cells.
Before she left, Kora paused and glanced over her shoulder at the pirate. “What’s your name?” she asked in Devanian.
The pirate smiled devilishly. “Jack Flint.”
A guard rounded the corner from the hull passage, his face grim and hardened. A foul odour wafted from him, and she gagged at the stench of the other Flint twin’s excrement coating the guard’s legs. Gross.
“You can keep the lantern,” she said, and he nodded with gratitude for the extra illumination. A small reprieve for being in the pit.
Kora climbed the ladder, her skin tingling from the talisman, as if it’d awoken after that conversation. Daylight blinded her after the bleak black of Hell’s Pit, and she hunted for a sparring partner, leaving secrets buried in the shadows of the cells.
9
Awhole day passed, and the pirates refused to crack. Their unwavering stubbornness was a thorn in Kora’s side, and Blake’s mood swings were erratic, his knuckles consistently bloody and sore from his interrogations, intent on disproving Jack Flint’s reveal. About the Mist made byman.
And the pirate lord they’d slaughtered.
Hell’s Serpenthad been at sea a total of three weeks, and she took a deep, clear breath before entering the crew’s quarters—because it certainly smelled like it—leaving her worries behind in the moon-kissed night.
Iron oil lanterns decorated the vast space, stretching across the forecastle, and small, starry shapes lined the lantern’s glass windows, casting beautiful patterns across the low-beamed ceiling. Makeshift tables, created from barrels and crates, interspersed hammocks suspended by thick ropes, with bottles of rum, sea biscuits, and playing cards littering every surface.
The crew were excited to make port in two days, to see their families, and take home their latest lucrative treasure from plunders, thanks to Kora’s crime she rinsed on repeat.
“Captain!” Finlay waved her over with a welcoming smile, and she approached a small group of sailors huddled around a low crate playing Cribbage. He patted the stool beside him with a lopsided grin. “Be my partner.”
Two other males sat with him, one of which wasHell’s Serpent’ssailing master—Samuel Rommier. He inclined his head in respect towards her, whilst the other eyed her curiously, clearly surprised at her presence in their quarters.
Her head archer, although his name eluded her. Her brow creased as a fog blanketed her mind, suppressing the name of the lean, youthful male. A thin, dual-lined tattoo inked his cheek, and her vision tunnelled on it, sparking her attention. It was an unnatural tattoo, and simplistic, as if dirt simply streaked across his face.
A hushed silence fell across the room as sailors glanced up at Kora whilst she observed the archer dealing out cards, his hands deft. She plastered on her brightest smile, picked up a bottle of dark rum, and took a huge swig.
“Who’s going to take me for a run of my silver then?”
A loud cheer echoed across the quarters as she plopped down beside Finlay and he passed her a sea biscuit. It was moist, and lightly flavoured with vanilla and cinnamon. She gently nibbled it, the spices warming her gullet. Her stomach still roiled from her conversation with Jack.
A rebellious alliance was growing against the Talmon Empire . . . and magic had returned.
Music cut through her swirling thoughts, rising her from the depths of her murky mind. Several sailors had small, flute-based wooden instruments, and played a hearty melody in the far corner, whilst another used a crate as a drum.
“Sam’s bleeding me dry, youhaveto help me win,” Finlay pleaded. His words slurred, and his usual ash and malt scent had a hint of grog.
Samuel chuckled. Double the size of most crew members on her ship, a stoic air radiated from him, yet he preferred navigation over weaponry. Samuel’s build would’ve made him a perfect soldier.
Compared to Finlay’s darker and straighter mane, Samuel flaunted bright, wavy blonde hair, half-tied up, revealing his deeply golden squared face. His long fair beard was impressively groomed, despite being at sea, and fastened at the bottom with a thin green-and-black strap.
Was being devastatingly handsome a requirement to join the armada? Apparently so.
“Face it, lad, you’re awful at this game. Stop while you’re ahead.” Samuel winked an enchanting grey eye at Kora.
Finlay only had a few coins left, but a large pile of silver coins gleamed by Samuel’s elbow. Interlacing navigational tattoos covered his exposed forearms, dark sea lines cutting through the artwork on his rippling muscles. He pushed his shirt sleeves up to his elbows, his biceps flexing with the movement.
“Do you know how to play?” the archer asked casually once he finished dealing the cards. His voice sounded wiser beyond his years, with a slight accent hidden within his words—one Kora couldn’t place, yet it sounded too familiar. Perhaps he was from the north?
She nodded and placed pieces of eight in the middle of the crate. Their eyes bulged out of their sockets. Why couldn’t she remember his name? Their paths had crossed on her ship—gods, she even remembered approving his draft months ago, gleeful to hire a professional archer to lead the archery squadron.
He’d even bandaged her wounded hand once, after a battle with pirates in the spring. Had she not asked his name? Hergut twisted. Was she an awful captain? So far removed from her crew she never bothered to acknowledge them? With a deep breath, Kora let her mask slip, her face softening as the taunting from Samuel continued.
