Page 57 of Daughter of the Dark Sea
The darkness began enveloping her, wrapping around her head, sinking into the gaping wound by her temple, which was padded and stuffed with blood-soaked gauze. She endlessly screamed. A chilling, blood-curdling sound.
Out. Out. Out.
A pair of strong hands held her down, tying her hands to the corners of the wooden headboard whilst she convulsed from the invasion of her mind. Her soul. Her essence.
Get home. Run home.
Her mind was sawn in half. Inky black tendrils snaked across her dazzling surface. A flare of agony—snap.
Home. Get home to—who?
Remember—what?
Get out of my—who was she?
Searing pain lashed through the side of her head. Darkness swept over her . . . her mind went utterly blank.
Peace. Floating. Calm.
“I’m sorry,” the warm voice whispered near her blood-streaked face. “I’m so sorry,” his voice cracked, broken with tears leaking from striking brown eyes.
“She won’t be going anywhere now. Keep an eye on her.” The darkness slithered away from her and through the open golden doorway.
Her eyes fluttered open for a moment.
“Who are you . . . where am I?” she croaked with dryness.
The male sobbed, telling her she was home. This was home.Home.
The tunnelling vision devoured her as healers frantically poured into the room, and she fell into a blank unconsciousness. No memories. No dreams. No past to relive.
24
Kora’s scar throbbed all morning.
She relentlessly rubbed at her temples in circular motions, a salve of arnica she’d applied earlier coating her skin. Her headaches were getting worse, they hadn’t been this bad since her recovery all those years ago.
A cup of herbal tea rested on the iron garden table before her, steam wafting into the air. Erick had allowed her to sleep in today, deciding the journey across the desert required a proper day’s rest beforehand.Thank the gods.
It didn’t stop Bree visiting and blabbering in her ears all day though.
“—and I said, I wouldn’t be marrying any old beanstalk they found. Can you imagine? Me married to a noble lord who likes gardening?” Bree pursed her lips as she fluttered her lace white fan under the high sun. “Kora? Are you listening to me?”
“Marriage. Beanstalk,” Kora murmured back, cupping her warm tea.
“Are you well?”
Bree continued to wave her fan against her exposed chest. She was a vision in white today. A simple milk-maid style gown, with a low, lacy sweeping neckline. Short puffy sleeves, with intricate strips of silver, laced around her arms, connecting to jewelled cuffs at her wrists. The dress flowed from her bodice, with dainty embellishments of silver woven throughout. Her braided hair was tied up, the gold hoops swapped for sleek silver tubes.
“Yes, I’m just . . . not sleeping well.”
Kora glanced down at her usual tunic and trousers attire. She preferred her jerkins and breeches, but they were only for sailing. Splatters of mud crusted the hem of her trousers, and she picked at some lint on her side. It wasn’t that she was averse to dresses—if anything she’d love to try new styles, but it was enforced by Erick she should maintain this illusion of masculinity, of leadership and power, by dressing and styling her hair this way.
She did like how the leather jerkins fitted her body, strengthening her back, especially when her harness was attached with her blades. Her mind and body free, surrounded by peers who usually paid her no mind, except for the occasional glance at her chest or between her legs, but a glint of her blade would avert their gazes.
But when on land? She was restricted to stiff fabric, her limbs unable to manoeuvre as freely, whilst judgement poured from society that her two legs were visible, and not shrouded beneath layers of skirts.
Bree eloquently drank from her tea, her movements poised, her hands graceful. Kora placed her cup down, the porcelain rattling from the movement. She was so heavy-handed andrough. Even their hands in comparison made her pause. Bree’s nails were pristine and perfectly edged, with supple, smooth skin that males would die to feel wrapped around their girths.
