Page 95 of Daughter of the Dark Sea
With a bubbled, wet gasp, Doran collapsed to his knees, clutching his stomach, the wound gushing and gaping. Witha final breath, he fell, landing beside Mags, their bodies a bloodied, intertwined mess.
37
Kora soaked in the bath for hours. Sweet, blessed relief.
Upon arriving at Cadell Manor, she’d beelined to her bathing chamber and set the hot water running, with jasmine and orange blossom scents permeating the air. Erick had been absent—out onofficialcommodore business—when they’d returned.
Blake had directed Theron and Ivar to the barracks, where they would receive private quarters for their stay, before being ushered into the limelight to oversee the final unification. Many civilians had cast wary glances at their shining uniforms, the symbol of the stag lifting eyebrows and shocked faces.
The final two days of their journey had been quiet, memories of scattered bodies shuddering through them like a repetitive wave. It haunted Kora still. She had killed in a blinded, raging fit. No better than a filthy pirate. No better than Silas fucking Flint.
Mags’ disembowelment flashed and seared into the back of her eyelids. Doran’s weeping scraped her eardrums. As she lay in the bath, her hands shook, flinging warm droplets of water,but all she could see was blood. She was covered head to toe in blood. For the first time in a long while, Kora sobbed.
Gut wrenching, throat clenching sobs. She cried her despair into her hands, wiping beautifully scented water over salty tears. Her nose streamed, her chest pinched, and her heart cracked, riddled with shame, and crushingguilt.
She had to be better. She had to do better. So many souls needlessly condemned and lost to wander Thanos’ weaving threads of Umbra. All because she was desperate to heed Erick’s orders to keep Theron safe, and because Blake’s life had been threatened. Had it been worth it in the name of the Talmon Empire?
She hadn’t realised how many exiles lived in the tundra. How many people the empire had cast out. How many of them were there because they simply favoured the old ways? How many were thieves? How many were raiders?
Kora sank beneath the warm water, letting it wash away her tears. Coated in an arnica salve, she kept her injured arm above the water, resting on the stoned edge of the bath. It’d been built sunken into the floor, with steps at the end for her to ascend. White drapes caressed the rectangular room, with large candelabras descended from the curved ceiling.
Blue light basked beneath the surface of the water and she shot up, running her hands through her wet hair with an exasperated gasp.
And there wasthatproblem.
Callan knew she was a mage, and he was loose in the world. What was to stop him from telling people what he saw? What she did? The only option was to flee to Shannara, not only to dispose of the talisman but, if she were discovered, Shannara might be the only safe place left.
And, to top it off, the exiles possessed empire-grade weapons and armour, and pirates sailed prized ships that werenow hidden in the Mist. Erick had said there’d been raids upon outposts during the first week ofHell’s Serpent's scouting mission. Somehow, the stolen goods had ended up in the exiles’ grimy hands.
The cogs clicked together, with the Skytors as the central piece. Why would they enlist the exiles to locate her? They knew who she was, and where she would be, especially with Callan’s tip. She trailed her fingers through the water, her mind churning out scenarios.
What was Finlay’s connection? Had he planned to lure her to The Abandoned Barnacle when they returned from their scouting mission? She flexed her fingers and the water rippled, forming into little beads of comfort swirling in the air, dancing around her.
The three groups formed a triangle in her mind, pirates, Skytors and exiles, all somehow connected to her. But . . .why?She wasn’t special. If they were after her power, there was a room brimming with mages in the tavern.
Kora’s mind whirled and swam with the what ifs, whys, and hows, until she focused her attention on something else. Grabbing a bar of soap, she attacked her skin, scrubbing it raw as dried flakes of blood, dirt, and sweat drifted into the water, churning into a muddied colour. There was no way she would use this water to heal her arm.
Besides, it would be too suspicious if she had a miraculously healed arm after nearly becoming a chicken skewer. Not everyone could heal as fast as Blake. Lucky, gifted bastard.
After feeling thoroughly cleansed, her arm re-bandaged, she emerged from her bathing chamber in a silk robe to find Erick perched on the edge of her unmade bed.
Donning a simple yet elegant dark-green tunic with black trousers, the golden insignia embellished over his left chest blazed, and she swallowed looming bile as Mags’ and Doran’sbranded foreheads filled her mind’s eye. She focused her attention on the small medals of honour lining his shoulders, highlighting his accomplishments in the navy.
“I’m surprised you’ve not shrivelled up,” he joked. “Odelina fetched me, worrying you’d drowned.”
She waved her hand at the mention of their head servant, Odelina. A fussy, no-nonsense mannered female who tended to dote over Kora. However, she had a strict ‘no servants entering her quarters’ rule. She liked being able to do things for herself, and having her own privacy and space away from the swarming hustle of the world.
“She frets too much.”
“She only frets over you.”
“Jealous?” She smirked as she sat at her vanity table, raking her hands through her white locks in the mirror. They curled past her ears, and she grinned, finger-rolling them into gentle waves that cascaded around her heart-shaped face. A pair of lapis-lazuli eyes stared back at her, and she whipped her gaze to Erick’s brown, fatigued eyes. He looked tired, and his wavy, grey-flecked hair was tousled, as if he’d been pulling on it.
“Not of this room.” He observed the piles of books and oddly placed trunks, the clothes casually draped over the partition. His eyes narrowed as they landed on the candle-wax covered bedsides, staining the wood, and the assorted weapons dotted round the room. “You could let the servants clean in here once in a while.”
“No, thank you.”
“When did you last clean—”
