Page 44 of Daughter of the Dark Sea
She needed a drop of water,anything, to quench the burning within her chest. She’d jump into the fountain in the courtyard if she had to. The nausea churned and, as she nestled deeper into her plush white pillows, a droplet of cool liquid splashed onto her forehead.
Both eyes sprang open.
The room violently bucked and swayed once again, and Kora painfully peered at the white domed ceiling—where a small, rippling pool of water swirled. She flung back the covers with a shriek, and the circling water halted, then rained down. Straight onto her.
Oh. My. Gods.
She must be hallucinating. Had she been spiked at the tavern? She wassodrunk that she was three sheets to the wind, imagining water floating in her chambers, soaring down onto her skin, coating her pores . . .
Actually . . . it feltdivine.
Water filled her gaping mouth, drenched her hair, and soaked her clothes and bed in one mighty splash. Kora greedily swallowed, dampening the burning bile. The liquid was cool and crisp, with a hint of mint leaf. Her nausea settled and she fell back into the sodden covers, pushing her hair out of her eyes.
A chuckle caressed her ears, pebbling her skin. It coaxed down the edge of her jaw, to her chest, vibrating with laughter. Funny, she’d never heard the voice laugh before. Her toes curled, her legs entwining as an ember sizzled along her flesh.
The voice was so faint, so distant. The quietest, weakest of whispers, merely a breath fading in the air. The damp cocoon soothed her, and she gently hummed, as a faint caress of air brushed her hair until she fell asleep.
19
Kora gently thumbed the stinging edge of her sabre daggers as Erick set up the target practise dummies in the gardens. Murky water churned her memory, the scent of mint lingered in her nose, and the faintest trail of fingertips crossed her skin, making her thighs clench.
She’d never dreamt of her voice before. Or magic. Years of law ingrained to her that mages’ powers crippled society, debasing humans to animalistic urges that'd caused Devania to topple. A shiver ran through her as sweat dripped from her neck, eerily like the droplets of water from her dream drenching her.
Erick had awoken her at dawn—after a measly few hours of sleep—and dragged her outside for a five-mile run. Who even runs at the crack of dawn? They’d followed the looping cobbled streets of the mid-district, near the residential outskirts behind the fortress. Every fibre of her muscles had screamed from her restraint on her stomach to quash the hangover from the pits of Umbra.
Vomiting in a neighbouring manor’s gardens would be frowned upon, and she couldn’t embarrass Erick. Yet, sweet relief would not grace her as she trembled in the gardens of Cadell Manor, desperate for him to quicken his haste preparing the dummies.
The sun loomed high in the sky as the summer heat scorched the land, and the dry grass had faded to wheat yellow, cracking beneath her boots. Cadell Manor nestled amongst the mid-wealthy district of homes, protected by the fortress. All were spaciously spread apart, containing their own extravagant gardens and courtyards for hosting, including stables.
Except for Cadell Manor, which contained a variety of assault weapons, target practices, and a training ring. How homely.
Behind them, towards the east, sat lush green rolling hills, dotted with far more wealthy, grand manors, fit for noble families in the upper district. Towards the west and south, the manor homes faded to the poorer, lower districts, containing tiny cabin houses and shacks. Built upon narrow cobbled streets that disintegrated into sandy paths the further away they were from the fortress.
Many families from those districts worked in the port town, or for the Blackstone family, or became travelling merchants, toiling in Scarlet Bay.
Kora was certain whichever family Blake hailed from still lived in those slums, his past tied to one of those tiny cabins. She dreaded to think which shack contained stains of his blood, drawn from his father’s punches. How many times had he wandered the streets as a scrawny child, seeking herbs to patch himself up?
She’d tried countless times to encourage him to open up about his family, his past, but his eyes would always glaze over, turning to hard emerald before he distracted her with delightful,forbidden kisses. All she knew was he’d been the poorest of the poor, and used as a punching bag whilst his mother had been in a self-induced haze, oblivious to her own child’s suffering.
No wonder he’d entered the trials. Now, he was a champion.
“Show me your knife throws,” Erick commanded.
Shaking herself awake, Kora surveyed the four wooden-and-straw target dummies placed dozens of feet away, by the grey stone wall encircling their manor. Sheathing her precious daggers in her scabbard, she collected four small, yet sharp, throwing knives from the marble table by her side.
Wearily positioning before the first target, sweat poured from her brow, soaking her shirt from their run. She hissed at the blinding light of the sun, her head throbbing with pain as she raised her right hand and pivoted her feet, lunging into her throw.
And missed.Shit.
She nearly threw up there and then.
The blade bounced off the stone wall, and Kora winced as it sliced into the hardened, dried earth. Erick stood calmly, his arms crossed, not a flicker of emotion on his face. His warm, brown hair stuck to the sides of his face with trickling sweat, and he silently met her gaze and jerked his chin at the scattered knife.
Hanging her pounding head, she strolled to retrieve the weapon, each step threatening to split her in two, and returned to her starting position. Loosening a breath, she re-aimed her throw.
Missed.Double shitting shit.
After several more frustrating failed attempts, Erick peeled from his position, motioning to her to remain still as he retrieved the fallen knife. His silence was loud enough.
