22
Kora
The healers scurried from Kora’s chambers.
It’d been their sixth visit in six days, always at midday, like a well-oiled shipping port.
A female healer with billowing pale blonde hair turned her nose up as Kora twirled an envelope knife in one hand and munched on another chocolate tart with the other.
She darted from the room as the knife glinted at her, whilst scribbling notes in a leather folio.
Good riddance.
Kora was sick of them watching her like she would combust at any second.
They’d refused to divulge any updates on Erick’s condition, and Kora was still reluctant to leave the safety of her room.
The only good thing the healers had done was leave copious amounts of arnica salve.
It was nothing on Koji’s special remedies though.
Koji. Kora hoped he was safe and well. Although, knowing him, he’d have a lavish contract somewhere else by now.
Her gut silenced as she swallowed the remainder of the sweet treat.
Kora had lost count of how many tarts she’d consumed.
Someone had been leaving mouthwatering pastries outside of her door for days now.
Delectable dishes from across the lands, plus a few she didn’t recognise but were equally delicious.
Far better than the meals at the start. The boar stew had nearly made her vomit, conjuring unwanted flashes of the Silent Tundra, and branded exiles dressed in animal hides.
She made a mental note to thank the castle chef as she browsed the armoire, her arms sore as she arranged the space.
The healers had inspected and prodded her for hours this time, asking her weird questions like ‘what would you choose between a forest, a mountain, or a beach.’ Kora snorted.
The most bizarre experience she’d ever encountered with healers.
It almost made her miss Koji’s efficient, cold manner.
Her fingers brushed over the premium fabric of her newly stocked attire, an assortment of breeches, shirts, leathers, and sparring gear.
Skylar had stopped by on day three, after the healers advised Kora to remain within the west wing of the castle, away from potential ‘emotional triggers.’ She assumed Aryn had told them of her sleepwalking to the city.
Skylar had granted Kora more comfortable attire as per her wishes.
Skirts weren’t ideal if she needed to fight within a moment’s notice, and her nerves were fried since this haunting dark presence visited her every night.
Plus, there was something about breeches and trousers that felt more .
. . her. It felt odd to wear the clothing of Kordelia, who was a stranger to Kora.
Almost as if they were two separate beings.
Kora scoffed as she shut the armoire, glancing at the previous items discarded in a trunk to the right, by the door leading to her own bathing chamber.
She had once thought her clothing had been too manly, too undesirable in the perception of society.
Gods, she had wanted to dress like Bree of all people.
She would never doubt herself again.
A breeze circled Kora from the open balcony doors and she flicked her growing hair, savouring the intermittent current.
The cream blanket was now draped across the bed, tousled from nights Kora spent pouring all her grief into the plush pillows.
The large bed dominated the space, and it was like sleeping on a cloud.
A pile of books had joined the wooden chair, becoming Kora’s new reading nook that she’d moved to beneath the mezzanine.
A mix of Galenite history books, traditional fighting techniques, and ancient lore of Devania.
These had been a gift from Aerion, who’d stopped by the first night in a desperate state to reassure Kora she wasn’t going to end up in a dungeon as per Hector’s wishes.
Thank the gods for that. Her mind had violently spun that first day after Hector demanded her arrest, vivid hallucinations of the spiral dungeons beneath the boughs of Mossfell Castle haunting her.
Aryn had attempted a visit the following day, checking in on her after discovering her in the city, with an offer to spar.
But every time she tried to leave the room, a horrid weight bound her chest so tightly, she’d rush to the bathing chamber to retch her empty stomach.
Aryn stroked her back, holding her grown hair up—which was a new sensation—as she sobbed to him about abandoning Samuel, Theron, and Ivar again.
They’d reminisced into the early hours, pouring their grief out to each other.
Each day, she felt closer to Aryn, the only familiar face in this foreign land. The anchor in her core heating with the warmth of friendship and stability whenever he was around. He’d promised to be there for her, and every time he showed up, the trust grew between them.
Another reason the healers wanted her confined. This space was healing for her, turning into a haven that was hers. She just wished she could visit Erick.
But Raiden hadn’t returned. It’d been nearly a week, and he’d not once graced her door. She wasn’t sure why she expected him to. She’d practically thrown him out. But something about his absence caused a small sting.
Kora stalked to the balcony. Wrapping around the square mezzanine, it was large enough to fit a table and two chairs, along with planters overflowing with baby’s breath and purple anemone flowers.
She hesitated at the thick iron balustrade, stroking the very spot she’d awoken from her nightmare.
Glancing up, she stared at the forest she’d imagined Agatha appearing from.
Shadows drifted between the trees, taunting, teasing. Kora blinked and they thickened, long limbs stretching from the darkness, bleeding across the gardens. She jumped back, her heart hammering as they reached for her throat. With a gasp, she squeezed her eyes shut.
It’s not real. It’s not real. Kora grabbed the iron railing, the cool metal telling her she was on the balcony.
She inhaled, delicate florals filling her nose.
She was in Galen. A dark cackle faded, blending into a swoop of a hawk’s wings, a screech from the east. She was by Mistros City.
Kora pried her eyes open. The shadows had vanished, leaving the forest calm and serene.
Agatha hadn’t graced her dreams again after that night.
Kora wasn’t sure what was worse—never seeing Agatha again, or that someone had revealed her identity to the city.
Why had the apparition led her down there?
And why had it transformed into a dark, shadowy beast?
Kora shuddered. Those claws had felt so real but hadn’t left any marks on her skin.
Hector had been conveniently absent. As much as Aryn had tried to pin him down to gather intel, only Leto and Cassidy had been present in the castle.
The former even visiting Kora briefly to offer her a lone hydrangea, the latter casting frosty looks whenever she caught Kora’s head peeking out of her door.
The dazzling view of domes and spirals of Mistros City sparkled, a decadent blue against the misty haze at the base of the hill.
Beyond was the ocean, a murkier shade of blue, but still glorious as ever.
The air was so fresh, sweet and satisfying here, and Kora breathed lungfuls as she used the horizon to settle her centre.
Her water beast purred, and had been growing louder with each day that passed.
Her recovery had been slow. Raiden was infuriatingly right.
She needed to rest properly, to allow her body and mind to recover together, to allow her power to return.
She could manipulate the equivalent to a small glassful of water, but she couldn’t conjure, nor connect to the ocean at a distance.
Healing had been minute, but for some reason since arriving at Galen, her body had been healing naturally at a faster pace.
But the darkness still lingered. A phantom tentacle wrapped around her throat, waking her amid the night screaming. Sometimes, a laugh like Barron’s swam in her ears, his coldness following her within the shadows, the absence of life haunting her memories.
You’re not in the in-between anymore.
Kora inspected her body, her lips curling at her still too-thin frame.
Her fingertips trailed over sharp knuckles, bony wrists, remembering how these veins had once been black, just like Blake’s.
Her heart thudded unpleasantly as emerald eyes filled her mind, followed by petrichor and leather.
He was a completely different person now.
His love had been a lie. She squirmed at all their conversations about the future, fighting for the best possible chance to be together.
She had almost thrown everything away to keep him on Hell’s Serpent.
She’d been such a fool. It was clear to her that Blake was born of deceit, and his goal had never been her, but obtaining power.
Kora refused to be blinded again, to be broken in such a way.
During this time recovering, she’d been slowly erecting hard walls of steel around her heart, determined to protect it at all costs.
Thanos’ presence had vanished, his cold brushes across her shoulders absent since she’d begged for Erick’s life.
Kora’s grip tightened around the iron railing, the cold metal planting her within reality.
Sometimes, she’d dream of her time with Thanos, entwined with the blood-soaked nightmares plaguing her, and she’d abruptly awake, unsure of whether Windspire was real, or simply another watery memory of her past she hadn’t uncovered yet.
She wondered whether saving Erick would cost her. Kora huffed. It didn’t matter. Thanos had made it clear she would meet her end someday at the hands of her own. Whatever that fucking meant. Supposedly after the mystical gods-blessed plan weaved by Calypso. The gods were always so vague.
Kora had made her peace with Death itself.
She would forge her own path. A week cooped up in this room was enough, it was time to act.
The healers were wary of Kora, and she was starting to believe their cautions of staying hidden were for their own benefit.
She had returned to the Azarian Islands for one thing only, and she would see to it before Thanos’ destined fate caught up with her.
To execute Barron’s demise, and save the innocents of the islands.