16
Kora
You can stay in here.” Raiden pushed open the creaky door to a small cabin. Kora trembled as she crossed the threshold. A single cot lined the right wall, with barely enough space between it and the simple armoire to the left. A single porthole broke through the grey wood above the cot.
“It’s not much,” Raiden hovered behind her. “But it’s nicer than most.”
Kora sank down onto the bed, her blue skirts billowing around her. She shivered as the ship rocked, sailing across the sea . . . to Galen. She swallowed down a gag as her body threatened to heave up the forced food from Barron’s dinner.
“Do you need anything?” Raiden asked, filling the doorframe like a giant. Kora couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t even speak as what happened finally settled into her. Moments passed and Raiden eventually sighed, closing the door.
“Thank you,” Kora whispered. The door froze before it shut, and Raiden’s fingers flexed around the wood, almost as if he were deciding to enter. “For rescuing me.”
A sharp inhale responded, Raiden’s warmth lingering in the space.
As the door closed, Kora collapsed back on the bed, her tears streaming silently.
She wiped one from her face, peering at it on her finger.
It was clear, no trace of Barron’s magic lingering, no sign of his possession over her remained.
With a disgusted exhale, Kora tore the infernal ballgown from her body, not caring if she ripped the fabric.
Glistening beads scattered onto the floor, rolling and disappearing into the cracks of the wood.
She pushed open the porthole, stuffing the dress through it, relief washing over her as it disappeared beneath the waves.
Talmon Island was still visible, and Kora choked on her sobs as she eyed the treeline, the darkness shrouding the island.
She could see it now. The stain left by Barron, his mark upon the land.
Talmon was infected, and he wanted to spread it across the world.
Once again, she had left Samuel, Ivar, and Theron in Talmon.
She was a failure.
Crushing guilt sliced through her, so desecrating that she couldn’t hold back her scream. Kora bowed over the bed, her fingers clawing at the thin sheets as she cried out at her failures. Her tears poured, soaking the cot, drowning her in despair.
They were suffering.
They were dying.
Agatha was already dead.
And it was all. Her. Fault.
The door slammed open and Aryn rushed in. Upon seeing Kora, he quickly shut the door, and spun to face it.
“Kora you . . . sorry! I should leave.” He could hardly look at her, his cheeks flaming red. Kora glanced down, dressed in underwear and a band of fabric across her chest. Her bones protruded through her skin, mud and blood caking every sharp line. Did he find her as disgusting as she felt?
Aryn reached for the door. “Please,” Kora whispered. “Stay.”
“There’s clothes in there,” Aryn pointed behind him to the armoire. “Standard issued uniform for the crew here.”
Kora meekly stumbled, exhaustion sweeping in as adrenaline abandoned her. She forced open the armoire, shakily pulling the first items she could see. Her fingers didn’t obey her commands as she tried prying the ties loose on the shirt, dropping it repeatedly.
“If it’s okay, let me help,” Aryn spoke quietly.
At her nod, he approached, each step tentative.
Moving Kora’s arms into place, he pulled the loose shirt over her head.
His mouth thinned as his fingers brushed her ribs, sliding over each bone.
Kora sniffled, clutching onto his shoulders as he held out the breeches for her to step into.
“They’re dying,” she gulped, her breaths shaky.
“We will save them,” he replied, his red cheeks fading to pink now her modesty was covered.
“But we’re leaving them behind.” Aryn stood straight, his thumbs sweeping across her arms as he steadied her. “We can’t save them.”
“Barron is powerful,” Aryn guided her back to the cot, ripping the sheets back. “A single ship of pirates cannot defeat him. We’ll return, I’m sure of it.”
Kora sank into the thin mattress, mumbling as Aryn pulled the sheets over her.
She glanced around the cabin, blinking against the muted tones, all colour leeched from it.
A contrast to her favoured Hell’s Serpent, whose darkness sparkled in the sea.
Where even was her ship? Had Barron commandeered it into his armada?
“I miss Sam as well,” Aryn assured, rubbing her arm as he perched on the edge of her cot. His hair was damp and tousled, and Kora reached out, tracing the tattoo across his cheek. A warmth settled within her, a stone anchoring her into the cot, solidifying her reality.
This was real. He was real.
“Agatha died,” she whispered.
Aryn frowned. “Who?”
“A friend. She was there.”
“Then we’ll avenge her, too,” Aryn held Kora’s hand. “I know this is scary. But I’m here, Kora. I’ll always be here.”
“Maybe everything would be easier if I’d just surrendered to Barron. If Erick had handed me to him.” Kora clutched onto Aryn like a lifeline. Affirming this wasn’t an illusion, or a memory.
“Don’t say that,” he spoke just as quietly.
“I know how you’re feeling right now. Like you’re drowning, like you can’t see.
That there’s no way up, or out of the darkness.
Like you’re pushing a boulder up a mountain with no end.
Trust me, Kora, there will be an end. And we’ll need to be there to ensure it doesn’t end in darkness. ”
But that darkness had been inside her. It still was. She shifted uncomfortably as her mind warped, blinking as she imagined dark wisps descending into the cabin, reaching for Aryn. She whimpered and Aryn’s hand tightened.
“You lied to me.”
Aryn blinked, his cheek twitching. “I had to.”
“Tell me the truth, please. I need to know everything. Anything. Something.” She grabbed his forearm, pleading with him.
“What I said was true, we were both Galenites. Still are, in a way. Galen isn’t the enemy, Kora. The empire’s propaganda has manipulated everyone, especially with the Mist. It’s easy to blame someone who cannot be heard or seen.” His gaze darkened, his hand now resting on top of hers.
“How long have you known them? When did you join? How did you join? You can’t be older than twenty, it doesn’t make sense!” Thoughts spiralled within her mind, Aryn’s actions not lining up. “You would’ve been a child when the Mist occurred.”
“I’ve known them for a very long time, I’m older than I look.” His reassuring smile did nothing to ease the storm within. “My family have—had—long-standing ties with the Windwards. It was only natural I ended up serving them during the second war.”
“What happened after?” Was his family still alive? She gulped, fearing to ask. She couldn’t handle any more death, even that of someone she didn’t know.
Aryn inhaled deeply. “I was in the wrong place, at the wrong time. When the Mist appeared, I was beyond the barrier, permanently separated from somewhere I called home. I spent my time travelling, building a new reputation for myself. Finding a new life, or a poor replica of my previous one. Until one day, I saw a terrifying captain, the spitting image of a friend from Galen.” Aryn’s hand tightened on hers.
“I can’t tell you what I felt that day. Like the gods had blessed me.
The sign I had been waiting for. I enlisted to be in your crew; in hope we could return.
It wasn’t until I realised you didn’t remember . . .”
Kora’s gaze shuttered. “So, you waited. You watched me.”
“I didn’t know what else to do. The events of the past few months came on suddenly, and when I saw Skylar for the first time in a decade, I knew we had a chance. A way to escape from the empire’s chains.
“You could’ve tried. Maybe if you had told me. I could’ve listened.” Kora frowned, unsure of her own words, blind hope confusing her. She already possessed desires to change the ways of the empire’s rule, but would she have believed Aryn? His sceptical look told her what she knew deep down.
She would have locked him up with all the other pirates.
“You need to sleep and eat. I’ll be back with food.” Aryn squeezed her hand once, changing the subject quickly. His warmth vanished as he slipped from the cabin.
The last thing she wanted was food. To be forced more nourishment. Kora settled into the cot, embracing the pain she deserved, allowing the wisps of darkness to descend and encapsulate her.
She didn’t deserve anything.
She was weak.
She was a failure.