37
Kora
Hallow’s Day had arrived.
Kora tried to quash the unease rising within her. She had one month until she had to fulfil her deal with Zephyr, and she was no closer to understanding how she would infiltrate Talmon and find Barron. How she could bring Erick out from his coma.
Kora had remained in this castle for weeks, the furthest she’d ventured since her shadowed escapade was the Aspen Glade with Raiden for training.
No one had told her she wasn’t allowed to leave anymore, but the truth was, she’d been scared.
Of showing her face to a city who screamed at her in fear, of venturing outside and cursed as the enemy, cast out for her blind actions.
“Ready?” Aryn’s head popped around the door as Kora retrieved a cloak from her armoire. Before she closed it, an etching caught her attention. Hidden behind where the cloak had been, were the initials K.J.
“Coming,” Kora replied quietly, frowning as she shut the armoire, following Aryn through the west wing.
Anticipation thrummed through her as her steps fell in time with his.
Each one bringing her closer to the public’s eye.
She longed to see an open sky, to feel more of the sun on her face.
Her room had become stuffy, and Kora realised she wanted to explore more of Galen, to learn its wondrous secrets.
Until Aryn had advised she needed the cloak.
To hide her hair, her scar. Hector’s rumours were rampant still, the city in a state of unease that a killer stalked the palace.
The Windwards—Skylar included—believed participating in the festivities would be healthy for Kora.
A momentary break from the threatening shadow leering across the sea.
“You seem tense,” Aryn observed. His longbow had returned, resting on top of a dark orange waistcoat overlaying a white shirt with dark breeches. His hair was swept back, and leather braces lined his wrists.
“I don’t have time for celebrations,” Kora murmured. “I have a month until Zephyr enforces his deal and Erick . . . we . . . we’re done. What if someone recognises me out there?”
Aryn’s light smile faded. “I’m sure we’ll get something soon from Hector and Leto.
Raiden sent them a hawk requesting updates on Barron’s motions away from Zephyr’s eyes.
Once we know where he is, we’ll get a plan.
Until then, just keep doing what you’re doing.
And that’s what the cloak is for. One of us will always be with you. ”
Kora nodded, allowing Aryn’s faith to fortify her nerves.
She tapped into her body momentarily, taking a moment to appreciate how much muscle she’d regained, her strength returning, but not quite at its peak.
She no longer looked like a walking corpse, and even though her golden-kissed tan had faded from the Mist, she liked her new moonlit glow.
Clasping the prismatic cloak around her neck, Kora fluffed her curling hair, almost laughing at how she now experienced things like her hair getting caught in clothes, brushes, and how the strands stuck to her nape when she got hot.
Memories of Erick trimming her hair swept in like a tidal wave, dowsing the tickling feeling of curls.
Kora nibbled her cheek, rubbing the feeling of the sharp slice of shears away from her ears.
He’d done it all for her safety, her protection.
Whether that was from Barron recognising her, or from males within the fleet.
Kora adjusted the corset cinching her waist, recalling the wraps Erick had stuffed her into to make her frame leaner.
He probably could have handled it better.
Gods, everything could have been handled better.
Forgoing her usual breeches and tunic attire, she donned a deep navy skirt, with a matching corset embroidered with swirling patterns of silver over a white shirt. She still wore her favoured boots though, after promptly disposing of any heels she’d discovered in her chambers.
“Try to enjoy the day, Captain. Take this day for yourself. Hallow’s Day is about the ending of things. But also, the beginning of something.”
“You don’t have to keep calling me Captain,” Kora spoke meekly, chest panging at her lost Hell’s Serpent. She presumed Barron had put it to use in his new armada . . . or for spare parts.
“You’ll always be my captain.” Aryn grinned as they descended the stairs, meeting Aerion.
Their steps remained in unison the whole way, and Kora briefly considered whenever Aryn was present, the weight appearing in her chest wasn’t crushing, but a comfort that kept her rooted to reality.
Aryn hadn’t pressed about the skildaj bond any further, knowing it was a huge commitment.
Kora needed time to focus on everything else first.
“I thought Hallow’s Day was Thanos’ celebration day,” Kora mused as Aerion waved like an excited child.
“It originally was. But Thanos represents both life and death,” Aerion answered. “Plus, it’s a great excuse to party!”
Kora laughed as Aryn and Aerion guided her from the castle and down the hill. Music floated from the city, the sun peeking through the Mist causing blue, white, and gold to dazzle her. And for once, when her eyes met the ocean, her body wriggled with excitement, eager to say hello.
The promenade teemed with bodies, milling around wooden market stalls erected along the length of the entire city. So far that Kora couldn’t see where it ended or began. Her stare kept swivelling to the ocean beyond the docks and shore, a familiar itch gnawing at her to dive in and reconnect.
Galenite mercenaries were everywhere, their pearlescent stone armour sticking out amongst the crowd dressed in shades of blue, orange, and purple.
Apparently, they were the most popular colours for the island, matching the silken awnings of stalls.
The salted air seemed cooler, and Kora breathed a sigh of relief as it flushed her warm skin.
Summer had faded, and autumn had arrived.
She kept her hood up, conscious of new eyes feasting on her scar.
Or screaming at her face. It hadn’t bothered her in Aldara, but it was a new sight for Galenites, and she still wasn’t used to seeing it down her own neck.
An ugly reminder of everything she was fighting for.
Every time someone looked her way, Kora’s neck snapped, her head bowing as she focused on following Aryn’s boots against the light stone promenade.
A group of musicians had set up on one of the docks, their instruments surprisingly loud as it carried a melody across the city.
Nothing like the sea shanties Kora was used to, but a light tune with a beat that made her want to dance.
Shops lining the sea front had opened their doors, painted signs hung beside bells inviting customers in for free tastings or discounted goods.
Sweet aromas of cakes, followed by the richness of coffee, even entwined with sage from a white-painted apothecary.
Kora eyed a pastry shop, but Aryn deftly tugged her through the crowd to the far side of the promenade.
It still shocked her at times with his familiarity of Galen, at how people in the crowd waved at him, and he returned them with a smile.
A contrast to being a part of the Talmon Empire, at how everyone had operated with stern faces, hushed whispers, judgemental stares.
Kora couldn’t release the tension she walked with.
Something she’d spent a decade carrying around, the pressure of performance as a female captain, of ascending the empire, and meeting their standards that’d been ingrained into her.
Aerion paused by a purple stall with small cups of a dark liquid. The merchant smiled at them warmly, her aged hands offering a metal tray as she dipped her head. As she lifted her chin, Kora jerked, the empire’s brand stark across the merchant’s forehead.
“Please, my prince, try some.”
Aerion smiled, undisturbed by the female’s marked forehead, thanking the merchant as he offered Aryn and Kora a cup each.
It was dainty, and her fingers awkwardly held it, peering at the dark liquid that was barely enough for one mouthful.
But it packed a punch as Kora inhaled its spicy scent, lined with a syrupy edge.
“We call them shots.” Aerion winked as he drank his in one mouthful.
“I know what a shot is, Prince.” Kora rolled her eyes as Aryn followed suit. Their attire was similar, except Aerion’s was lined with small details of gold. The fabric far more expensive, and pressed so well the shirt had sharp corners.
The merchant laughed, her aged brown eyes crinkling. Kora hesitated. The brand had healed, faded to a pale pink mark. How an exile had ended up here was beyond her understanding.
Necking the shot, flavour exploded on her tongue. Rum flavoured with spices and cherries. Her eyes blew wide as she moaned. Sweet Calypso, it was divine.
“By the gods,” Kora licked her bottom lip.
“For you, lassie.” The merchant offered a small bottle, the dark liquid swishing inside.
A pristine label covered it, lined with flecks of nickel, and the merchant’s handwriting across the centre.
Kera Rumbullion. Kora choked, her hand wavering.
She’d murdered exiles in cold blood. She’d killed this woman’s kind, and yet she offered Kora the drink.
If this female knew of the atrocities Kora had committed.
If she knew of the infamous white hair and scar hidden beneath this hood, Kora was sure she’d smash the bottle over her head instead.
Aryn’s fingers flew to her wrist, squeezing lightly.
His mouth curved, and he nodded encouragingly. Kora exhaled. She had to repent.
“Oh no, I insist I pay, I . . .” Kora’s cheeks heated as she realised, she had no wealth here. In fact, the status she possessed back at Cadell Manor no longer existed.
“Here,” Aerion paid the merchant with golden coins, waving at Kora to stop her protesting. “A present for you.”