Page 87 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

“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.”

“You didn’t have to.” Kora thanked him as she took the small bottle, securing it in the satchel attached to her hip.

“Someone needs to spend my money,” Aerion joked, but Aryn blinked and rubbed the back of his neck. “I need to see my father for the ceremony. Aryn can show you around. Remember, keep your hood up. Rumours are still circling, and we can’t risk it.” Aerion cast a strange look at Aryn before weaving into the crowd, his bouncy silver curls disappearing between brightly coloured shadows.

“There’s something strange between you two.” Kora nudged Aryn with her elbow, breaking his trance from staring after Aerion.

With a sigh, Aryn tugged her along, away from the direction Aerion disappeared into. “We have a complicated history. I’d rather not get into it. Let’s focus on today.”

“Aryn, that merchant . . . the brand . . . I . . .”

Aryn spun, hands landing on Kora’s shoulders in the middle of a constantly revolving crowd. He leaned in close. Heat consumed her, sticky and palpable from the crowd brushing against her, setting her nerves afire. Sunrays warmed her hands and cheeks as the sun glared brighter than it ever had through the Mist.

“Don’t. Don’t do this to yourself. You had no idea. I know you’ll never forget—I will never forget. I knew who they were, I knew they were innocent. I told myself the exiles had changed, that they were truly attacking us. I still don’t know for sure. Doran’s intentions were deadly to me. We can only work forward for a better world for those who are here now. What happened in the desert is my burden to bear, not yours.”

Kora choked at Aryn’s despair breaking through. His own guilt tearing at him. There’d been so many. So many dead. And Aryn had to play the part, he had to survive to ensure the world survived.