Page 41 of Prince of the Phantom Sky

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.

17

Kora

Nightmares of innocents strung up on Galen’s shores, their lungs torn from their backs as a colony of blood eagles had always plagued Kora’s mind. Whispered tales of torture and violence that had cemented the streets of Aldara, followed by the description of a lifeless island, where no light could pierce its soul.

How wrong they’d been. Just like her visions with Thanos, the shoreline of Mistros City was lined by a decadent promenade, with wrought-iron benches, and pristine white buildings sculpted in smooth, rounded shapes. They rose to meet blue domes and spiralled roofs, with minute accents of gold in the shape of weathervanes.

The Mist lingered, casting a hazy glow upon the city, dense enough that they used lanterns during the daytime, but the smallest of sunrays peeked through in cascading lines, reflecting off the dazzling city. Bone Rattler had sailed for almost a week back to Galen, and Kora had remained within the confines of her cabin the entire time, only allowing Aryn to enter her space to grant food.

He’d told her of archery contracts he’d completed, ascending to his title of fame. But whenever she’d pried deeper, asking for information on the Windwards and Galen, he’d find a reason to leave. One time, she’d asked about his family and Aryn had flat out walked back out of the cabin, claiming he had the next watch above deck.

She was too ashamed to show her grief, to display weakness in front of what had been the supposed greatest enemy of her lifetime. Her reasoning and world had been shattered, her grip and knowledge of her existence evaporating, leaving Kora with too many questions and doubts. She’d spent every night since escaping Barron crying into her cot, using her salted tears to slowly heal the remains of Blake’s violation upon her body.

But nothing could heal her heart.

Now, she stood on the forecastle deck of Bone Rattler, her hands gripping the railing to the point it splintered her skin. The skeleton figurehead in front creaked with every sway, its bony teeth chattering in a mocking laugh. Kora welcomed the painful sting, using it to ground her reality.

This wasn’t another illusion. Sometimes when she blinked, she would see green shrouds, black wood lined with prisoner’s scores made by fingernails. Her mind taunting her with the horrors she’d committed in the bowels of Hell’s Serpent.

Reminding her of the innocents she had captured and tortured. Delivering them as a reaper, the empire’s personal weapon. Would Galen accept her? Would they want a hunter on their land, a stealer of souls?

Kora wrapped her arms around her thin body, folding the loose layers of pirate clothing to keep the chill at bay. It was oddly cool here, the usual southern warm winds disappearing the further they travelled into the Mist.

A shimmer separated Kora from the trailing mist and city, a bubble-like layer of swirling purple and green, shielding them from the prying eyes of the world. Aryn had explained Leto possessed a unique illusion magic, capable of hiding in plain sight, including anyone and anything he desired. They weren’t sure whether the barriers he manipulated acted as a cloak, or a repellent to others’ sight. Either way, it was a handy gift when surrounded by enemies.

She exhaled as the twinkling weathervanes, and panelled glass brightened, the blues becoming more vibrant, and white stone more dazzling. Upon closer inspection, a crowd milled at the docks, dressed in an array of colours, interspersed by market stalls and what suspiciously looked like a lot of guards.

Were they there for her? Was this a trap? She tensed, stumbling back from the railing. She tripped in the too-large boots, and her back brushed something solid and warm.

“Do you remember any of it?” Raiden asked, his presence causing every nerve to fire within Kora. She became all-too aware of how he felt, how he smelt, and she stepped away, turning to face him.

“I . . . er, no.” How could she tell him she’d been trying to access her memories but her mind twisted them into something . . . other. That she still became confused on what was reality. “I’m sorry.”

Raiden’s steely hair was brighter against the muted tones of the Mist. He’d forgone that ridiculously tight suit in place of breeches and a loose linen shirt, with a short sword strapped to his waist. A unique, delicate floral pattern decorated the dark hilt. A smatter of a chest hair peeked through the shirt against sculpted light brown skin and Kora averted her gaze, nibbling her cheek.

“How . . . how are you feeling?” Raiden winced at his own question. “Sorry, that’s probably a shit thing to ask.”

“No, that’s okay,” Kora rushed in response. Gods, what was wrong with her? “I’m still . . . processing.”

“Processing?” Raiden’s head cocked.

“It’s just . . . a lot.” Kora waved her hands in the air. “I watched people I love die, or I left them for dead. I’ve abandoned them to hide here.”

“War isn’t kind,” Raiden answered. “It doesn’t spare. It doesn’t forgive. The best you can do is wake up each day, and acknowledge their loss. Know that they rest in Umbra now.”

Her toes curled in her boots as she met his gaze. The gaze of a voice that’d been in her mind for a decade. The gaze of someone who’d kept her alive, who’d filled the loneliest moments of her life. The gaze of someone who probably had all the answers. But now, she had no idea what to say, her heart quickening at the thought of her life shattering further with any truth he might utter from his lips.

Awkward silence ensued and Kora fiddled with the long hemline of her shirt. What she wouldn’t give to wield a blade right now. The urge to spar, to do anything physical, consumed her.

“Would you prefer this?” Raiden’s voice echoed in her mind, and Kora shivered at the familiarity. Now that she knew who it belonged to, the deep, sweeping tones, the teasing lilt at the end, she couldn’t imagine it belonging to anyone else.