Daughter of the dark sea, p.1
Daughter of the Dark Sea, page 1
DAUGHTER OF THE DARK SEA
Copyright © 2025 by G. E. Smith.
All rights reserved. Printed in the United Kingdom. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embedded in critical articles or reviews. The author and publisher do not permit any company, group or individual to use any part of this publication for the purposes of training any form of AI software, generative or otherwise.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
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ISBN: 978-1-0682440-0-1
THE AZARIAN SAGA
G. E. SMITH
To those who ever feel unheard, your voice smothered and disregarded. To those who drown in their anxiety and grief, unable to catch a breath.
To those who believe they are weak. . .you are strong.
You are powerful.
You will not be conquered.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
Dear Reader,
Daughter of the Dark Sea is a fantasy novel with mature or upsetting themes that are intended for ages 18+. It includes content such as oppression, sexual assault, death, blood, war, violence, sexual themes, and grief. Reader discretion is advised.
For a comprehensive sensitivity list, please visit https://gesmithauthor.my.canva.site
Prologue
Finlay
Promise me you won’t die.”
“It’s a bit hard to promise that.” Finlay cautiously glanced down the cobbled street before placing a comforting hand on his partner’s cheek. It was risky, and he tried memorising the smooth planes of John’s features; the way his brow furrowed at the surprisingly gentle gesture.
Orange dazzled the sky, like sparkling citrine. The sun hung low in the horizon, and a warm, summer breeze entwined their bodies, with a promise of adventure—and urgency—awaiting Finlay. He needed to do this, but gods’ darn it, his heart was breaking at leaving.
“Then promise me you’ll come back.” John shifted, his heels rocking on the wooden porch of his tavern. Finlay’s chest tightened at the familiar squeak of wood, his breathing restricted, and he stared into his partner’s striking blue eyes.
“You’re all I’ve got,” John’s voice strained, and he cleared his throat.
“I’ll always come back to you, John,” Finlay spoke quietly, dark eyes darting around at their surroundings. “I promise I will always find you. Together, ayterni—right?”
John’s eyes widened in alarm at the old language rolling off Finlay’s tongue, followed by a tentative smile at their endearment for eternal.
A soft whine sounded, and Finlay glanced down to his loyal hound sat beside John’s side. He stroked the gossamer-black fur, fingers shakily brushing over the collared chain, and placed a soft kiss on the dog’s head. The pooch reeked of stale ale, cigar ash and aged wood, the scent of home curling up Finlay’s nose, and he inhaled deeply.
“Conan, take care of John for me.” Finlay winked at his partner, before straightening his black-and-green uniform. He brushed his long hair out of his eyes with a trembling hand and flicked his wrists, warding off the persistent shakes. That’s going to be a problem.
“Aye, you know he will.” John smiled tightly but his eyes were alight with worry. “Temporarily—because you’ll be coming home. Alive.”
Finlay swallowed a panicked laugh and grasped his partner’s slender hand. “I need to find her . . . we’re running out of time, John. She’s everything we’ve been working towards.”
John only nodded once, his stare wary of the bustling life in the street passing them by. They were blessed by the gods to own a tavern on the main street, with a constant influx of sailors and weary souls to fill their coffers. It was much needed after Finlay had estranged from his family . . . if he could even call them that.
“Two weeks,” John spoke, his sharp voice cutting through Finlay’s bitterness. “Come back with the girl. Then we can get the clan ready to move.”
Another reason for Finlay’s estrangement. He descended from pioneers of malice, hardship, and judgement, who thrived under the empire’s reign of these islands. The clan he’d built with John was the opposite. Survivors in a world recovering from war—two wars in fact—who sought to eliminate the infestation of the Talmon Empire.
“If it even is her.” Finlay sheathed his family’s broadsword behind his back. Its weight was a continuous burden; a mark of shame running down his spine. Hatred filled him at what—who—the sword represented.
Sun rays bounced off a shining gleam of Talmon silver parading down the street, stopping cloaked civilians, searching their baskets, and confiscating weaponry. Their clan had caused a stir lately and, as a result, searches and surveillance had increased, and rebellions were lighting in people’s hearts. Only small embers, but it was enough to spark unrest amongst nobility.
“We can only hope.” John took Finlay’s trembling hands into his steady, rough palms, chapped from years of bartending at their tavern. “Remember the plan. The story. And don’t. Get. Caught.”
Finlay shook out a wavering breath, rolling his shoulders. “And don’t die.”
“Aye, that would be nice. We’d like you back in one piece.”
John flashed a grim smile of sharp teeth, and the heavy weight on Finlay’s back burrowed into his chest. A horn blared from the nearby harbour and John let out a gasp, woeful blue eyes shimmering with tears. He released Finlay’s trembling hands.
“I have to go.” Gods, it was really happening. Ten long, hard years finally coming to an inevitable end. Finlay’s pulse fluttered as he slung a knapsack of minor belongings over his shoulder, the strap biting into his slender frame.
“We’ll be waiting for you.” John gestured to Conan, his dual tails wagging between his two owners, unaware of what was unfolding. “Be careful, Finlay, please.”
“Always. I’ll miss you.”
John opened his mouth, but quickly shut it as a nearby guard shouldered his way past them to the entrance of the tavern.
“If you’re joining the ship I think you are, you’d better hurry,” the guard grunted, his gruff tone directed at Finlay. “The captain’s in a foul mood and she’s casting off early, eager to set sail.” His expression was pinched with irritation. “Bloody woman-captain, what’s this world coming to?” He ducked into the tavern, bellowing at the barmaid for an ale.
John tightly nodded, his mouth settling into a thin line as he retreated into the shadows of their haven, despite the guests.
With a tear in his eye, Finlay turned his back on his small, true family, and ventured down the main cobbled street towards the thrumming heart of the port, which was crawling with citizens, all rushing to bid farewell to their loved ones. Throngs of women and children waved and cried, and Finlay bitterly scoffed. No one was here to bid him farewell. The empire quashed anything different to their values, and he’d had no choice but to become an expert at hiding in plain sight.
Each step was an eternity, his feet dragging like stone through mud. He couldn’t mess this up. This was his last chance to right his wrongs—to right this messed up world.
As he stepped onto the wooden deck of the port, his dark eyes squinted against the low, dusky sun setting behind a formidable black ship. Teems of sailors boarded the gangplank, all wearing the same identical uniform as himself. Good. He’d swiped this from a sailor when he’d fled his family’s estate, in the hope it was the correct uniform, and it was a little big on his slender, bony frame.
Finlay had promised John he’d return home, but with everything at stake . . . he would lay down his life, if it meant saving hers. The sting of the false promise made him wince, that burrowed heaviness in his chest imploding into a scattering of shards, crystalising into his bones, and fortifying his resolve to make this sacrifice.
I’m sorry, John.
He wiped his clammy hands on his breeches as he filed into the stream of sailors boarding the ship, the heat of bodies causing beads of sweat to drip from his brow. Up ahead, he spotted a being with a head of gleaming white hair, donning a black leather jerkin, and two daggers strapped to her back. She stomped across the deck, barking orders at her crew.
With a deep breath, ash and ale swirling around his mind, the rebel leader took his first step onto the mighty Hell’s Serpent.
Part One
The Demon Sea Siren
1
Kora
Kora Cadell had been tracking the pirates for three days.
Her heartbeat thundered in time with the rocking of her ship on the cresting ocean waves of the expanse of the Shaurock Sea, her eyes fixed on the horizon, scouting for signs of unruly sails. She’d been staring for so long that the endless blue swirled her vision, but she would not stop. Not with the thrill of the hunt sizzling beneath her skin.
A breeze ruffled her hair, short strands of sea-foam white fluttering into her gaze as she gripped the helm, keeping her ship steady against the persist ent current. Kora inhaled deeply, savouring the cool, briny southern winds as the midday sun blazed down on her crew.
Three blisteringly hot days they’d been sailing off-course from their scouting mission near Scarlet Bay. They were royally fucked. But she wouldn’t admit that.
Before their return voyage from the bay, she’d caught wind of pirates gathering in Peril Cove, and her trusty, unknown voice—that wasn’t her own—had compelled her to hunt them down. She often listened to the mysterious voice inside her mind, not that she’d admit it to anyone. She wasn’t insane! But it’d kept her alive the past ten years, and was the sandy foundation to her whirlpool mind.
Now, it’d driven her to the notorious homeland of pirates—Peril Cove. At least, it was their homeland, until a brutal war raged over two hundred years ago, scattering pirates across the seas whilst their home was desecrated. Good bloody riddance. Kora would ensure all pirates were wiped from the world they’d stained, like an ink splotch on a map.
What else was a pirate-hunter meant to do?
The cove’s unique sharp, horseshoe shape loomed ahead, surrounded by reefs and archipelagos. It was troublesome territory to sail and navigate, and many shipwrecks happened in these southern waters. Northern towers guarding the pointed tips, armed to the teeth, making it impossible to enter. Except for Captain Kora Cadell.
Her eyes flickered to the deck. Exhaustion laid heavy on her sailing crew, and dehydration was rapidly setting in. Supplies were dangerously dwindling, and rumours circled that she wasn’t fit to be captain. But those were only rumours. It was fine. No big deal.
The stench alone of the lower decks was eye watering. They’d been out at sea for too long, and she tugged at the sweat-damp collar of her black jerkin. It’d be another mark against her carefully crafted reputation.
Kora cast her eyes to the port side of Hell’s Serpent. A few miles away, she could spot the edge of the Mist, lingering like a shade.
It spanned for miles, consuming the entirety of the western island, Galen. A mystery among these god-abandoned lands, the Mist was untouchable, and impenetrable, and no one had been able to contact Galen since it appeared ten years ago.
Shortly after the empire united the islands, ending the two-hundred-year war, Galen lit the fire for a secondary war when they’d refused to bow. But the Mist arrived as a blessing, and the hostile enemy the empire feared had met their demise, contained in a prison of nature’s creation.
Being this close to it unnerved Kora, and chills ran down her spine, snaking into her weakened limbs. She’d nearly lost her life in these waters, succumbing to an attack nearby the Mist. Luckily, the commodore had saved her life from—
“Go . . . keep going,” the deep, inviting voice whispered, dragging Kora from the depths of her mind.
The voice travelled on the ocean winds, it sang to her in her dreams, and it soothed her raging, vengeful heart. She steered the ship away from a rocky reef patch and paused to fill her lungs, tasting the thrill of sailing the barrens of the Shaurock Sea.
The night-black sails of Hell’s Serpent whipped in the air, propelling them forward. Thick, dark-green ropes looped around the base of the central main mast, with rigging and shrouds dyed the same dreadful colour. An envious malachite stone, shaped like a diamond, and embedded in the heart of the wheel, sparkled at her. The colours of the Talmon Empire followed Kora everywhere.
The crew worked relentlessly hard, muscles stretching and straining, slick with ocean spray and sweat. Black-and-dark-forest-green uniforms, lined with golden buttons and stitching, were discarded in the heat of the sun. Kora absentmindedly scratched the embroidered insignia over her chest—a sharp four-pointed star, connected by an inner loop. The empire claimed it was a symbol of unity, or some bullshit like that. Kora scoffed as she eyed the isolated, shrouded Galen Island.
“Captain Cadell.” A familiar, deep drawl sounded from the stairs leading from the main deck.
Blake Marwood rounded the corner, his dark hair blending in with the ebony wood of her fearsome ship. He prowled with a predatory stalk in his gait, and a tight smile stretched his handsome face, causing Kora’s stomach to sink to the depths of the brig.
“The crew are beginning to wonder whether you’re of . . .” he paused, “. . . unsound mind, with these impulsive plunders. We’ve sailed too far.” His deep, green eyes fixated on her face as he stood close to her side. Close enough to feel his warmth radiating from him.
“Ah, but my crazy plans always pay off. They always end up with treasure,” Kora replied, angling her head up to meet his keen gaze. “Rewards I am willing to hide from the empire,” she added, fixing him that look. She put her neck on the line by amending the ledgers of their plunders. But her crew’s families were starving, and struggling to survive in the streets of Aldara’s lower districts.
It was the least she could do in her position.
Blake’s hair ruffled in the breeze, damp strands hanging over his glinting eyes. Compared to the sun-beaten skin of most naval officers, he was lightly tanned, with muscled broad shoulders, and a comfortable yet powerful authority he wielded effortlessly. So different from when they first met, all those years ago.
His uniform mirrored her own, and it suited him well, matching his hair and eyes like it’d been made for him. A thick, dark-brown leather belt hugged his hips, with a gleaming cutlass sword sheathed at his side. Gold thread trailed around the black hilt, connecting to a golden pommel that arched round and protected his hand. A dainty green-and-black tassel completed the weapon.
Everything about Blake screamed the Talmon Empire—Kora personally preferred to play with daggers—but good gods, was he handsome.
“They’re aware of your previous successes. But this latest venture of yours . . .” Blake glanced past the bow of the ship towards the open, endless ocean. Kora adored the sight of it.
“Then why are they moaning?” Kora snapped. She’d worked her fingers to the bone to achieve her status. Fought harder than anyone. Endured too many horrors.
Blake inhaled sharply, his hands hovering near her calloused and scarred ones, from the many years of working as a low-level sailor. A whisper of a touch. She inspected the dirt crusting her fingernails. She really needed a bath.
“It’s been an extra three days, Kora. We still need to sail back. Supplies are low—no, they’re non-existent. The crew are close to fainting, or even dying.” His assessing gaze raked across her. “So are you. We won’t make it back to Aldara alive.”
They were having this conversation now, then.
“Ignore him . . . keep sailing.”
She grimaced and wiped sweat from her brow. It was no lie that Kora had kept rooted to the helm lately, using it to steady her legs that swayed in time with the ocean waves. Once she’d realised they were running out of water, food, and grog, she was the first to ration her portions. She didn’t dare admit that all she’d eaten for three days were tiny nibbles of cured meats, the taste so bland she’d barely chewed, gulping down the contents to line the gnawing hole inside.
She couldn’t show any form of weakness. The first sign of it, she’d be removed from her position, losing the respect and authority she’d wrestled for under the scrutinous judgement of society.
“Are you sure it’s not what’s between my legs that’s stirring them?” she asked saccharinely, distracting him from her quivering stance.
As the only female captain in the armada, Kora was a prize circus act to males—something she felt strongly about challenging as a captain. A small ember blazed within her at the vision in her mind of female captains leading an entire fleet. She’d poured her blood, sweat, and tears into clawing her way into the armada, and rapidly ascended to the empire’s best-ranking captain within two years.
Now, she needed to claw her way up higher, and avoid making any mistakes.
Just like the one she was making now.
Blake stilled, his eyes pointedly roaming her body, taking in her slender frame that was packed with muscle from working on ships. Not that she could feel the benefit. Her limbs were ready to give way any moment. Years of working on ships under the hot sun had imbued her freckled skin with a golden kiss, and his eyes skimmed across her rounded face, finally settling on her pouted mouth. Kora’s toes curled in her boots from his piercing stare.
