Contents
Title Page
Dedication
1. Lira
2. Lira
3. Elian
4. Elian
5. Lira
6. Elian
7. Elian
8. Lira
9. Elian
10. Lira
11. Elian
12. Elian
13. Lira
14. Elian
15. Lira
16. Lira
17. Elian
18. Lira
19. Lira
20. Elian
21. Elian
22. Lira
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25. Lira
26. Elian
27. Lira
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29. Elian
30. Lira
31. Elian
32. Lira
33. Elian
34. Lira
35. Lira
36. Elian
37. Lira
38. Elian
39. Elian
40. Lira
41. Lira
42. Lira
43. Elian
Acknowledgments
Copyright
For those I love, who never got the chance to see this happen
1
Lira
I HAVE A HEART for every year I’ve been alive.
There are seventeen hidden in the sand of my bedroom. Every so often, I
claw through the shingle, just to check they’re still there. Buried deep and
bloody. I count each of them, so I can be sure none were stolen in the night.
It’s not such an odd fear to have. Hearts are power, and if there’s one thing
my kind craves more than the ocean, it’s power.
I’ve heard things: tales of lost hearts and harpooned women stapled to the
ocean bed as punishment for their treachery. Left to suffer until their blood
becomes salt and they dissolve to sea foam. These are the women who take
the human bounty of their kin. Mermaids more fish than flesh, with an upper
body to match the decadent scales of their fins.
Unlike sirens, mermaids have stretched blue husks and limbs in place of
hair, with a jawlessness that lets their mouths stretch to the size of small boats
and swallow sharks whole. Their deep-blue flesh is dotted with fins that
spread up their arms and spines. Fish and human both, with the beauty of
neither.
They have the capacity to be deadly, like all monsters, but where sirens
seduce and kill, mermaids remain fascinated by humans. They steal trinkets
and follow ships in hopes that treasure will fall from the decks. Sometimes
they save the lives of sailors and take nothing but charms in return. And when
they steal the hearts we keep, it isn’t for power. It’s because they think that if
they eat enough of them, they might become human themselves.
I hate mermaids.
My hair snakes down my back, as red as my left eye – and only my left, of
course, because the right eye of every siren is the color of the sea they were
born into. For me, that’s the great sea of Diávolos, with waters of apple and
sapphire. A selection of each so it manages to be neither. In that ocean lies
the sea kingdom of Keto.
It’s a well-known fact that sirens are beautiful, but the bloodline of Keto is
royal and with that comes its own beauty. A magnificence forged in salt
water and regality. We have eyelashes born from iceberg shavings and lips
painted with the blood of sailors. It’s a wonder we even need our song to
steal hearts.
“Which will you take, cousin?” Kahlia asks in Psáriin.
She sits beside me on the rock and stares at the ship in the distance. Her
scales are deep auburn and her blond hair barely reaches her breasts, which
are covered by a braid of orange seaweed.
“You’re ridiculous,” I tell her. “You know which.”
The ship ploughs idly along the calm waters of Adékaros, one of the many
human kingdoms I’ve vowed to rid of a prince. It’s smaller than most and
made from scarlet wood that represents the colors of their country.
Humans enjoy flaunting their treasures for the world, but it only makes
them targets for creatures like Kahlia and me, who can easily spot a royal
ship. After all, it’s the only one in the fleet with the painted wood and tiger
flag. The only vessel on which the Adékarosin prince ever sails.
Easy prey for those in the mood to hunt.
The sun weighs on my back. Its heat presses against my neck and causes
my hair to stick to my wet skin. I ache for the ice of the sea, so sharp with
cold that it feels like glorious knives in the slits between my bones.
“It’s a shame,” says Kahlia. “When I was spying on him, it was like
looking at an angel. He has such a pretty face.”
“His heart will be prettier.”
Kahlia breaks into a wild smile. “It’s been an age since your last kill, Lira,”
she teases. “Are you sure you’re not out of practice?”
“A year is hardly an age.”
“It depends who’s counting.”
I sigh. “Then tell me who that is so I can kill them and be done with this
conversation.”
Kahlia’s grin is ungodly. The kind reserved for moments when I am at my
most dreadful, because that’s the trait sirens are supposed to value most. Our
awfulness is treasured. Friendship and kinship taught to be as foreign as land.
Loyalty reserved only for the Sea Queen.
“You are a little heartless today, aren’t you?”
“Never,” I say. “There are seventeen under my bed.”
Kahlia shakes the water from her hair. “So many princes you’ve tasted.”
She says it as though it’s something to be proud of, but that’s because
Kahlia is young and has taken only two hearts of her own. None of them
royalty. That’s my specialty, my territory. Some of Kahlia’s reverence is for
that. The wonder of whether the lips of a prince taste different from those of
any other human. I can’t say, for princes are all I’ve ever tasted.
Ever since our goddess, Keto, was killed by the humans, it’s become
custom to steal a heart each year, in the month of our birth. It’s a celebration
of the life Keto gave to us and a tribute of revenge for the life the humans
took from her. When I was too young to hunt, my mother did it for me, as is
tradition. And she always gave me princes. Some as young as I was. Others
old and furrowed, or middle children who never had a chance at ruling. The
king of Armonía, for instance, once had six sons, and for my first few
birthdays, my mother brought me one each year.
When I was eventually old enough to venture out on my own, it hadn’t
occurred to me to forgo royalty and target sailors like the rest of my kind did,
or even hunt the princes who would one day assume their thrones. I’m
nothing if not a loyal follower of my mother’s traditions.
“Did you bring your shell?” I ask.
Kahlia scoops her hair out of the way to show the orange seashell looped
around her neck. A similar one just a few shades bloodier dangles from my
own throat. It doesn’t look like much, but it’s the easiest way for us to
communicate. If we hold them to our ears, we can hear the sound of the
ocean and the song of the Keto underwater palace we call home. For Kahlia,
it can act as a map to the sea of Diávolos if we’re separated. We’re a long
way from our kingdom, and it took nearly a week to swim here. Since Kahlia
is fourteen, she tends to stay close to the palace, but I was the one to decide
that should change, and as the princess, my whims are as good as law.
“We won’t get separated,” Kahlia says.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind if one of my cousins were stranded in a foreign
ocean. As a whole, they’re a tedious and predictable bunch, with little
ambition or imagination. Ever since my aunt died, they’ve become nothing
more than adoring lackeys for my mother. Which is ridiculous, because the
Sea Queen is not there to be adored. She’s there to be feared.
“Remember to pick just one,” I instruct. “Don’t lose your focus.”
Kahlia nods. “Which one?” she asks. “Or will it sing to me when I’m
there?”
“We’ll be the only ones singing,” I say. “It’ll enchant them all, but if you
lay your focus on one, they’ll fall in love with you so resolutely that even as
they drown, they’ll scream of nothing but your beauty.”
“Normally the enchantment is broken when they start to die,” Kahlia says.
“Because you focus on them all, and so, deep down, they know that none
of them are your heart’s desire. The trick is to want them as much as they
want you.”
“But they’re disgusting,” says Kahlia, though it doesn’t sound like she
believes it so much as she wants me to think that she does. “How can we be
expected to desire them?”
“Because you’re not just dealing with sailors now. You’re dealing with
royalty, and with royalty comes power. Power is always desirable.”
“Royalty?” Kahlia gapes. “I thought . . .”
She trails off. What she thought was that princes were mine and I didn’t
share. That’s not untrue, but
,mermaids, with their lidless black eyes like endless orbs. I
know they can’t be trusted, but I can’t ignore the brutal brilliance of their
words. Whatever ulterior motives they have won’t matter if I succeed.
“The Midasan prince is our murderer,” I say. “If I bring the queen his heart
as my eighteenth, then I could win back her favor.”
“A heart worthy for the princess.”
“A heart worthy for the queen’s forgiveness.”
I look back at the brooch. It gleams with a light like I’ve never seen. My
mother wants to deny me the heart of a prince, but the heart of this prince
would be enough to erase any bad feelings between us. I could continue with
my legacy, and the queen would no longer have to worry about our kind
being hunted. If I do this, we would both get what we want. We would be at
peace.
I toss the brooch back to the mermaid. “I won’t forget this,” I tell her,
“when I’m queen.”
I give them one last glance, watching as their lips coil to smiles, and then
swim for gold.
9
Elian
FOUR DAYS SPENT SCOURING the castle library and I’ve found exactly nothing.
Numerous texts detail the deathly ice of the Cloud Mountain and illustrate –
rather graphically – those who have died during their climb. Which isn’t a
great start. The only saving grace seems to be that the royal family is made of
colder ice than the rest of their natives. There’s even a tradition in Págos
where the royals are required to climb the mountain once they come of age,
to prove their lineage. There isn’t a record of a single member of the royal
family having ever failed. But since I’m not a Págese prince, this isn’t
particularly encouraging.
There must be something I’m missing. Legends be damned. I find it hard
to believe that something in the Págese lineage allows them to withstand
cold. I know better than anyone not to believe in the fairy tales of our
families. If they were true, I’d be able to sell my blood to buy some real
information.
The Págese must be made more of flesh and bone than frost and ice and, if
that’s the case, then there must be an explanation for how they survive the
climb. If I have any hope of getting revenge for Cristian’s death, then I need
to know the answers. With that knowledge, I could find a way to kill the
Princes’ Bane and the Sea Queen. If I do that, the sirens left behind won’t
have magic to guard them. Perhaps they’ll even lose some of their abilities.
After all, if the Sea Queen has a crystal like the one hidden in the Cloud
Mountain, then taking that should take away some of the gifts it bestowed on
their kind. They’d be weakened at the very least and exposed to an attack.
And after a time – however long – we could push the devils that remain to the
far ends of the world, where they can’t do harm.
I close the book and shiver a little at the breeze. The library is always cold,
open windows or not. There seems to be something in the very structure of it
that’s designed to make me shiver. The library stretches to fifty feet, with
white shelves that spread from the floor to the high arches of the ceiling. The
ground is white marble and the ceiling is pure crystal that blankets the room.
It’s one of the only places in Midas untouched by gold. Nothing but vast
white, from the painted chairs to the thick cushions, to the ladders that climb
to the volumes at the very top. The only color is in the books – the leather
and the fabric and the parchment – and in the knowledge they hold. It’s what
I like to call the Metaphor Room, because that’s the only explanation for the
expanse of white. Everyone is a blank canvas, waiting to be filled with the
color of discovery.
My father really is theatrical.
I hoped there would be something in the volumes to help me. The man in
the Golden Goose was so sure of his story, and my compass was so sure of its
truth. There’s no doubt in me that the Crystal of Keto is out there, but the
world doesn’t seem to know a thing about it. Books and books of ancient
texts and not one of them tells me a thing. How can something exist if there
isn’t a record of it?
Fairy tales. I’m chasing damn fairy tales.
“I thought I’d find you here.”
I look up at the king. “It’s no wonder I don’t come home more often,” I
say. “If you have your adviser keeping track of me whenever I’m inside the
castle.”
My father places a gentle hand on the back of my head. “You forget that
you’re my son,” he says, as though I ever could. “I don’t need a seer to tell
me what you’re up to.”
He pulls up the chair beside me and examines the various texts on the
table. If I look out of place in the castle, then my father definitely looks out of
place in the stark white of the library, dressed in shimmering gold, his eyes
dark and heavy.
With a sigh, the king leans back into his chair as I did. “You’re always
looking for something,” he says.
“There’s always something to find.”
“If you’re not careful, the only thing you’ll find is danger.”
“Maybe that’s exactly what I’m looking for.”
My father reaches over and grabs one of the books from the table. It’s
carefully bound in blue leather with the title etched in light gray script. There
are fingerprints in the dust from where I pulled it from the shelf.
“The Legends of P‡gos and Other Tales from the Ice City,” he reads. He
taps the cover. “So you’ve set your sights on freezing to death?”
“I was researching something.”
He places the book back down on the table a little too harshly.
“Researching what?”
I shrug, unwilling to give my father any more reason to keep me in Midas.
If I told him that I wanted to hunt for a mythical crystal in mountains that
could steal my breath in seconds, there’s no way he’d let me leave. He’d find
any way to keep his heir in Midas.
“It’s nothing,” I lie. “Don’t worry.”
My father considers this, his maroon lips forming a tight line. “It’s a king’s
job to worry when his heir is so reckless.”
I roll my eyes. “Good thing you have two, then.”
“It’s also a father’s job to worry when his son never wants to come home.”
I hesitate. I may not always see eye to eye with my father, but I hate the
idea of him blaming my absence on himself. If the kingdom wasn’t an issue, I
would take him with me. I’d take all of them. My father, mother, sister, and
even the royal adviser if he promised to keep his divinations to himself. I’d
pack them onto the deck like luggage and show them the world until
adventure caught in their eyes. But I can’t, so I deal with the ache of missing
them, which is far better than the ache of missing the ocean.
“Is this about Cristian?” my father asks.
“No.”
“Lies aren’t answers.”
“But they sound so much better than the truth.”
My father places a large hand on my shoulder. “I want you to stay this
time,” he says. “You’ve spent so long at sea that you’ve forgotten what it’s
like to be yourself.”
I know I should tell him that it’s the land that steals away who I am and the
sea that brings me back. But to say that to my father would do nothing but
hurt us both.
“I have a job to do,” I say. “When it’s done, I’ll come home.”
The lie tastes awful in my mouth. My father, King of Midas and so King of
Lies, seems to know this and smiles with such sadness that I’d buckle over if
I weren’t already sitting.
“A prince may be the subject of myth and legend,” he explains, “but he
can’t live in them. He should live in the real world, where he can create
them.” He looks solemn. “You should pay less mind to fairy tales, Elian, or
that’s all you’ll become.”
When he leaves, I think about whether that would be awful, or beautiful.
Could it really be such a bad thing, to become a story whispered to children
in the dead of night? A song they sing to one another while they play.
Another part of the Midasan legends: golden blood and a prince who once
upon a time sailed the world in search of the beast who threatened to destroy
it.
And then it comes to me.
I sit up a little straighter. My father told me to stop living inside fairy tales,
but maybe that’s exactly what I need to do. Because what that man told me in
the Golden Goose
,isn’t a fact that can be pressed between the pages of
textbooks and biographies. It’s a story.
Quickly, I pull myself from the chair and head for the children’s section.
10
Lira
THERE’S GLITTER AND TREASURE on every speck of every street. Houses with
roofs thatched by gold thread and fanciful lanterns with casings brighter than
their light. Even the surface of the water has turned milky yellow, and the air
is balmy with the afternoon sun.
It is all too much. Too bright. Too hot. Too opulent.
I clutch the seashell around my neck to steady myself. It reminds me of
home. My kind aren’t afraid of their murderous prince; they just can’t bear
the light. The heat that cuts through the ocean’s chill and makes everything
warmer.
This is not a place for sirens. It’s a place for mermaids.
I wait beside the prince’s ship. I wasn’t certain it would be here – killing
took the prince to as many kingdoms as it did me – and if it was, I wasn’t
certain I would know it. I only have the frightful echoes of stories to go from.
Things I’ve heard in passing from the rare few who have seen the prince’s
ship and managed to escape. But as soon as I saw it in the Midasan docks, I
knew.
It’s not quite like the stories, but it has the same dark ambiance that each of
the tales had. The other ships on the dock are like spheres instead of boats,
but this one is headed by a long stabbing point and is larger by far than any
other, with a body like the night sky and a deck as dark as my soul. It’s a
vessel worthy of murder.
I’m still admiring it from the depths of the water when a shadow appears.
The man steps onto the ledge of the ship and looks out at the sea. I should
have been able to hear his footsteps, even from deep beneath the water. Yet
he’s suddenly here, one hand clutching the ropes for support, breathing slow
and deep. I squint, but under the sheen of gold it’s hard to see much. I know
it’s dangerous to come out from the water when the sun is still so high, but I
have to get a closer look. Slowly, I rise to the surface and rest my back
against the damp body of the ship.
I spot the shine of the Midasan royal insignia on his thumb and lick my
lips.
The Prince of Midas wears the clothes of royalty in a way that seems
neglectful. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbows and the buttons of his
collar are undone so the wind can reach his heart. He doesn’t look much older
than I do, yet his eyes are hard and weathered. They’re eyes of lost
innocence, greener than seaweed and constantly searching. Even the empty
ocean is prey to him, and he regards it with a mix of suspicion and wonder.
“I’ve missed you,” he says to his ship. “I bet you missed me too. We’ll
find it together, won’t we? And when we do, we’ll kill every damn monster
in this ocean.”
I scrape my fangs across my lips. What does he think could possibly have
the power to destroy me? It’s a fanciful notion of slaughter, and I find myself
smiling. How wicked this one is, stripped of the innocence I’ve seen in all the
others. This is not a prince of inexperience and anxious potential, but one of
war and savagery. His heart will be a wonder to behold. I lick my lips and
part them to give way to my song, but I barely have the chance to suck in a
breath before I’m wrenched beneath the water.
A mermaid hovers in front of me. She is a splash of color, pinks and greens
and yellows, like paint splatters on her skin. Her fin snakes and curls, the
bony armor of seahorse scales protruding from her stomach and arms.
“Mine!” she says in Psáriin.
Her jaw stretches out like a snout, and when she snarls, it bends at a
painful angle. She points to the prince above the water and thumps her chest.
“You have no claim here,” I tell her.
The mermaid shakes her head. She has no hair, but the skin on her scalp is
a kaleidoscope, and when she moves, the colors ripple from her like light.
“Treasure,” she says.
If I ever had patience, it just dissipated. “What are you talking about?”
“Midas is ours,” the mermaid screeches. “We watch and collect and take
treasure when it falls, and he is treasure and gold and not yours.”
“What’s mine,” I say, “is for me to decide.”
The mermaid shakes her head. “Not yours!” she screams, and dives toward
me.
She snatches my hair and pulls, bearing her nails into my shoulders and
shaking me. She screams and bites. Sinks her teeth into my arm and tries to
tear away chunks of flesh.
Unimpressed by the attack, I clasp the mermaid’s head and smash it
against my own. She falls back, her lidless eyes wide. She floats for a
moment, dazed, and then lets out a high shriek and comes for me again.
As we collide, I use the force to pull the mermaid to the surface. She gasps
for breath, air a toxic poison for her gills. I laugh when the mermaid clutches
at her throat with one hand and tries to claw at me with the other. It’s a pitiful
attempt.
“It’s you.”
My eyes shoot upward. The Prince of Midas stares down at us, horrified
and awestricken. His lips tilt a little to the left.
“Look at you,” he whispers. “My monster, come to find me.”
I regard him with as much curiosity as he regards me. The way his black
hair sweeps messily by his shadowed jaw, falling across his forehead as he
leans to get a better look. The deep dimple in his left cheek and the look of
wonder in his eyes. But in the moments I choose to tear my gaze from the
mermaid, the creature seizes the opportunity and propels us both forward. We
smash against the ship with such force that the entire vessel groans with our
shared power. I have little time to register the attack before the prince
stumbles and crashes into the water beside us.
The mermaid pulls me under again, but once she sees the prince in the
water, she backs away in awe. He sinks like a stone to the bottom of the
shallow sea and then makes to propel his body back toward the surface.
“My treasure,” says the mermaid. She reaches out and clutches the prince’s
hand, holding him beneath the surface. “Is your heart gold? Treasure and
treasure and gold.”
I hiss a monstrous laugh. “He can’t speak Psáriin, you fool.”
The mermaid spins her head to me, a full 180 degrees. She lets out an
ungodly squeal and then finishes the circle to turn back to the prince. “I
collect treasure,” she continues. “Treasure and hearts and I only eat one. Now
I eat both and become what you are.”
The prince struggles as the mermaid keeps him trapped beneath the water.
He kicks and thrashes, but she’s transfixed. She strokes his shirt, and her
nails rip through the fabric, drawing his blood. Then her jaw loosens to an
unimaginable size.
The prince’s movements go slack and his eyes begin to drift closed. He’s
drowning, and the mermaid plans to take his heart for herself. Take it and eat
it in hopes that it might turn her into what he is. Fins to legs. Fish to
something more. She’ll steal the thing I need to win back my mother’s favor.
I’m so furious that I don’t even think before I reach out and sink my nails
into the mermaid’s skull. In shock, the creature releases the prince and he
floats back to the surface. I tighten my grip. The mermaid thrashes and
scratches at my hands, but her strength is nothing compared to that of a
siren’s. Especially mine. Especially when I have my sights on a kill.
My fingers press deeper into the mermaid’s skull and disappear inside her
rainbow flesh. I can feel the sharp bone of her skeleton. The mermaid stills,
but I don’t stop. I dig my fingers deeper and pull.
Her head falls to the ocean floor.
I think about bringing it to my mother as a trophy. Sticking it on a pike
outside of the Keto palace as a warning to all mermaids who would dare
challenge a siren. But the Sea Queen wouldn’t approve. Mermaids are her
subjects, lesser beings or not. I take one last disdainful look at the creature
and then swim to the surface in search of my prince.
I spot him quickly, on the edge of a small patch of sand by the docks. He’s
coughing so violently that the act shakes his entire body. He spits out great
gasps of water
,and then collapses onto his stomach. I swim as close to shore
as I can and then pull myself the rest of the way, until only the tip of my fin is
left in the shallows of the water.
I reach out and grab the prince’s ankle, dragging him down so his body is
level with mine.
I nudge his shoulder and when he doesn’t move, I roll him onto his back.
Sand sticks to the gold of his cheeks and his lips part ever so slightly, wet
with ocean. He looks half-dead already.
His shirt clings to his skin, blood seeping through the slashes the mermaid
tore. His chest barely moves with his breath and if I couldn’t hear the faint
sound of his heart, then I would think for certain he was nothing more than a
beautiful corpse.
I press a hand to his face and draw a fingernail from the corner of his eye
to his cheek. A thin red line bubbles above his skin, but he doesn’t stir. His
jaw is so sharp, it could cut through me.
Slowly, I reach under his shirt and press a hand against his chest. His heart
thumps desperately beneath my palm. I lean my head against it and listen to
the drumming with a smile. I can smell the ocean on him, an unmistakable
salt, but mingled beneath it all is the faint aroma of aniseed. He smells like
the black sweets of the anglers. The saccharine oil they use to lure their catch.
I find myself wishing him awake so I can catch a glimpse of those seaweed
eyes before I take his heart and give it to my mother. I lift my head from his
chest and hover my hand over his heart. My nails clutch his skin, and I
prepare to plunge my fist deeper.
“Your Highness!”
I snap my head up. A legion of royal guards runs across the docks and
toward us. I look back to the prince and his eyes begin to open. His head lolls
in the sand and then his gaze focuses. On me. His eyes narrow as he takes in
the color of my hair and the single eye that matches. He doesn’t look worried
that my nails are dug into his chest, or scared by his impending death. Instead
he looks resolute. And oddly satisfied.
I don’t have time to think about what that means. The guards are fast
approaching, screaming for their prince, guns and swords at the ready. All of
them pointed at me. I glance down at the prince’s chest once more, and the
heart I came so close to winning. Then quicker than light, I dart back to the
ocean and away from him.
11
Elian
MY DREAMS ARE THICK with blood that is not mine. It’s never mine, because
I’m as immortal in my dreams as I seem to be in real life. I’m made of scars
and memories, neither of which have any real bearing.
It’s been two days since the attack, and the siren’s face haunts my nights.
Or what little I remember of her. Whenever I try to recall a single moment,
all I see are her eyes. One like sunset and the other like the ocean I love so
much.
The Princes’ Bane.
I was half-groggy when I woke on the shore, but I could have done
something. Reached for the knife tucked in my belt and let it drink her blood.
Smashed my fist across her cheek and held her down while a guard fetched
my father. I could have killed her, but I didn’t, because she’s a wonder. A
creature that has eluded me for so long and then, finally, appeared. Let me be
privy to a face few men live to speak about.
My monster found me and I’m going to find her right back.
“It’s an outrage!”
The king bursts into my room, red-faced. My mother floats in after him,
wearing a green kalasiris and an exasperated expression. When she sees me,
her brow knits.
“None of them can tell me a thing,” my father says. “What use are sea
wardens if they don’t warden the damn sea?”
“Darling.” My mother places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “They look for
ships on the surface. I don’t recall us telling them to swim underwater and
search for sirens.”
“It should go without saying!” My father is incensed. “Initiative is what
those men need. Especially with their future king here. They should have
known the sea bitch would come for him.”
“Radames,” my mother scolds. “Your son would prefer your concern to
your rage.”
My father turns to me, as if only just noticing I’m there, despite it being
my room. I can see the moment he notices the line of sweat that coats my
forehead and seeps from my body to the sheets.
His face softens. “Are you feeling better?” he asks. “I could fetch the
physician.”
“I’m fine.” The hoarseness of my voice betrays the lie.
“You don’t look it.”
I wave him off, hating that I suddenly feel like a child again, needing my
father to protect me from the monsters. “I don’t imagine anyone looks their
best before breakfast,” I say. “I bet I could still woo any of the women at
court, though.”
My mother shoots me an admonishing look.
“I’m going to dismiss them all,” my father says, continuing on as though
my sickliness hadn’t given him pause. “Every sorry excuse for a sea warden
we have.”
I lean against the headboard. “I think you’re overreacting.”
“Overreacting! You could have been killed on our own land in broad
daylight.”
I lift myself from bed. I sway a little, unsteady on my feet, but recover
quickly enough for it to go unnoticed. “I hardly blame the wardens for failing
to spot her,” I say, lifting my shirt from the floor. “It takes a trained eye.”
Which is true, incidentally, though I doubt my father cares. He doesn’t
even seem to remember that the sea wardens watch the surface for enemy
ships and are not, in any way, required to search underneath for devils and
demons. The Saad is home to the few men and women in the world mad
enough to try.
“Eyes like yours?” My father scoffs. “Let’s just hire some of those
rapscallions you ramble around with, then.”
My mother gleams. “What a wonderful idea.”
“It was not!” argues my father. “I was being flippant, Isa.”
“Yet it was the least foolish thing I’ve heard you say in days.”
I grin at them and walk over to my father, placing a comforting hand on his
shoulder. The anger disappears from his eyes and he wears a look similar to
resignation. He knows as well as I do that there is only one thing to be done,
and that’s for me to leave. I suspect half of my father’s anger comes from
knowing that. After all, Midas is a sanctuary my father spouts as a safe haven
from the devils I hunt. An escape for me to return to if I ever need it. Now the
attack has made a liar of him.
“Don’t worry,” I say. “I’ll make sure the siren suffers for it.”
It isn’t until I speak the words that I realize how much I mean them. My
home is tainted with the same danger as the rest of my life, and it doesn’t sit
right with me. Sirens belong in the sea, and those two parts of me – the prince
and the hunter – have remained separate. I hate that their merging wasn’t
because I was brave enough to stop pretending and tell my parents I never
plan on becoming king and that whenever I am home, I feel like a fraud. How
I think carefully about every word and action before saying or doing
anything, just to be sure it is the right thing. The done thing. My two selves
were thrust together because the Princes’ Bane forced my hand. She spurred
into action something I should have been brave enough to do myself all
along.
I hate her for it.
On the deck of the Saad later that day, my crew gathers around me. Two
hundred men and women with fury on their faces as they regard the scratch
below my eye. It’s the only wound they can see, though there are plenty more
hidden beneath my shirt. A circle of fingernails right where my heart is.
Pieces of the siren still embedded in my chest.
“I’ve given you dangerous orders in the past,” I say to my crew. “And
you’ve done them without a single complaint. Well” – I shoot them a grin –
“most of you.”
A few of them smirk in Kye’s direction and he salutes proudly.
“But this is different.” I take in a breath, readying myself. “I need a crew of
around a hundred volunteers. Really, I’ll take any of you I can get, but I think
you know that without some of you, the journey won’t be possible at all.” I
look over to my chief engineer and he nods in silent understanding.
The rest of the crew stares
,up at me with equally strong looks of fidelity.
People say you can’t choose your family, but I’ve done just that with each
and every member of the Saad. I’ve handpicked them all, and those who I
didn’t sought me out. We chose one another, every ragtag one of us.
“Whatever vows of loyalty you’ve sworn, I won’t hold you to them. Your
honor isn’t in question, and anyone who doesn’t volunteer won’t be thought
any less of. If we succeed, every single member of this crew will be
welcomed back with open arms when we sail again. I want to make that
clear.”
“Enough speeches!” yells Kye. “Get to the point so I know whether to
pack my long johns.”
Beside him, Madrid rolls her eyes. “Don’t forget your purse, too.”
I feel laughter on my lips, but I swallow it and continue on. “A few days
ago a man came to me with a story about a rare stone that has the power to
kill the Sea Queen.”
“How’s it possible?” someone asks from the crowd.
“It’s not possible!” another voice shouts.
“Someone once told me that taking a crew of felons and misfits across the
seas to hunt for the world’s most deadly monsters wasn’t possible,” I say.
“That we’d all die within a week.”
“I don’t know about you lot,” Kye says, “but my heart’s still beating.”
I shoot him a smile.
“The world has been led to believe the Sea Queen can’t be killed by any
man-made weapons,” I say. “But this stone wasn’t made by man; it was
crafted by the original families from their purest magic. If we use it, then the
Sea Queen could die before she’s able to pass her trident on to the Princes’
Bane. It’ll rid their entire race of any true power once and for all.”
Madrid steps to the front, elbowing men out of her way. Kye follows
behind her, but she keeps her eyes on me with a hard stare. “That’s all well
and good, Cap,” she says. “But isn’t it the Princes’ Bane who we should be
worrying about?”
“The only reason we haven’t turned her to foam is because we can’t find
her. If we kill her mother, then she should show her face. Not to mention that
it’s the queen’s magic that gives the sirens their gifts. If we destroy the
queen, they’ll all be weak, including the Princes’ Bane. The seas will be
ours.”
“And how do we find the Sea Queen?” Kye asks. “I’d follow you to the
ends of the earth, but their kingdom is in the middle of a lost sea. Nobody
knows where it is.”
“We don’t need to know where their kingdom is. We don’t even need to
know where the Diávolos Sea is. The only thing we need to know is how to
sail to Págos.”
“Págos.” Madrid says the word with a frown. “You’re not seriously
considering that.”
“It’s where the crystal is,” I tell her. “And once we have it, the Sea Queen
will come to us.”
“So we just head on down to the ice kingdom and ask the snow folk to
hand it over?” someone asks.
I hesitate. “Not exactly. The crystal isn’t in Págos. It’s on top of it.”
“The Cloud Mountain,” Kye clarifies for the rest of the crew. “Our captain
wants us to climb to the top of the coldest mountain in the world. One that’s
killed everybody who’s tried.”
Madrid scoffs as they start to murmur. “And,” she adds, “all for a mythical
crystal that may or may not lead the most fearsome creature in the world to
our door.”
I glare at them both, unamused by the double act, or the sudden doubt in
their voices. This is the first time they’ve questioned me, and the feeling isn’t
something I plan to get used to.
“That’s the gist of it,” I say.
There’s a pause, and I try my best not to move or do anything but look
unyielding. Like I can be trusted. Like I have any kind of a damn clue what
I’m doing. Like I probably won’t get them all killed.
“Well.” Madrid turns to Kye. “I think it sounds like fun.”
“I guess you’re right,” he says, as though following me is an
inconvenience he never considered before. He turns to me. “Count us in
then.”
“I suppose I can spare some time too, since you asked so nicely!” another
voice shouts.
“Can hardly say no to such a temptin’ offer, Cap!”
“Go on then, if everyone else is so keen.”
So many of them yell and nod, pledging their lives to me with a smile.
Like it’s all just a game to them. With every new hand that shoots up comes a
whooping holler from those who have already agreed. They howl at the
possibility of death and how much company they’re going to have in it.
They’re insane and wonderful.
I’m no stranger to devotion. When people at court look at me, I see the
mindless loyalty that comes with not knowing any better. Something that is
natural to those who have never questioned the bizarre order of things. But
when my crew looks at me now, I see the kind of loyalty that I’ve earned.
Like I deserve the right to lead them to whatever fate I see fit.
Now there’s just one thing left for me to do before we set sail for the land
of ice.
12
Elian
THE GOLDEN GOOSE IS the only constant in Midas. Every inch of land seems
to grow and change when I’m gone, with small evolutions that never seem
gradual to me, but the Golden Goose is as it has always been. It didn’t plant
the golden flowers outside its doors that all of the houses once did, as was
fashion, with remnants of them still seen in the depths of the wildflowers that
now swallow them. Nor did it erect sandy pillars or hang wind chimes or
remodel its roof to point like the pyramids. It is in untouched timelessness, so
whenever I return and something about my home is different, I can be sure
it’s never the Golden Goose. Never Sakura.
It’s early and the sun is still a milky orange. I thought it best to visit the
dregs of the Golden Goose when the rest of Midas was still sleeping. It didn’t
seem wise to ask a favor from its ice-born landlord, with swells of patrons
drunkenly eavesdropping. I knock on the redwood door, and a splinter slides
into my knuckle. I withdraw it just as the door swings open. Sakura looks
unsurprised on the other side.
“I knew it would be you.” She peers behind me. “Isn’t the tattooed one
with you?”
“Madrid is preparing the ship,” I tell her. “We set sail today.”
“Shame.” Sakura slings a dishrag over her shoulder. “You’re not nearly as
pretty.”
I don’t argue. “Can I come in?”
“A prince can ask for favors on a doorstep, like everyone else.”
“Your doorstep doesn’t have whiskey.”
Sakura smiles, her dark red lips curling to one side. She spreads her arms
out, gesturing for me to come inside. “I hope you have full pockets.”
I enter, keeping my eyes trained on her. It’s not like I think she might try
something untoward – kill me, perhaps, right here in the Golden Goose – not
when our relationship is so profitable to her. But there is something about
Sakura that has always unnerved me, and I’m not the only one. There aren’t
many who can manage a bar like the Golden Goose, with patrons who collect
sin like precious jewels. Brawls and fights are constant, and most nights spill
more blood than whiskey. Yet when Sakura tells them enough, the men and
women cease. Adjust their respective collars, spit onto the grimy floor, and
continue on with their drinks as though nothing happened at all. Arguably,
she is the most fearsome woman in Midas. And I don’t make a habit of
turning my back on fearsome women.
Sakura steps behind the bar and pours a slosh of amber liquid into a glass.
As I sit opposite, she brings the glass to her lips and takes a quick sip. A print
of murky red lipstick stains the rim, and I note the fortuitous timing.
Sakura slides the glass over to me. “Satisfied?” she asks.
She means because it isn’t poisoned. I may scan the seas looking for
monsters that could literally rip my heart out, but that doesn’t mean I’m
careless. There isn’t a single thing I eat or drink when we’re docked that
hasn’t been tasted by someone else first. Usually, this duty falls to Torik, who
volunteered the moment I took him aboard and insists that he’s not putting
his life at risk because even the greatest of poisons couldn’t kill him. Taking
into account his sheer size alone, I’m inclined to agree.
Kye, of course, declined the responsibility. If I die saving your
,life, he said,
then who’s going to protect you?
I eye Sakura’s smudged lipstick and smirk, twisting the glass to avoid the
mark before I take a sip of whiskey.
“No need for pretense,” says Sakura. “You should just ask.”
“You know why I’m here, then.”
“The whole of Midas is talking about your siren.” Sakura leans back
against the liquor cabinet. “Don’t think there is a single thing that goes on
here that I’m not aware of.”
Her eyes are sharper than ever and narrowed in a way that tells me there
are very few of my secrets she doesn’t know. A prince may have the luxury
of discretion, but a pirate does not. I know that many of my conversations
have been stolen by strangers and sold to the highest bidders. Sakura has
been one of those sellers for a while, trading information for gold whenever
the opportunity presents itself. So of course she was careful to overhear the
man who came to me in the dead of night, speaking stories of her home and
the treasure it holds.
“I want you to come with me.”
Sakura laughs and the sound doesn’t suit the grave look on her face. “Is
that an order from the prince?”
“It’s a request.”
“Then I deny it.”
“You know” – I wipe the stain from my glass – “your lipstick is smudged.”
Sakura takes in the print of dark red on the rim of my glass and presses a
finger to her lips. When it comes away clean, she glowers. I can see her
plainly now, as the thing I have always known she is. The snow-faced woman
with lips bluer than any siren’s eye.
A blue reserved for royalty.
The natives of Págos are like no other race in the hundred kingdoms, but
the royal family is a breed unto themselves. Carved from great blocks of ice,
their skin is that much paler, their hair that much whiter, and their lips are the
same blue as their seal.
“Have you known for a while?” Sakura asks.
“It’s the reason I’ve let you get away with so much,” I tell her. “I didn’t
want to reveal your secret until I found a way to put it to good use.” I raise
my glass in a toast. “Long live Princess Yukiko of Págos.”
Sakura’s face doesn’t change at the mention of her real name. Instead she
looks at me blankly, as though it’s been so long that she doesn’t even
recognize her own name.
“Who else knows?” she asks.
“I haven’t told anybody yet.” I emphasize the yet more crudely than
necessary. “Though I don’t understand why you’d even care. Your brother
took the crown over a decade ago. It’s not like you have a claim to the throne.
You can go where you like and do as you please. Nobody wants to
assassinate a royal who can’t rule.”
Sakura looks at me candidly. “I’m aware of that.”
“Then why the secrecy?” I ask. “I haven’t heard anything about a missing
princess, so I can only assume that your family knows where you are.”
“I’m no runaway,” says Sakura.
“Then what are you?”
“Something you will never be,” she sneers. “Free.”
I set my glass down harder than I intend. “How lucky for you, then.”
It’s easy for Sakura to be free. She has four older brothers with claims to
the throne before her and so none of the responsibilities my father likes to
remind me are still heavy on my shoulders.
“I left once Kazue took the crown,” Sakura says. “With three brothers to
counsel him, I knew I’d have no wisdom to offer that they couldn’t. I was
twenty-five and had no taste for the life of a royal who would never rule. I
told my brothers this. I told them I wanted to see more than snow and ice. I
wanted color.” She looks at me. “I wanted to see gold.”
I snort. “And now?”
“Now I hate the vile shade.”
I laugh. “Sometimes I feel the same. But it’s still the most beautiful city in
all of the hundred kingdoms.”
“You’d know better than me,” Sakura says.
“Yet you stay.”
“Homes are hard to find.”
I think about the truth of that. I understand it better than anyone, because
nowhere I’ve traveled ever really feels like home. Even Midas, which is so
beautiful and filled with so many people I love. I feel safe here, but not like I
belong. The only place I could ever call home and mean it is the Saad. And
that’s constantly moving and changing. Rarely in the same place twice.
Maybe I love it because it belongs nowhere, not even in Midas, where it was
built. And yet it also belongs everywhere.
I swirl the final remnants of my whiskey and look to Sakura. “So then it
would be a shame if people discovered who you were. Being a Págese
immigrant is one thing, but being a royal without a country is another. How
would they treat you?”
“Little prince.” Sakura licks her lips. “Are you trying to blackmail your
favor?”
“Of course not,” I say, though my voice says something else. “I’m simply
saying that it would be inconvenient if people found out. Especially
considering your patrons.”
“For them,” says Sakura. “They would try to use me and I would have to
kill them. I would probably have to kill half of my customers.”
“I think that’s bad for business.”
“But being a killer has worked out so well for you.”
I don’t react to this, but my lack of emotion seems to be the exact reaction
Sakura wants. She smiles, so beautiful, even though it’s so clearly mocking. I
think about what a shame it is that she’s twice my age, because she’s striking
when she’s wicked, and wild underneath the pretense.
“Come to Págos with me,” I say.
“No.” Sakura turns away from me.
“No, you won’t come?”
“No, that isn’t what you want to ask.”
I stand. “Help me find the Crystal of Keto.”
Sakura turns back to me. “There it is.” There is no sign of a smile on her
face now. “You want a Págese to help you climb the Cloud Mountain and
find your fairy tale.”
“It’s not like I can just stroll in and scale your most deadly mountain with
no idea of what I’ll be dealing with. Will your brother even give me entry?
With you by my side, you can advise me on the best course of action. Tell me
the route I should take. Help convince the king to give me safe passage.”
“I am an expert at climbing mountains.” Sakura’s voice is wholly sarcastic.
“You were required to do it on your sixteenth birthday.” I try to hide my
impatience. “Every Págese royal is. You could help me.”
“I am so warm of heart.”
“I’m asking for—”
“You’re begging,” she says. “And for something impossible. Nobody but
my family can survive the climb. It’s in our blood.”
I slam my fist on the table. “The storybooks may peddle that, but I know
better. There must be another route. A hidden way. A secret kept in your
family. If you won’t come with me, then tell me what it is.”
“It wouldn’t matter either way.”
“What does that mean?”
She runs a tongue across her blue lips. “If this crystal does exist in the
mountain, then it’s surely hidden in the locked dome of the ice palace.”
“A locked dome,” I say blankly. “Are you making this up as you go
along?”
“We’re perfectly aware of the legends written in all of those children’s
books,” she says. “My family has been trying to find a way into that room for
generations, but there’s no other entry than the one that can be plainly seen
and no way of forcing our way in. It’s magically sealed, perhaps by the
original families themselves. What’s needed is a key. A necklace lost to our
family. Without that, it doesn’t matter how many mountains you bargain your
way up. You’ll never be able to find what you’re looking for.”
“Let me worry about that,” I say. “Finding lost treasure is a specialty of
mine.”
“And the ritual needed to release the crystal from its prison?” Sakura asks.
“I’m assuming you found out about that, too?”
“Not any specifics.”
“That’s because nobody knows them. How do you plan to conduct an
ancient rite if you don’t even know what it is?”
In truth, I thought Sakura might be able to fill in the blanks there.
“The secret is probably on your necklace,” I tell her, hoping it’s true. “It
could be a simple inscription we need to read. And if it’s not, then I’ll figure
something else out.”
Sakura laughs. “Say you’re right,” she says. “Say legends are easy to come
by. Say even lost necklaces and ancient rituals are too. Say maps and routes
are the most elusive thing. Who’s
,to say I’d ever share such a thing with
you?”
“I could leak your identity to everyone.” The words taste petty and childish
on my lips.
“How beneath you,” Sakura says. “Try again.”
I pause. Sakura isn’t refusing to help. She’s simply giving me the
opportunity to make it worth her while. Everyone has a price, even the
forgotten Págese princess. I just have to find out what hers is. Money seems
irrelevant, and the thought of offering her any makes me grimace. She could
take it as an insult (she is royalty, after all), or see me more as a child than a
captain, which I so clearly am in her presence. I have to give her something
nobody else can. An opportunity she’ll never get again and so won’t dream of
passing up.
I think about how similar Sakura and I are. Two royals trying to escape
their countries. Only, Sakura hadn’t wanted to leave Págos because she
disliked being a princess, but because the job had become useless once her
brother took the crown.
No taste for the life of a royal who would never rule.
I feel a sinking sensation in my stomach. At heart, Sakura is a queen. The
only problem is that she doesn’t have a country. I understand then what my
quest will cost me if I want it enough.
“I can make you a queen.”
Sakura arches a white brow. “I hope that you’re not threatening to kill my
brothers,” she says. “Because the Págese don’t turn against one another for
the sake of a crown.”
“Not at all.” I compose myself as best I can. “I’m offering you another
country entirely.”
A slow look of realization works its way onto Sakura’s face. Coyly, she
asks, “And what country would that be, Your Highness?”
It will mean the end of the life I love. The end of the Saad and the ocean
and the world I have seen twice over and would see again a thousand times. I
would live the life of a king, as my father has always wanted, with a snow-
born wife to rule by my side. An alliance between ice and gold. It’d be more
than my father imagined, and wouldn’t it be worth it in the end? Why will I
have to search the sea once all of its monsters have been destroyed? I’ll be
satisfied, maybe, ruling Midas, once I know the world is out of danger.
But even as I list the reasons it’s a good plan, I know they’re all lies. I’m a
prince by name and nothing else. Even if I manage to conquer the sirens and
bring peace to the ocean, I’ve always planned to stay on the Saad with my
crew – if they’d still follow me – no longer searching, but always moving.
Anything else will make me miserable. Staying still, in one place and one
moment, will make me miserable. In my heart, I’m as wild as the ocean that
raised me.
I take a breath. I’ll be miserable, then, if that’s what it takes.
“This country. If there’s a map that shows a secret route up the mountain
so my crew and I can avoid freezing to death during the climb, then it’ll be a
fair trade.”
I hold out my hand to Sakura. To the princess of Págos.
“If you give me that map, I’ll make you my queen.”
13
Lira
I’VE MADE A MISTAKE. It started with a prince, as most stories do. Once I felt
the thrum of his heart beneath my fingers, I couldn’t forget it. And so I
watched from the water, waiting for him to reappear. But it was days before
he did and once he had, he never neared the ocean without a legion by his
side.
Singing to him by the docks was risk enough, with the promise of royal
guards and passersby coming to the young hunter’s rescue. But with his crew
there, it was something else. I could sense the difference in those men and
women and the way they followed the prince, moved when he moved, stayed
still in rapt attention whenever he spoke to them. A kind of loyalty that can’t
be bought. They would jump into the ocean after him and sacrifice their lives
for his, as though I would take such a trade.
So rather than attack, I watched and listened as they spoke in stories, of
stones with the power to destroy worlds. The Second Eye of Keto. A legend
my mother has been hunting for her entire reign. The humans spoke of
heading to the ice kingdom in search of it, and I knew it would be my best
opportunity. If I followed them to the snow sea, then the waters would be too
cold for any human to survive, and the prince’s crew could do nothing but
watch him die.
I had a plan. But my mistake was to think that my mother didn’t.
As I watched the prince, the Sea Queen watched me. And when I ventured
from the Midasan docks in search of food, my mother made herself known.
The smell of desecration is ripe. A line of bodies – sharks and octopi –
scatter through the water as a trail for me to follow. I swim through the
corpses of animals I would have feasted on any other day.
“I’m surprised you came,” says the Sea Queen.
My mother looks majestic, hovering in a circle of carcasses. Remains drip
from the symbols on her skin and her tentacles sway lethally beside her.
My jaw tightens. “I can explain.”
“I imagine you have many explanations in that sweet little head of yours,”
says the queen. “Of course, I’m not interested in them.”
“Mother.” My hands curl to fists. “I left the kingdom for a reason.”
An image of the golden prince weighs in my mind. If I hadn’t hesitated on
the beach and been so concerned with savoring the sweet smell of his skin,
then I wouldn’t need explanations. I would only need to present his heart, and
the Sea Queen would show me mercy.
“You saved a human.” Her voice is as dead as night.
I shake my head. “That’s not true.”
The queen’s tentacles crash into the ocean bed, and a mighty wave of sand
washes over me, knocking me to the floor. I bite back a cough as the shingle
catches in my throat.
“You insult me with your lies,” she seethes. “You saved a human, and not
just any human, but the one who kills us. Is it because you live to disobey
me?” she asks. And then, with a disgusted snarl: “Or perhaps you’ve grown
weak. Silly little girl, bewitched by a prince. Tell me, was it his smile that did
it? Did it bring your heart to life and make you love him like some common
mermaid?”
My mind spins. I can barely be outraged through the confusion. Love is a
word we scarcely hear in the ocean. It exists only in my song and on the lips
of the princes I’ve killed. And I have never heard it from my mother’s mouth.
I’m not even sure what it really means. To me, it has always been just a word
that humans treasure for reasons I can’t comprehend. There isn’t even a way
to say it in Psáriin. Yet my mother is accusing me of feeling it. Is it the same
fealty I have for Kahlia? That force that drives me to protect her without even
thinking? If that’s true, then it makes the accusation even more baffling,
because all I want is to kill the prince, and though I may not know what love
is, I’m sure it isn’t that.
“You’re mistaken,” I tell my mother.
A corner of the queen’s lips coils in revulsion. “You murdered a mermaid
for him.”
“She was trying to eat his heart!”
Her eyes narrow. “And why,” she asks, “would that be a bad thing? Let the
creature take his filthy heart and swallow it whole.”
“He was mine,” I argue. “A gift for you! A tribute for my eighteenth.”
The queen stops to comprehend this. “You hunted a prince for your
birthday,” she says.
“Yes. But, Mother—”
The Sea Queen’s gaze darkens and in an instant one of her tentacles
reaches out and snatches me from the ocean floor. “You insolent thing!”
Her tentacles tighten around my throat, squeezing until the ocean blurs. I
feel the shiver of danger. I’m deadly, but the Sea Queen is something more.
Something less.
“Mother,” I plead.
But the queen only squeezes tighter at the sound of my voice. If she
wanted, she could snap my neck in two. Take my head like I took the
mermaid’s. Perhaps even my heart, too.
The queen throws me onto the ocean bed and I grab at my throat, touching
the tender spot, only to snatch my hand away as the bones crack and throb
with the contact. Above me the queen rises, towering like a dark shadow.
Around us the water dulls in color, becoming gray and then seeping to black,
as though the ocean is
,stained with her fury.
“You are not worthy to be my heir,” the Sea Queen hisses.
When I part my lips to speak, all I taste is acid. The ocean salt is replaced
by burning magic that sizzles down my throat. I can barely breathe through
the pain.
“You are not worthy of the life you have been given.”
“Don’t,” I beg.
Barely a whisper, barely a word. A crack in the air masquerading as a
voice, just like my aunt Crestell’s had before she was killed.
“You think you’re the Princes’ Bane.” The Sea Queen roars with laughter.
“But you are the prince’s savior.”
She raises her trident, carved from the bones of the goddess Keto. Bones
like night. Bones of magic. In the center, the trident ruby awaits its orders.
“Let us see,” sneers the queen, “if there is any hope for redemption left in
you.”
She taps the base of the trident onto the floor, and I feel pain like nothing I
could have imagined. My bones snap and realign themselves. Blood pours
from my mouth and ears, melting through my skin. My gills. My fin splits,
tearing me straight down the middle. Breaking me in two. The scales that
once shimmered like stars are severed in moments, and beneath my breast
comes a beating I have never known. It feels like a thousand fists pounding
from the inside.
I clutch at my chest, nails digging in, trying to claw whatever it is out of
me. Set it free. The thing trapped inside and so desperately pounding to be
released.
Then, through it all, my mother’s voice calls, “If you are the mighty
Princes’ Bane, then you should be able to steal this prince’s heart even
without your voice. Without your song.”
I try to cling to consciousness, but the ocean is choking me. Salt and blood
scrape down my throat until I can only gasp and thrash. But I hold on. I don’t
know what will happen if I close my eyes. I don’t know if I’ll ever open them
again.
“If you want to return,” growls the Sea Queen, “then bring me his heart
before the solstice.”
I try to focus, but my mother’s words turn to echoes. Sounds I can’t make
out. Can’t understand or bear to focus on. I’ve been torn apart and it’s not
enough for her.
My eyes begin to shut. The black of the sea blurring in the backs of my
eyes. The seawater swirls in my ears until nothing but numbness remains.
With a last glance at the blurry shadow of my queen, I close my eyes and
give in to the darkness.
14
Elian
THE PYRAMID DISAPPEARS BEHIND the horizon. The sun is climbing higher,
gold against gold. We sail onward, leaving the shining city behind, until the
ocean turns blue once more and my eyes adjust to the vast expanse of color.
It always takes a while. At first, the blues are muted. The whites of the clouds
dotted with bronze as leftover shimmers from Midas float across my eyes.
But soon the world comes bursting back, vivid and unyielding. The coral of
the fish and the bluebell sky.
Everything is behind me now. The pyramid and my family and the bargain
I struck with Sakura. And in front of me: the world. Ready to be taken.
I clutch the parchment in my hand. The map of passageways hidden
throughout the mighty Cloud Mountain, kept secret by the Págese royals.
Ensuring safety when they make their way up the mountain to prove their
worth to the people. I’ve bargained my future for it, and all I need now is the
Págese necklace. Good thing I know just where to look.
I didn’t tell my family about my engagement. I’m saving that for after I get
myself killed. Telling my crew was more than enough hassle, and if their
mortifying jibes hadn’t been trouble enough, Madrid’s outrage that I would
bargain myself away had been. Spending half her life being sold from ship to
ship left her with an inflexible focus on freedom in every aspect.
The only comfort I could offer – and it seemed strange to be the one
offering comfort in this kind of situation – is that I have no intention of going
through with it. Not that I’m planning to go back on my word. I’m not that
sort of a man, and Sakura is not the sort of woman who would take betrayal
lightly. But there’s something that can be done. Some other deal to be struck
that will give us both what we want. I just need to introduce another player to
the game.
I stand on the quarterdeck and survey the Saad. The sun has disappeared,
and the only light comes from the moon and the flickering lanterns aboard the
ship. Belowdecks, most of my skeleton crew – an apt name for my
volunteers – are asleep. Or swapping jokes and lewd stories in place of
lullabies. The few that remain above deck are still and subdued in a way they
rarely are.
We are sailing toward Eidýllio, one of the few stops we have to make
before we reach Págos and the very key to my plan. Eidýllio holds the only
replacement for my hand in marriage that Sakura will consider accepting.
On deck, Torik is playing cards with Madrid, who claims to be the best at
any game my first mate can think of. The match is quiet and marked only by
sharp intakes of breath whenever Torik takes another smoke of his cigar. By
his feet is my assistant engineer, who disappears belowdecks every once in a
while only to reappear, take a seat on the floor, and continue sewing the holes
in his socks.
The night brings out something different in all of them. The Saad is home
and they’re safe here, finally able to let their guards down for a few rare
moments. To them, the sea is never the true danger. Even crawling with
sirens and sharks and beasts that can devour them whole in seconds. The true
danger is people. They are the unpredictable. The betrayers and the liars. And
on the Saad, they are a world away.
“So this map will lead us to the crystal?” asks Kye.
I shrug. “Maybe just to our deaths.”
He places a hand on my shoulder. “Have some confidence,” he tells me.
“You haven’t steered us wrong yet.”
“That just means nobody will be prepared when I do.”
Kye gives me a disparaging look. We’re the same age, but he has a funny
way of making me feel younger. More like the boy I am than the captain I try
to be.
“That’s the thing about risks,” Kye says. “It’s impossible to know which
ones are worth it until it’s too late.”
“You’re getting really poetic in your old age,” I tell him. “Let’s just hope
you’re right and the map is actually useful in helping us not freeze to death.
I’m pretty attached to all my fingers and toes.”
“I still can’t believe you bargained away your future for a piece of
parchment,” Kye says. His hand is on his knife, as though just talking about
Sakura makes him think of battle.
“Weren’t you just telling me that risks can be worthwhile?”
“Not the kind that land you in unholy matrimony with a princess.” He says
the last word like it’s dirty and the thought of my marrying another royal
doesn’t bear thinking about.
“You make a good point,” I tell him. “But I’m going to offer Sakura a
better prize than myself. As unlikely as that may sound. It’s the reason we’re
going to Eidýllio in the first place, so don’t act so resigned to my fate just yet.
I have a plan; the least you can do is have faith.”
“Except that your plans always end in scars.”
“The ladies love them.”
“Not when they’re shaped like bite marks.”
I grin. “I doubt the Queen of Eidýllio is going to cannibalize us.”
“There’s a lot of land between us and her,” says Kye. “Plenty of time for
me to be eaten somewhere along the way.”
Despite his qualms, Kye doesn’t seem put out by my evasiveness. He
never seems to mind elusive retorts and vague, almost flippant, answers. It’s
like the thrill of the hunt might just be in the not knowing. Often, I’ve shared
the sentiment. The less I knew, the more I had the chance to discover. But
now I wish I knew more than what was written in a children’s book, tucked
away in the desk of my cabin.
The text speaks of the very top of the Cloud Mountain, the farthest point
from the sea, and the palace that was made from the last frozen breath of the
sea goddess Keto. A holy place that only Págese royals are allowed to enter
on their sacred pilgrimages. It’s there that they sit in prayer and worship the
,gods who carved them. It’s there they stay for sixteen days. And it’s there, in
the center of this holy palace, that the crystal lies. Probably.
This whole quest is based on rumor and hearsay, and the only upside to
any of it is that the missing necklace has prevented Sakura and her family
from ever getting inside the locked dome. It’s not likely I’d be able to use the
crystal if it was already in their possession. Just imagining the conversation
with the Págese king makes me flinch. Would you kindly allow me and my
pirate crew to borrow one of the world’s most powerful sources of magic for
a few days? After I kill my immortal enemy, I promise I’ll bring it right back.
At least if I’m the one to find the crystal, it gives me the upper hand. But
despite the small comfort that brings, Sakura’s talk of hidden domes and lost
keys in the shape of necklaces makes things trickier. If I can’t find that
necklace, then I’ve bargained everything for nothing. Then again, the fact that
her family has been searching for generations without any luck doesn’t mean
much. After all, none of them are me.
“You fancy a game?” Madrid looks up at me. “As it happens, Torik is a
sore loser.”
“And you’re a mighty cheat,” says Torik. “She’s got cards up her sleeve.”
“The only thing I have up my sleeve is tricks and talent.”
“There!” Torik points. “You see. Tricks.”
From the floor, the assistant engineer looks up at them. “I didn’t see any
cheating.” He threads a needle through a pair of patchwork socks.
“Ha.” Torik clips him around the ear halfheartedly. “You were too busy
knittin’.”
“I’m sewing,” he disputes. “And if you don’t want me to, I’ll throw your
lot overboard.”
Torik grunts. “Attitude,” he says. Then, to me, “All I get is attitude.”
“It’s all you give, too,” I tell him.
“I give my heart and soul,” Torik protests.
“My mistake,” I say. “I wasn’t aware you had either of those things.”
Beside me, Kye snigg*rs. “It’s why he always loses,” he says. “No heart
and so no imagination.”
“You be careful I don’t imagine throwin’ you overboard,” Torik calls up to
him. “What do you think, Cap? Do we really need another siren hunter on
this quest?”
“Kye cooks, too,” Madrid says, sorting the deck back in order.
Torik shakes his head. “I reckon we can lay the nets and catch our own fish
for supper. We’ll grill ’em up nice enough without your pretty boy.”
Madrid doesn’t bother to reply, and just as I’m about to come back in her
place, something catches my eye in the distance. A strange shadow in the
middle of the ocean. A figure on the water. I squint and pull the golden
telescope from my belt loop.
To Kye, I say, “Northwest,” and my friend produces a small pair of
binoculars from his own belt. “Do you see it?” I ask.
“It’s a man.”
I shake my head. “Just the opposite.” I squint, black-rimmed eye pressed
fiercely to the looking glass. “It’s a girl.”
“What’s a girl doin’ in the middle of the damn ocean?” Torik climbs the
steps toward us.
On the main deck, Madrid slots the cards back into the packet. Dryly, she
says, “Perhaps she’s catching her own fish for supper.”
Torik shoots her a look. “There are sharks out there.”
“Perfect with rice.”
I roll my eyes.
Thankfully, the girl is floating and not drowning. Strangely, she isn’t doing
much else. She’s just there, in the ocean, with nothing and no one around her.
I suck in a breath and, in the same instant, the girl turns toward the ship. It
seems impossible, but in that moment I swear she looks straight at me.
Through me.
“What’s she doing?”
I turn to Kye. “She’s isn’t doing anything,” I say. “She’s just there.”
But when I turn to look back, she isn’t. And in her place, there’s a deadly
stillness.
“Kye!” I yell, rushing to the edge of the ship. “Full speed ahead. Circle
around and prepare the buoy. Wake the rest of the crew and have them at the
ready. It could be a trap.”
“Captain, don’t be reckless!” shouts Torik.
“It’s probably a trick,” Madrid agrees.
I ignore them and head forward, but Kye puts a gloved hand on my
shoulder, holding me back. “Elian, stop. There could be sirens in the water.”
My jaw tightens. “I’m not letting anyone else die because of a damned
siren.”
Kye squares his shoulders. “Then let me go instead.”
Madrid pauses for a moment and then, slower than usual, hoists her gun
over her shoulder.
I place my hand on top of Kye’s. His gesture has nothing to do with
heroism – because he wants to save the drowning girl – and everything to do
with loyalty. Because what he really wants is to save me. But if there’s one
thing in the world that I don’t need, it’s saving. I’ve risked my life enough
times to know it’s charmed.
“Don’t let me drown,” I say.
And then I jump.
The water feels like nails. A terrific legion of stabbing iron pierces my
flesh until my breath catches in my chest and gets stuck there. I can’t imagine
what the Págese waters will feel like in comparison. I can’t imagine their
country and their mountain and my fingers remaining on my hands as I climb
it.
I swim deeper and let my head spin.
It’s dark enough beneath the water that the farther I swim, the more I doubt
I’ll reach the surface again. But in the distance, even buried beneath the
ocean, I can hear the rumble of the Saad. I can feel the water being pushed
and sliced as my ship chases after me. And then I see her.
Sinking to the bottom of the ocean, her eyes closed and her arms spread
out like wings. A naked girl with hair to her elbows.
I swim toward her for an eternity. Closer and deeper, until it seems like she
might hit the shingle before I get to her. When my hands finally clamp
around her waist, I find myself wincing at how cold she is. Colder than the
ocean.
She’s heavier than I expect. A sinking stone. Dead weight. And no matter
how roughly I haul her up, how my hands dig into her stomach and my arms
crush around her ribs, she doesn’t stir. I worry that I’m too late, but I can’t
bear the thought of leaving her to the sharks and monsters.
With an explosion of breath, I burst through the water’s surface.
The Saad is close and within seconds a buoy is tossed into the ocean
beside me. I slide it over the girl, wrapping her limp wrist around the rope so
the crew can pull her in first.
It’s an odd sight to see a lifeless body heaved onto the ship. Her skin is so
pale against the dark wood of the Saad, one wrist tied to the buoy and the
other hanging helplessly below. When my crew finally hauls me up, I don’t
stop to catch my breath before rushing over. I spit salt water onto the deck
and fall to my knees beside her, willing her to move. It’s too soon. Too early
in our journey to have a body on our hands. And as much as I like to think
that I’ve grown accustomed to death, I’ve also never seen a dead woman
before. At least, not one who wasn’t half-monster.
I look at the unconscious girl and wonder where she came from. There are
no ships in the distance and no land on the horizon. It’s as though she
appeared from nowhere. Born from the ocean itself.
I unbutton my dripping shirt and slide it over the girl’s naked body like a
blanket. The sudden movement seems to jolt her, and with a gasping breath,
her eyes shoot open. They’re as blue as Sakura’s lips.
She rolls to her stomach and coughs up the ocean, heaving until there
seems to be no more water left in her. When she turns to me, the first thing I
notice are her freckles, shaped like stars. Constellations dotted across her face
like the ones I name while the rest of my crew sleeps. Her hair sticks to her
cheeks, a deep, dark red. Muted and so close to brown. She looks young –
younger than me, maybe – and, inexplicably, when she reaches for me, I
allow myself to be pulled into her.
She bites her lip, hard. It’s cracked and furiously pale, just like her skin.
There’s something about the action and how wild it looks on her. Something
about her ocean eyes and the way she strokes my collar softly. Something
familiar and hypnotic. She whispers something, a single guttural word that
sounds harsh against her lips.
,I can’t make sense of it, but whatever it is, it
makes me dizzy. I lean in closer and place a hand on her wrist.
“I don’t understand.”
She sits up, swaying, and grips my collar more tightly. Then, louder, she
says it again. Gouroúni. She spits it like a weapon and her face twists. A
sudden change from the innocent girl to something far crueler. Almost
murderous. I recoil, but for once I’m not quick enough. The girl raises a
shaking hand and brings it down across my cheek. Hard.
I fall back.
“Cap!” Torik reaches for me.
I dismiss his hand and stare at the girl. She’s smirking. A ghost of
satisfaction painted on her pale, pale lips before her eyes flutter closed and
her head hits the deck.
I rub the edge of my jaw. “Kye.” I don’t take my eyes off the ocean girl.
“Get the rope.”
15
Lira
WHEN I WAKE, I’M bound to a railing.
Golden rope is looped around one of my wrists, lassoing it to the wooden
barrier that overlooks the ship’s deck. I taste bile that keeps on burning, and
I’m cold, which is the most unnatural feeling in the world, because I’ve spent
a lifetime marveling in ice. Now, the cold makes me numb and tinges my
skin blue. I ache for warmth, and the faint glow of the sun on my face feels
like ecstasy.
I bite my lip, feeling newly blunt teeth against my skin. With a shuddering
breath, I look down and see legs. Sickly pale things that are crossed
awkwardly beneath me, dotted by bruises. Some in big patches, others like
tiny fingerprints. And feet, too, with toes pink from the cold.
My fins are gone. My mother has damned me. I want to die.
“Oh good, you’re awake.”
I drag my head from the railing to see a man staring down at me. A man
who is also a prince, whose heart I once had within reach. He’s watching me
with curious eyes, black hair still wet on the ends, dripping onto perfectly dry
clothes.
Beside him is a man larger than any I’ve seen, with skin almost as black as
the ship itself. He stands beside the prince, hand on the hilt of a long sword
that hangs from a ribbon on his waistcoat. And two more: a brown-skinned
girl with tattoos spread up her arms and on the sides of her cheeks, wearing
large gold earrings and a suspicious glance. Standing defensively beside her
is a sharp-jawed boy who taps his finger against a knife in his belt.
On the deck below, so many more glare up at me.
I saw their faces. Moments before the world went dark. Did the prince save
me from drowning? The thought makes me furious. I open my mouth to tell
him that he had no right to touch me, or that he should have let me drown in
the ocean I call home just to spite my mother. Just because she deserved it.
Let my death be a lesson to her.
Instead I say,“You’re a good swimmer,” in my best Midasan.
“You’re not,” he retorts.
He looks amused and not at all frightened by the deadly creature before
him. Which means that he’s either an idiot or he doesn’t know who I am.
Possibly both, though I don’t think the prince would waste time binding me
to a railing if he planned to kill me. I wonder how different my mother’s spell
has made me appear for him not to recognize me.
I look at the others. They watch the prince expectantly. Waiting for his
orders and his verdict. They want to know what he plans to do with me, and I
can sense how anxious they are as my identity remains a mystery. They like
strangers even less than I do, and staring into each of their grimy faces, I
know they’ll toss me overboard if their prince commands it.
I look to the prince and try to find the right words in Midasan. What little
I’ve spoken of the language tastes odd on my tongue, its vowels twisting
together all too slowly. It tastes as it sounds, like warmth and gold. My voice
isn’t my own when I speak it. My accent is far too sharp to loop the words,
and so my tongue hisses on the strange letters.
Carefully, I say, “Do you always tie women to your ship?”
“Only the pretty ones.”
The tattooed girl rolls her eyes. “Prince Charming,” she says.
The prince laughs, and the sound of it makes me lick my lips. My mother
wants him dead, but she wants me to do it as a human to prove my worth as
future ruler of the sea. If I can just get close enough.
“Untie me,” I command.
“You should thank me before barking orders,” says the prince. “After all, I
saved you and clothed you.”
I look down and realize that it’s true. A large black shirt scratches my legs,
the damp fabric sticking to my new body.
“Where did you come from?” the prince asks.
“Did someone throw you overboard while you were getting undressed?”
asks the girl.
“Maybe they threw her overboard because she was getting undressed,”
says the boy with the knife.
This is met with laughter from the rest of them.
“Forgive us,” says the prince. “But it’s not every day we find a naked girl
drowning in the middle of the ocean. Especially with no other ships in sight.
Especially one who slaps me after I save her.”
“You deserved it.”
“I was helping you.”
“Exactly.”
The prince considers this and then pulls a small circular contraption from
his pocket. It looks like a compass of some sort, and when he speaks again,
his eyes stay pinned to it, voice deceptively casual.
“I can’t quite place your accent,” he says. “Where is it that you’re from?”
An eerie sensation settles in my chest. I avert my eyes from the object,
hating how it feels when I look at it. Like it’s staring straight back.
“Untie me,” I say.
“What’s your name?” the prince asks.
“Untie me.”
“I see you don’t know much Midasan.” He shakes his head. “Tell me your
name first.”
He switches his gaze from the compass to me, assessing, as I try to think of
a lie. But it’s hopeless because I don’t know any human names to lie with.
I’ve never lingered enough to hear them, and unlike the mermaids who spy
on humans whenever they can, I’ve never cared to learn more about my prey.
With a fierce spit, I say, “Lira.”
He glances down at the compass and smiles. “Lira,” he repeats, pocketing
the small object. My name sounds melodic on his lips. Less like the weapon
it had been when I said it. “I’m Elian,” he says, though I didn’t ask. A prince
is a prince and his name is as inconsequential as his life.
I lean my free hand against the top of the railing and pull myself to my
feet. My legs shake violently and then buckle beneath me. I slam onto the
deck and let out a hiss of pain. Elian watches, and it’s only after a short pause
that he holds out a wary hand. Unable to bear him standing over me, I take it.
His grip is strong enough to lift me back onto my unsteady feet. When I
nearly topple again, his hand shoots to my elbow and holds me firmly in
place.
“It’s shock.” He reaches for his knife and cuts the thread that binds me to
the railing. “You’ll be steady again in no time. Just take a breath.”
“I’d be steadier if I weren’t on this ship.”
Elian raises an eyebrow. “You were a lot more charming when you were
unconscious.”
I narrow my eyes and press a hand to his chest to balance myself. I can feel
the slow drum of his heart beneath my hand, and in moments I’m taken back
to Midas. When I had been so close to stealing it.
Elian stiffens and slowly prizes my hand from his chest, placing it back on
the railing. He reaches into the pocket of his trousers and lifts out a small
rope necklace. The string is a shimmer of blue, glistening like water under the
sun. It’s liquid made into something other, too smooth to be ice and too solid
to be ocean. It sparkles against the gold of Elian’s skin, and when he opens
his hand, he reveals the pendant that hangs from the bottom. Sharply curved
edges stained with crab red. My lips part and I touch a hand to my neck,
where my seashell once hung. Nothing.
Furious, I leap toward Elian, my hands like claws. But my legs are too
unsteady, and the attempt nearly sends me back to the floor.
“Steady on there, damsel.” Elian grabs my elbow to hold me upright.
I rip my arm from him and bare my teeth monstrously. “Give it to me,” I
order.
He tilts his head. “Why would I do that?”
“Because it’s mine!”
“Is it?”
,He runs a thumb over the ridges of the seashell. “As far as I know,
this is a necklace for monsters, and you certainly don’t look like one of
those.”
I clench my fists. “I want you to give it to me.”
I feel maddened by the Midasan on my tongue. Its smooth sounds are too
quaint to display my anger. I itch to spit the knives of my own language at
him. Tear him down with the skewers of Psáriin, where each word can
wound.
“What’s it worth?” asks Elian.
I glare. “What do you mean?”
“Nothing’s free in the ocean,” he explains. “What’s the necklace worth to
you?”
“Your life.”
He laughs, and beside him the large man lets out a good-natured chuckle.
I’m unsure what’s so funny, but before I can ask, Elian says, “I don’t imagine
my life is worth much to you at all.”
He is so very wrong about that.
“Mine then,” I say.
And I mean it, because that necklace is the key to finding my way home.
Or at the very least, calling for help. If it can’t lead me back to my kingdom
as a human, then it can at least summon Kahlia. She can speak to the Sea
Queen on my behalf and beg her to rescind the punishment so I won’t have
to.
“Your life,” Elian repeats. He takes a few steps toward me. “Careful who
you tell that to. A worse man might hold you to it.”
I push him away. “And you’re a better man?”
“I like to think so.”
He holds the seashell up to the sunlight. Blood against sky. I can see the
curiosity in his eyes as he wonders what a castaway is doing with such a
trinket. I ponder if he knows what it’s even for, or if it’s just something he
has seen on the necks of his murdered sirens.
“Please,” I say, and Elian’s eyes dart back to me.
I’ve never used that word in any language, and even though Elian can’t
possibly know that, he looks unsettled. There’s a crack in the bravado. After
all, I’m a half-naked girl being held prisoner and he’s a human prince. Royal
by birth and destined to lead an empire. Chivalry is in his veins, and all I
need to do is remind him of it.
“Would you like me to beg you?” I ask, and Elian’s jaw tightens.
“If you just tell me why you have it, then I’ll give it back.”
He sounds sincere, but I know better. Pirates are liars by trade and royals
are liars by blood. I know that firsthand.
“My mother gave it to me,” I say.
“A gift.” Elian ponders this. “Passed through your family from how far
back? Do you know what it does or how it works?”
I grind my teeth. I should have known his questions wouldn’t end until he
ripped the truth from me. I would give it to him gladly on any other day, but
I’m defenseless on this ship without the music of my voice to sing him into
submission. I can barely even stand on my own. The seashell is my last hope,
and he’s keeping it from me.
I lunge for it once more. I’m quick, even as a human, and my fingers close
around his fist in an instant. But Elian is faster somehow, and as soon as my
hand locks on to his, Elian’s knife is on my neck.
“Really.” He presses his blade firmly against my throat, and I feel a small
slash of pain. “That wasn’t so smart.”
I tighten my hand around his fist, unwilling to let go. The cut on my neck
stings, but I have felt and caused far worse. His face is roguish when I sneer
up at him, nothing like the sweet and gentle princes I’ve taken before. The
ones whose hearts are buried beneath my bed. Elian is as much a soldier as I
am.
“Captain!” A man emerges from the lower deck, his eyes wide. “The
radars spotted one!”
Quickly, Elian looks to the knife-wielding boy. “Kye,” he says. Just a
name, just a word, and yet the boy nods abruptly and jumps the length of the
stairs to the decks below.
In an instant Elian tears his blade from my throat and sheathes it. “Get in
position!” he yells. He loops my seashell around his neck and runs for the
edge of the ship.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
Elian turns to me, a glint of mischief in his eyes. “It’s your lucky day,
Lira,” he says. “You’re about to meet your first siren.”
16
Lira
I WATCH THE HUMANS jumping from one end of the boat to another, pulling on
ropes and yelling words and names I don’t quite understand. At one point the
boy with the knife – Kye – trips and slices his palm. Quickly, the tattooed girl
rips the bandana from her head and throws it to him, before running to the
wheel and lurching it left. The ship twists too quickly for me to stay steady,
and I collapse to the floor again.
I screech in frustration and search the decks for my captor. Prince Elian
leans over the edge, one arm tangled in rope, the other holding the mysterious
object up to the light.
“Steady,” he tells his crew. “Hold her steady.”
He whispers something to himself. A slew of Midasan that I can’t make
out, much less understand, and then smiles at the compass and screams,
“Torik, now!”
The large man leans his head into the lower decks and bellows at the crew.
As soon as the boom of his voice shudders through my bones, a high-pitched
whistle tears through the air. I bring my hands to my ears. It’s not so much a
noise as it is a blade carving through my skull. A sound so shrill, I feel like
my eardrums could explode. Around me, the humans seem unaffected, and so
with a grimace, I lower my hands and try to hide my discomfort.
“I’m going in,” Elian calls over his shoulder. He throws the compass to the
girl. “Madrid, lower the net on my signal.”
She nods as he pulls a small tube from his belt and places it into his mouth.
Then he’s gone. He meets the water with barely a noise, so quiet that I
stumble to the edge of the ship to make sure that he actually jumped. Sure
enough, ripples pool on the surface and the prince is nowhere to be seen.
“What is he doing?” I ask.
“Playing the part,” Madrid replies.
“What part?”
She pulls a small crossbow from her belt and fixes an arrow in the latch.
“Bait.”
“He’s a prince,” I observe. “He can’t be bait.”
“He’s a prince,” she says. “So he gets to decide who’s bait.”
Kye hands her a black quiver filled with arrows and cuts me a guarded
glance. “If you’re so concerned, we can always throw you over instead.”
I ignore both the comment and the hostile look in his eyes. Human
pettiness knows no bounds. “Surely he can’t breathe for long,” I say.
“Five minutes of air,” Madrid tells me. “It’s what the tube’s for. Nifty little
thing the captain picked up a while back in Efévresi.”
Efévresi. The land of invention. It’s one of the few kingdoms I’ve been
careful to steer clear of, made cautious by the machinery that patrols their
waters. Nets made from lightning and drones that swim faster than any
mermaid. Ships more like beasts, with a knowledge and intelligence of their
own.
“When the captain comes back up, you’ll get to see something wonderful,”
Kye tells me.
“Monsters,” says Madrid, “are not wonderful.”
“Watching them die is pretty wonderful.” Kye looks pointedly in my
direction. “That’s what happens to our enemies, you see.”
Madrid scoffs. “Keep watch for the captain’s signal,” she says.
“He told you to do that.”
She smiles. “And technically, darling, I outrank you.”
Kye scratches his face with his middle finger, which is apparently not a
flattering gesture, because a moment later Madrid’s jaw drops and she swipes
to hit his shoulder. Kye weaves effortlessly out of the way and then grabs her
hand midair, pulling her toward him. When Madrid opens her mouth to say
something, he presses his lips to hers and snatches a kiss. Like a thief stealing
a moment. I half-expect her to shoot him with the crossbow – I know I
would – but when he breaks away, she only shoves him halfheartedly. Her
smile is ruthless.
I turn from them and clutch the ship ledge for support. The sun boils down
on my bare legs and the wind hums softly by my ear. The shrill ringing has
mellowed to a faint echo around me, making everything seem too quiet. Too
peaceful. Under the sea, it’s never so serene. There’s always screaming and
crashing and tearing. There’s always the ocean, constantly moving and
evolving into something new. Never still and never the same. On land, on this
ship, everything
,where there are princes, there are kings and
queens, and I’ve never had much use for either of those. Rulers are easily
deposed. It’s the princes who hold the allure. In their youth. In the allegiance
of their people. In the promise of the leader they could one day become. They
are the next generation of rulers, and by killing them, I kill the future. Just as
my mother taught me.
I take Kahlia’s hand. “You can have the queen. I’ve no interest in the
past.”
Kahlia’s eyes are alight. The right holds the same sapphire of the Diávolos
Sea I know well, but the left, a creamy yellow that barely stands out from the
white, sparkles with a rare glee. If she steals a royal heart for her fifteenth,
it’ll be sure to earn her clemency from my mother’s perpetual rage.
“And you’ll take the prince,” says Kahlia. “The one with the pretty face.”
“His face makes no difference.” I drop her hand. “It’s his heart I’m after.”
“So many hearts.” Her voice is angelic. “You’ll soon run out of room to
bury them all.”
I lick my lips. “Maybe,” I say. “But a princess must have her prince.”
2
Lira
THE SHIP FEELS ROUGH under the spines of my fingers. The wood is splintered,
paint cracking and peeling over the body. It cuts the water in a way that is too
jagged. Like a blunt knife, pressing and tearing until it slices through. There
is rot in places and the stench makes my nose wrinkle.
It is a poor prince’s ship.
Not all royals are alike. Some are furnished in fine clothes, unbearably
heavy jewels so large that they drown twice as fast. Others are sparsely
dressed, with only one or two rings and bronze crowns painted gold. Not that
it matters to me. A prince is a prince, after all.
Kahlia keeps to my side, and we swim with the ship while it tears through
the sea. It’s a steady speed and one we easily match. This is the agonizing
wait, as humans become prey. Some time passes before the prince finally
steps onto the deck and casts his eye at the ocean. He can’t see us. We’re far
too close and swim far too fast. Through the ship’s wake, Kahlia looks to me
and her eyes beg the question. With a smile as good as any nod, I return my
cousin’s stare.
We emerge from the froth and part our lips.
We sing in perfect unison in the language of Midas, the most common
human tongue and one each siren knows well. Not that the words matter. It’s
the music that seduces them. Our voices echo into the sky and roll back
through the wind. We sing as though there is an entire chorus of us, and as
the haunting melody ricochets and climbs, it swirls into the hearts of the crew
until finally the ship slows to a stop.
“Do you hear it, Mother?” asks the prince. His voice is high and dreamlike.
The queen stands next to him on the deck. “I don’t think . . .”
Her voice falters as the melody strokes her into submission. It’s a
command, and every human has come to a stop, bodies frozen as their eyes
search the seas. I set my focus on the prince and sing more softly. Within
moments his eyes fall to mine.
“Gods,” he says. “It’s you.”
He smiles and from his left eye slips a single tear.
I stop singing and my voice turns to a gentle hum.
“My love,” the prince says, “I’ve found you at last.”
He grips the ratlines and peers far over the edge, his chest flat against the
wood, one hand reaching out to touch me. He’s dressed in a beige shirt, the
strings loose at his chest, sleeves torn and slightly moth-bitten. His crown is
thin gold leaf that looks as though it could break if he moves too quickly. He
looks desolate and poor.
But then there is his face.
Soft and round, with skin like varnished wood and eyes a penetrating shade
darker. His hair swings and coils tightly on his head, a beautiful mess of
loops and spirals. Kahlia was right; he’s angelic. Magnificent, even. His heart
will make a fine trophy.
“You are so beautiful,” says the queen, staring down at Kahlia with
reverence. “I’m unsure how I’ve ever considered another.”
Kahlia’s smile is primordial as she reaches out to the queen, beckoning her
to the ocean.
I turn back to the prince, who is frantically stretching out his hand to me.
“My love,” he pleads. “Come aboard.”
I shake my head and continue to hum. The wind groans with the lullaby of
my voice.
“I’ll come to you then!” he shouts, as though it was ever a choice.
With a gleeful smile, he flings himself into the ocean, and with the splash
of his body comes a second, which I know to be the queen, throwing herself
to my cousin’s mercy. The sounds of their falls awaken something in the
crew, and in an instant they are screaming.
They lean over the ship’s edge, fifty of them clinging to ropes and wood,
watching the spectacle below with horror. But none dare throw themselves
overboard to save their sovereigns. I can smell their fear, mixed with the
confusion that comes from the sudden absence of our song.
I meet the eyes of my prince and stroke his soft, angelic skin. Gently, with
one hand on his cheek and another resting on the thin bones of his shoulder, I
kiss him. And as my lips taste his, I pull him under.
The kiss breaks once we are far enough down. My song has long since
ended, but the prince stays enamored. Even as the water fills his lungs and his
mouth opens in a gasp, he keeps his eyes on me with a glorious look of
infatuation.
As he drowns, he touches his fingers to his lips.
Beside me, Kahlia’s queen thrashes. She clutches at her throat and bats my
cousin away. Angrily, Kahlia clings to her ankle and keeps her deep below
the surface, the queen’s face a sneer as she tries to escape. It’s futile. A
siren’s hold is a vice.
I stroke my dying prince. My birthday is not for two weeks. This trip was a
gift for Kahlia: to hold the heart of royalty in her hands and name it her
fifteenth. It’s not supposed to be for me to steal a heart a fortnight early,
breaking our most sacred rule. Yet there’s a prince dying slowly in front of
me. Brown skin and lips blue with ocean. Hair flowing behind him like black
seaweed. Something about his purity reminds me of my very first kill. The
young boy who helped my mother turn me into the beast I am now.
Such a pretty face, I think.
I run a thumb over the poor prince’s lip, savoring his peaceful expression.
And then I let out a shriek like no other. The kind of noise that butchers
bones and claws through skin. A noise to make my mother proud.
In one move, I plunge my fist into the prince’s chest and pull out his heart.
3
Elian
TECHNICALLY, I’M A MURDERER, but I like to think that’s one of my better
qualities.
I hold up my knife to the moon, admiring the polish of blood before it
seeps into the steel and disappears. It was made for me when I turned
seventeen and it became clear killing was no longer just a hobby. It was
unseemly, the king said, for the Midasan prince to carry around rusted blades.
And so now I carry around a magic blade that drinks the blood of its kill so
quickly that I barely have time to admire it. Which is far more seemly,
apparently. If not a little theatrical.
I regard the dead thing on my deck.
The Saad is a mighty vessel that stretches to the size of two full ships, with
a crew that could’ve been over four hundred, but is exactly half that because I
value loyalty above all else. Old black lanterns adorn the stern, and the
bowsprit stretches forward in a piercing dagger. The Saad is so much more
than a ship: It’s a weapon. Painted in midnight navy, with sails the same
cream as the queen’s skin and a deck the same polish as the king’s.
A deck that is currently home to the bloody corpse of a siren.
“Ain’t it supposed to melt now?”
This is from Kolton Torik, my first mate. Torik is in his early forties, with
a pure white mustache and a good four inches of height on me. Each of his
arms is the size of each of my legs, and he’s nothing short of burly. In
summer months like these, he wears cutoff shorts, the fabric fraying by his
kneecaps, and a white shirt with a black waistcoat tied by red ribbon. Which
tells me that of all the things he takes seriously –
,is far too steady.
“Ignore Kye,” says Madrid. She stands beside me. “He’s always like that.”
“Like what?”
“Ridiculous,” she says, then turns to him. “If the sonar cuts again, go
belowdecks and give that engineer a piece of your knife.”
“The sonar?” I ask.
“It’s that ringing,” she explains. “Doesn’t bother us much, but the sirens go
mad on it. Hits their nerves and disables them.”
Kye plucks the dirt from under his thumbnail with a knife. “It stops them
from singing their little song and drowning us all.”
I grit my teeth. Typical humans using their dirty tricks of technology to
fight their wars for them. I’ve never heard of something that can take away a
siren’s power, but experiencing the awful tearing in my skull makes it easy to
believe. I wonder how excruciating it would be to hear it in my siren form. If
it would be akin to my mother’s magic.
“I know we look pretty run-down,” Madrid says. “The crew’s normally a
lot bigger, but we’re on a bit of a special case. Captain cut us in half for his
latest whim.”
I eye her strangely. “I didn’t ask you about your crew.”
She laughs and pushes a curl from her face. Without the bandana, her hair
is riotous. “I figured you’d have questions,” she says. “Not everyone wakes
up to find themselves on the infamous siren ship in the company of the
golden prince. No doubt you’ve heard the best and worst about us. I just want
you to know that only half the stories are true.”
She grins at this last part, smiling as though we’re old allies. As though she
has reason to feel comfortable around me.
“You can’t be aboard our ship and not know the ins and outs,” Madrid
says.
Kye makes a contemptuous noise. “I don’t think Cap wants strangers
knowing the ins of any of our outs.”
“And what if she becomes part of the crew?”
“If wearing the captain’s shirt made someone part of the crew, then half of
the girls in Eidýllio would be sailing with us.”
“Good,” Madrid says. “We need some more female blood.”
“We get enough of that spilled on the deck from sirens.”
“Sea foam doesn’t count,” she snipes, and the disdainful look Kye had
when talking about me disappears in place of an impish grin.
“You like making up the rules as you go along. Don’t you, love?”
Madrid shrugs and turns back to me, inked arms spread open like wings.
“Welcome to the Saad, Lira,” she says.
And then Elian erupts from the ocean.
To my instant relief, the sonar dissipates, and though it leaves a ringing in
my ears, the pain subsides instantaneously. Kye’s lips draw a smile and, at
the same time, Elian draws a breath, sending the ship into a frenzy. From the
water, a net claws its way to the surface, turning the ocean to mighty waves.
Inside, a creature thrashes and hisses, her tangled fin the only thing keeping
her from the prince and his heart.
Elian sits on the other side, knife in hand, and watches the siren. She
scratches at him, but the net is wide and they’re separated by at least three
feet. Still, Elian looks on guard, one hand gripped in the net to keep himself
steady and the other clasping his knife.
“If you’ve got a minute,” Elian calls up to the ship, “I wouldn’t mind
coming aboard.”
“Get moving!” Torik bellows to the rest of the crew. “I want that damn net
up here five minutes ago.”
Kye rushes to his side and twists the rope that is hoisting the net up to
them. He leans back so his entire body is balanced against it. He is breathless
with the weight in moments. Below, the siren screeches so venomously that I
can barely make out the Psáriin on her tongue. She’s bleeding, though I can’t
see from where. The red seems to cover so much of her, like paint against her
skin. As the net is drawn back to the ship, she continues to thrash wildly and
the whistle sounds again. I clench my hands by my sides to keep from
bringing them to my ears. The siren is maddened. Her hands fly to her face
and she tears her nails through her cheeks, trying to rip the noise out. Her
screams are like death itself. A sound that makes my newly formed toes curl
against the ship.
Kye pulls the rope harder, his arms dripping with sweat. When the net
finally reaches the top, he hands the rope over to another crew member and
then rushes to his prince’s side. Within moments, the net is untangled and
Elian is pulled free.
Kye and Madrid clasp his elbows and drag him out of harm’s way. As they
do, I see that his arms are cut. Slashes so similar to the day the mermaid tried
to steal his heart from me. Quickly, Kye tears his sleeve and grabs Elian’s
hand. It’s punctured with deep, dark holes. The blood is black red and
nothing at all like the gold I’ve heard. The sight of it gives me pause.
“Are you mad?” Kye yells. He uses his shirt as a makeshift bandage. “I
can’t believe you got into that thing.”
“It was the only way.” Elian shakes his hand as though shaking off the
injury. “She wouldn’t be lured.”
“You could’ve nicked an artery,” Madrid says. “Don’t think we’d waste
good stitches on you if you were going to bleed to death anyhow.”
Elian smirks at her insubordination. Everything is a game to him. Loyalty
is mockery and devotion is kinship in place of fear. He is a riddle, disguised
as a ruler, able to laugh at the idea of disloyalty as though it would never be
an option. I can’t fathom such a thing.
“If you’re gonna keep this up,” Kye says, “we should invest in some safer
nets.”
I look to the net in question and almost smile. It’s a web of wire and glass.
Shards weave into one another so that their twisted metal can make a nimble
cage. It’s monstrous and glorious.
Inside, the siren wails.
“She’s clever,” says Elian, coming to my side. “Normally the noise
confuses them so much that I stand by the net and they fly in. She wouldn’t
have it though. Wouldn’t go unless I did.”
The crew gathers with their weapons at the ready.
“She was trying to outsmart you,” I say, and Elian grins.
“She can try to be smarter, but she’ll never be quicker.”
I scoff at his arrogance and turn to the creature he has caught in his web.
I’m almost eager to see the siren stupid enough to fall for such a trap, but at
the sight of her face, an unfamiliar feeling settles into my stomach.
I know her.
A sleek charcoal fin that smudges across the deck. Cold black hair
stringing over her cheeks and nails carved to shanks. She snarls, baring her
fangs and slapping her fin violently against the wire. In the background the
whistle hums, and whenever I think she might sing, she whimpers instead. I
take a step closer and she narrows her eyes. One brown, the other a mix of
blue and blood. Curdled by a scar that stretches to her lip.
Maeve.
“Be careful,” Elian says, his hand hovering by my arm. “They’re deadly.”
I turn to him, but he’s looking at the siren, seaweed eyes sharper than her
nails.
“Aidiastikó gouroúni,” Maeve growls.
Disgusting pig.
Her words are a mirror of the ones I spoke when Elian saved me from
drowning.
“Be calm,” I tell her, then grimace when I realize I’m still speaking
Midasan.
When the siren’s eyes meet mine, they’re full of the same hatred we’ve
always shared for each other. It almost makes me laugh to think that even as
strangers, our animosity can be so ripe, stretching beyond the bounds of
knowing.
Maeve spits on the deck. “Filthy human whor*,” she says in Psáriin.
Instinctively, I lurch forward, but Elian yanks me back by the waist. I kick
violently against him, desperate to get at the defiant girl in front of me. Siren
or not, I won’t let the insult stand.
“Stop.” Elian’s voice is muffled by my hair. “If you want to get yourself
killed, one of us can do the job a lot tidier.”
“Let her go.” Kye laughs. “I want to see how that ends.”
I writhe against Elian, scratching at his arms like the animal I am. “After
what she just called me,” I say, “it’s going to end with her heart on the floor.”
Maeve cackles and uses haw a Psáriin circle on her palm. When my eyes
widen at the insult, she only laughs more. It’s a symbol reserved for the
lowest beings. For mermaids that lie dying as their fins are stapled
,into the
sand in punishment. For humans unworthy of a siren’s presence. To make
that gesture to the royal bloodline is punishable by death.
“Kill her,” I seethe. “Áschimi lígo skýla.”
“Human scum!” Maeve screeches in return.
Elian’s breath is hot on my neck as he struggles to keep ahold of me.
“What did you say?”
“Filthy little bitch,” I translate in Midasan. “Tha sas skotóso ton eaftó
mou.”
I’ll kill you myself.
I’m about to break free, but the second Elian releases his grip on my waist,
his hands clamp down on my shoulders. He twists me around and I’m thrown
against the door of the lower deck. When he leans over me, the scent of black
sweets is fragrant on his breath.
I dismiss him and make to move past, but he’s too quick, even for me, and
blocks my path, pushing me back against the varnished wood. Slowly, he
brings a hand to the paneling beside my head, closing me in.
“You speak Psáriin.”
His voice is throaty, his eyes as dark as the blood that seeps from his hand.
Behind him, the crew keeps a watchful eye on Maeve, but every moment or
so they shoot surreptitious glances our way. In my madness, I forgot myself.
Or perhaps I remembered myself. I spat my language like it was the most
natural thing in the world. Which, to a human, it would never be.
Elian is close enough that if I listened, I’d be able to hear his heartbeat. If I
stilled, I’d be able to feel the thumps pulsing through the air between us. I
look down to his chest, where the strings of his shirt have loosened to reveal
a circle of nails. My parting gift.
“Lira,” he says. “You better have a damn good explanation.”
I try to think of an answer, but out of the corner of my eye I see Maeve still
at the mention of my name. Suddenly she’s squinting at me, leaning forward
so the net pierces through her arms.
I hiss and Maeve scrambles back.
“Prinkípissa!” she says.
Princess.
She shakes her head. She was ready to die at the hands of pirates, but now
that she stares into the eyes of her princess, fear finally dawns on her face.
“You understand her,” says Elian.
“I understand many things.”
I push him away and he gestures for his crew to let me approach their
prisoner.
“Parakaló,” Maeve screams as I near. “Parakaló!”
“What’s she saying?” asks Madrid.
She points her weapon at Maeve, as all of the crew does. Swords and
bullets to hide behind, because humans don’t possess the innate strength to
defend themselves. Only unlike the others, Madrid’s gun is not so much a
gun at all. Somewhere along the way, she discarded the crossbow in place of
something far more deadly. Gold-polished metal gleams in the shape of a
rifle, but a long black spear rests below the site, the tip dipped in the purest
silver. Yet despite having such an elaborate weapon, Madrid doesn’t look
eager to attack. She looks as though she would rather keep her hands clean of
murder.
I turn back to Maeve and watch the fear settle into her eyes. There’s never
been anything close to tolerance between us, but it was only recently we
began to consider ourselves enemies. Or rather, Maeve began to consider me
an enemy and I enjoyed the compliment.
I take in her muddled eye, rippled by blood and shadowed by scars. I
blinded her, not so long ago, with the blunt end of a coral piece. Now,
whenever she blinks, her right eye stays open. Thinking back, I can’t
remember why I did it. Maeve said something, perhaps. Did something that I
disliked enough to punish her. Really, she could have done anything and it
wouldn’t have mattered, because most of all I just wanted to hurt her. For
whatever reason and no reason. I wanted to hear her scream.
It is like that in the sea. Brutal and unrelenting. Filled with endless cruelty
that has no recompense. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than
to kill Maeve but feared my mother’s wrath too much to act. Now the
opportunity is here. Perhaps not to do it myself, but to watch as someone else
does. The enemy of my enemy.
“Tell us what she’s saying,” Kye demands.
“She’s not saying anything.” I stare at Maeve. “She’s begging.”
“Begging.”
Elian is beside me, an unreadable expression on his face as he repeats my
words. He clasps the knife in his wounded hand, and when his blood drips
down the blade, it disappears. Metal drinking metal. I can feel the sorcery roll
from it like thunder. The whispers of a weapon begging him to spill more
blood so it can get its fill. It’s soaked in enough magic to sing like one of my
melodies, but Elian doesn’t succumb to its refrain. His expression is hesitant
and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen such a thing in the eyes of a killer.
Yet Elian stares down at Maeve as though the thought of her pleading makes
the whole thing wrong. Dirty.
“She’s begging,” he says. “Are you sure?”
“Parakaló,” I repeat. “It means ‘please.’ ”
17
Elian
I’VE NEVER KILLED A begging thing.
As the siren cowers on my deck, I’m perfectly aware that she is a monster.
She’s whimpering, but even the sound is wicked. A mix of hisses and throaty
laments. I’m not sure why she’s so scared when moments ago a net made of
glass and spikes barely made her wince. Part of me wants to feel proud that
my reputation has finally preceded me. The other part, perhaps the smarter
part, is sure that I have nothing to be proud of.
I gaze over at Lira. Her graveyard-dirt hair clings to her shoulders as she
sways with the motion of my ship. There’s something about her slight frame
that makes her look menacing, as though every angle is a weapon. She barely
blinks at the siren, who is now disfigured with gashes. As I stare at her, I see
nothing of the wraith-like girl I pulled from the ocean. Whatever spell had
threatened to transfix me when I saved her is broken now, and I can see quite
clearly that she’s no helpless damsel. She’s something more, and it makes me
too curious for my own good.
The Psáriin she spoke lingers in the air. A language forbidden in most
kingdoms, including my own. I want to know how she learned it, when she
got close enough, why she kept one of their necklaces noosed like a trophy
around her neck. I want to know everything.
“Will you kill her?” Lira asks.
There’s no more sweet pretense as she tries to speak my language. I’m not
sure where she’s from, but whatever kingdom it is clearly has no love for
mine.
“Yes.”
“Will it be quick?”
“Yes.”
She scoffs. “Shame.”
The siren whimpers again and repeats a slew of Psáriin. It’s so quick and
guttural that I barely make out the words. Still, one of them sticks in my
mind, clearer than the others. Prinkípissa. Whatever it means, she says it with
fear and reverence. A combination I’m rarely used to seeing. In my kingdom,
those who revere me don’t know me well enough to fear me. And those who
fear me know me far too well to do something as unwise as adore me.
“Your knife,” Lira says.
My hand forms a fist around the handle. My wound drips, and I feel the
blade quickly soak it up. No blood gone to waste.
“It has a strange magic.”
I look at her pointedly. “I don’t think you’re in a position to say what’s
strange.”
Lira doesn’t reply, and in her silence Kye steps forward. “Cap,” he says.
“Be careful. She can’t be trusted.”
At first I think he’s talking about the monster on our deck, and I’m about
to tell him that I’m not an idiot when I realize the siren isn’t the one Kye’s
looking at. Lira is in his sights.
If there’s one thing in the world Kye has never had, it’s tact. But Lira
doesn’t pay attention to the accusation. She doesn’t even glance in his
direction, like the allegation is nothing more than ocean water dripping off
her.
“I’ll deal with her,” I tell Kye. “When I’m ready.”
“Maybe you should be ready now.”
I tap the tip of my knife against my finger and step forward, but Kye grabs
my arm. I look down at his hands, gripping the fabric of my shirt. Kye’s
greatest strength is that he’s as suspicious as I am reckless. He doesn’t like
surprises and takes every possible threat as a threat on my life. Every warning
as a promise. But with him to do it for me, there’s
,no need for me to waste
time worrying. Besides, spending my life on the ocean has taught me to see
what others can’t and to expect what they won’t. I know better than to trust a
stranger on a pirate ship, but relying on instinct is far better than relying on
doubt.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” he asks.
Carefully, I take Kye’s hand from my arm. “I can assure you, there’s
nothing wrong with my hearing.”
“Just your common sense, then,” Lira says.
I watch her swipe the hair from her face. “How’s that?” I ask.
“If you had any, then you would have killed her by now.” Lira points to the
siren. “Her heart could be cold in your hands.”
Kye arches an eyebrow. “Damn,” he says. “What sort of ship did she get
thrown off of?”
Beside him, Madrid adjusts her stance, weapon never wavering as her feet
shift. She’s anxious, and I can feel it as much as I can see it. Madrid never
wants to kill, whether it’s monsters or men. In Kléftes she killed enough to
last a lifetime, and in some reverse twist of fate it instilled her with more
morals and scruples than before. Neither of which have a place on the Saad.
But she is the best marksman I have, and if I ignore her principles, then it
makes her one of my best chances at not dying.
“It’s the sirens who take the hearts,” Madrid tells Lira. “Not us.”
The knife gleams in my hand. “I’ve taken plenty of hearts.”
I watch the siren, getting as close as I can without slicing my boots on the
net. I think of Cristian drowning in the ocean, the lie of a kiss on his mouth.
For all I know, this could be the siren who did it. There was another one with
the Princes’ Bane; I’ve gathered that much from the tales that spread
throughout my kingdom. Cristian’s murderer could be on my ship.
The siren says something to Lira, and I wonder if she’s begging again. If
Cristian begged, or if he was so far under the siren’s spell that he died
willingly.
“Hold her down,” I say.
A spear shoots from Madrid’s gun, piercing through the center of the
siren’s fin. Pinning her to my ship. I resist the urge to look at Madrid,
knowing the grim look of resignation she’ll be wearing. As good a shot as she
is, Madrid is an even better person.
I kick pieces of netting away and crouch down beside the imprisoned
creature. This part always makes me feel less human, as though the way I kill
draws a moral boundary.
“I want you to tell me something,” I say. “And I’d appreciate your doing it
in my language.”
“Poté den tha.”
The siren writhes beneath the spear that staples her to the Saad. It’s dipped
in silver thinite, which is deadly to their kind. Its slow poison coagulates at
the entry point, stopping the wound from seeping onto my ship and, given
enough time, stopping what scraps of a heart she might have.
“That’s not Midasan,” I tell her. I clasp my compass, eyeing the steady
points of the face. “What do you know about the Crystal of Keto?”
The siren’s lips part and she looks at Lira, shaking her head. “Egó den tha
sas prodósei.”
“Lira,” I say. “I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to translate?”
“I’ve never been accused of kindness before.”
Her voice is closer than I would like, and I shift when I see her shadow
hovering next to mine. She’s as quick as she is quiet, capable of sneaking up
on even me. The thought is unsettling, but I push it to the back of my mind
before I consider it too much. It’s a dangerous thing to be distracted with a
monster so close.
Lira crouches beside me. For a moment she’s quiet. Her storm-blue eyes
narrow at the spear in the center of the siren’s fin. She’s trying to decide
something. It could be whether she’s disgusted by our violence and if she
should hide it, but I can’t see any sign of repulsion. Then again, a mask is the
easiest thing to slip on. There’s nothing in my own eyes, despite the sick
feeling creeping up in my stomach with the siren’s screams. I push it away,
as I do everything. A captain doesn’t have the luxury of guilt.
Lira stands and she’s newly steady as she looks down at the dying creature.
“Maybe it would be helpful,” she says, “if you take out her other eye.”
I flinch and a smile presses to the corner of Lira’s pale lips. I don’t know if
it’s because the siren is so scared, or if Lira is simply pleased by the look on
my face. If she said it just to see how I’d react.
“I’d be depriving her of your winning smile,” I say.
Lira co*cks an eyebrow. “She’s your enemy. Don’t you want her in pain?”
She looks at me as though I’ve lost all sense. My crew tends to look at me
the same way, though not usually on the days when I refuse to torture. There
are many things the world can say about the siren hunters of the Saad, but
one thing that could never be true is that we enjoy this life. The ocean, yes,
but never the death. It’s a necessary evil to keep the world safe, and as
dishonorable as killing is, it has purpose. If I start to like it, then I become the
very thing I’m trying to protect the world from.
“Soldiers don’t enjoy war,” I say.
Lira purses her lips, but just as she opens her mouth to say something, I’m
thrown onto my back. My head cracks against the floor, and pain explodes in
my temples.
The siren is on top of me.
She scratches and bites, making an ungodly howl. I dodge her attacks as
she tries desperately to take a chunk out of me. Her fin is a mess of clotted
blood, ripped straight down the middle. She must have torn herself free.
“I can’t get a clear shot!” someone says. “I’m gonna hit him.”
“Me either!”
“Madrid!” Kye yells. “Madrid, shoot it now!”
“I can’t.” I hear the sound of a gun being thrown to the floor. “Damn thing
is wedged again.”
I struggle beneath the venomous creature. Her face is fangs and hate and
nothing else. She is hungry for part of me. Heart or not, she’ll take whatever
piece she can.
The weight of her presses down, crushing my ribs. There’s a crack, and
then I can barely breathe through the pain. Around me, my crew shouts so
loudly that it’s almost incomprehensible. As their voices turn to noise, my
arms burn with aching. The siren is too strong. Stronger than me, by far.
Then, just as suddenly as it came, the heaviness disappears. My breath
rushes back.
Kye grips her devil shoulders and rips the siren from me. She skitters and
slides across the deck before colliding furiously with the cabin wall. My crew
jumps out of the way to let her body skim past them. The sound of her impact
shakes the Saad.
The siren digs her fingernails into the deck, shoulders arched. She hisses
and lurches forward. Quickly, I grab my knife. I ignore the furious pain in my
ribs as I let the featherlight blade take aim in my hand and then hurl it
through the air. It glides into what is left of her heart.
Most of the blood blisters onto her skin, but the remnants that threaten to
spill onto my deck are quickly drunk up by my knife. The siren screams.
As Kye pulls me to my feet, I catch a discreet breath, not daring to show
that I was surprised. Even if it’s obvious. It’s my job to expect the
unexpected, and I was stupid enough to turn my back on a killer.
“Are you all right?” Kye asks, searching for wounds. He glares at the
blood on my arm. “I should’ve been faster.”
The look on his face rips through me as much as the siren did, and so I roll
my shoulder, careful not to wince as the pain in my ribs intensifies with each
moment. “All in a day’s work,” I say, and turn to Madrid. “Your gun jammed
again?”
Madrid picks up her discarded weapon and studies the spear mechanism. “I
don’t get it,” she says. “I’ll have to bring it belowdecks for another service.”
She starts to walk to the other side of the deck and then abruptly stops
when she notices the siren’s body blocking the doorway. Madrid swallows
and waits patiently. They all do. Perfectly silent until the moment the siren
begins to fade. The sight is never anything less than a wonder to them, even
after all this time. But I don’t look at the lifeless creature turning to foam on
my deck. I’ve seen a hundred monsters die. Instead I turn to the strange girl I
,pulled from the ocean.
Lira isn’t smiling anymore.
18
Lira
MAEVE DISSOLVES INTO NOTHING.
Killing a siren is not like killing a mermaid. Their rotting corpses stain the
ocean floor and skeleton among the coral, while we dissolve into the very
thing that made us. Into ocean and foam and the salt in our veins. When
we’re gone, there’s nothing left to remember.
I thought I’d be glad when Maeve died, but the battle between our species
wages on and I’ve just helped the humans in their bid to slaughter us. At the
very least, the prince didn’t cut out her heart before he killed her. I’ve never
paid mind to legends, unless I’m the legend of discussion, but even I know
the stories. Ones that warn of any human who holds a siren’s heart being
granted immunity to our song. It’s said that’s why we turn to sea foam when
we die, that it’s not a curse to erase us from the world but a blessing from
Keto to ensure a human can never take our hearts.
After Maeve disappears, I’m taken belowdecks to a windowless room that
smells of aniseed and rust. The walls are not walls but thick drapes that hang
from a varnished ceiling. Their damp edges catch the floor, and as the ship
pierces on, they sway and reveal endless lines. Of books, weapons, and gold.
Each curtain has its own secret. In the center is a large cube made from black
glass. It’s as thick as I am long, with hinges and bolts that are heavy gold.
The same kind that the eel-mermaid’s brooch was made from. It’s a prison of
sorts and doesn’t appear to be designed for humans. Or, if it is, it’s designed
for the worst kind.
In the kingdom of Keto, we don’t keep prisoners. Betraying the Sea Queen
means giving up your life, and so we have no choice but to be what my
mother says we are. Deciding differently offers no second chances; my
punishment is proof of that.
I turn to Elian. “Why am I down here?”
With each passing moment, he takes on more of the ocean. A brown
leather tunic is slung over his shirt, frayed black string fastening it at the
neck. His legs are half trouser and half long brown boots that catch at the
knees. A strap crosses from his shoulder to his waist, and from it a large
cutlass dangles. His knife is hidden behind, away from strange eyes. I can
still smell Maeve’s blood on it.
“You seem worldly,” Elian says. “Can’t you figure it out?”
Behind him, Kye and Madrid are resolute guardians. Less than a day on
this ship and I already know who his most trusted are. Which means I already
know his greatest weakness.
“I thought princes liked saving young women in need.”
Elian laughs, teeth flashing white against his handsome face. “You’re a
damsel now?” he asks. “It’s funny, because you didn’t seem like one when
you were trying to claw your way past me to attack a siren.”
“I thought killing sirens was what people on this ship did.”
“Usually not with their bare hands.”
“Not everyone needs magical knives to do their dirty work for them.”
“Not everyone can speak Psáriin,” he says.
I keep a coy smile on my lips, playing my role well. “I have a talent for
languages.”
“Your Midasan says differently.”
“I have a talent for interesting languages,” I amend, and Elian’s green eyes
crinkle.
“What about your own language?” he asks.
“It’s better.”
“How?”
“It’s more suited to me.”
“I dread to think what that means.”
Elian brushes past me and presses a hand to the cold glass of the cube. As
his fingers spread over the would-be prison, I can almost feel the cold of it
through him. The siren part of me aches to feel the frost beneath my fingers
and know the cold like I used to. The human in me shivers.
“Where is your home?” Elian asks.
His back is to me, and I see his lips move through his reflection. He
watches himself, keeping his eyes far from mine. For a moment I don’t think
he’s asking me. That maybe he’s asking himself. A prince who doesn’t know
which kingdom he should claim. Then Kye clears his throat and Elian spins
back around. When he does, his face is all lights.
“Well?” he asks.
“I didn’t think I was going to be interrogated.”
“Did the cage not give it away?”
“I didn’t see a cage.” I arch my neck, peering behind him as if I hadn’t
noticed my looming prison. “Your charm must have masked it.”
Elian shakes his head to hide the growing smile. “It’s not just any cage,”
he says. “Back when I first started all of this and long before I knew better, I
had it built with every intention of using it to hold the Sea Queen.” He arches
an eyebrow. “Do you think it can hold you?”
“You’re going to throw me in a cage?” I ask.
“Unless you tell me where you’re from,” he says. “And why you left.”
“It wasn’t my choice.”
“Why were you out in the middle of the ocean without a ship?”
“I was abandoned.”
“By who?”
I don’t hesitate when I say, “Everyone.”
With a sigh, Elian leans back and presses a foot flat against the glass. He
ponders my carefully chosen words, turning them over in his mind like the
wheel of a ship. I dislike the silence that follows and the heavy weight that
his quiet leaves in the room. It’s as though the air waits for the sound of his
voice before it dares to thin out and become breathable. And I wait too, trying
to anticipate what his next move will be. The situation is unbearably familiar.
So many times I’ve hovered in front of my mother, biting my tongue while
she chooses how I live my life. What I will do and when I will kill and who I
will be. Though it’s strange to watch a human deliberate my fate, it’s not
such an odd thing to wait while it’s decided by someone other than myself.
Hidden under my seaweed lies, there’s truth. I was abandoned, and now
I’m on a ship with humans who would see me dead if they knew what I was.
Below the surface, my mother rules a kingdom that should be mine, and if
anyone questions where I’ve gone, she’ll spit whatever lies make me most
forgettable. Harpooned by a passing sailor. Killed by a simple mermaid. In
love with a human prince. It will leave my memory as more of a joke than a
legend, and the loyalty of my kingdom will dissolve as quickly as Maeve did.
I will be nothing. Have nothing. Die as nothing.
I look at my necklace, still hanging from Elian’s neck. I don’t doubt that if
I press my ear to the red bone, I’ll hear the ocean and the sound of my
mother’s laughter rippling through it.
I turn, disgusted.
“We dock at Eidýllio in three days’ time.” Elian pushes himself from the
glass. “I’ll make my decision when we get there.”
“And until then?”
A slow smile spreads across his face. He steps aside to reveal the full glory
of the cage. “Until then.”
In the wake of the unspoken order, Madrid grabs my elbow. To my other
side, Kye’s hands tighten around my arm. I struggle against them, but their
hold is unbreakable. In moments I’m hoisted from the floor and dragged
toward the cage. My writhing does nothing to steer them from their path.
“Let me go!” I demand.
I try to kick out with clumsy motions, but my body is squashed between
them, leaving little room to breathe or move. I throw my head back wildly
and thrash, furious at the lack of control. How frail and weak my body is
now. In my siren form, I could tear them in half with a single movement. I
bare my teeth and snap through the air, missing Kye’s ear by half an inch. He
doesn’t even blink. I’m as powerless as I feel.
We reach the cage and they throw me in like I weigh nothing. I bounce off
the floor, and when I rush back to the entrance, my palms meet a wall. My
fingers spread over the surface, and I realize that it’s not glass after all, but
solid crystal. I pound relentlessly against it. On the other side, Elian crosses
his arms over his chest. My human heart thumps angrily against my chest,
stronger than my fists on the prison wall.
I point an accusing finger at him. “You want me to stay in here until
Eidýllio?”
“I want you overboard,” Elian says. “But it’s not like I can make you walk
the plank.”
“Your chivalry won’t allow it?”
Elian walks to a nearby wall and pulls back one of the drapes to reveal a
circular switch. “We lost
,the plank years ago,” he says. Then, in a voice
much lower: “And I lost my chivalry around the same time.”
He twists the switch and the shadows take over.
THERE’S ONLY NIGHT INSIDE the crystal cage. The room is coated in damp
darkness, and though the prison seems impenetrable, I can smell the musk of
soggy air from the world outside. Every so often, someone comes with food
and I’m allowed a rare few minutes of lantern light. It’s almost blinding, and
by the time I’m done squinting, the lights are off and a tray of fish assaults
my senses. It doesn’t quite have the taste of salties and white pointers, but I
devour it in moments.
I don’t know how long I’ve been in the crystal cage, but the promise of
Eidýllio weighs on me. When we arrive, the prince will try to throw me onto
land with humans who know nothing of the ocean. At least in this place, I can
smell the salt of home.
When I sleep, I dream of coral and bleeding hearts. When I wake, there’s
nothing but dark and the slow wash of waves against the body of the ship.
The first time I killed a human, it was so bright, I couldn’t go above water
without squinting. The surface barely rippled, and in moments the sun melted
any shards of my kingdom’s ice that still lingered on my skin.
The boy was a prince of Kalokaíri and I was twelve.
Kalokaíri is not much more than a beautiful desert in the middle of a
desolate sea. It’s the land of endless summer, with wind that carries the smell
of sand. In those days, my legend hadn’t been born, and so royalty sailed with
no more trepidation than any human.
The prince was cloaked in white, with purple cloth wrapped tightly around
his head. He was gentle and unafraid, and he smiled at me long before I sang.
When I sprang from the ocean, he had called me ahnan anatias, which was
Kalokaírin for “little death.”
The boy wasn’t frightened, even when I bared my teeth and hissed in the
same way I heard my mother do. Taking his heart had not been such a nasty
business then. He almost came willingly. Before I began my song, he reached
his hand out to touch me, and after the first few clumsy lines, he climbed
slowly from the docked sailing boat and walked until he was deep enough to
meet me.
I let him drown first. While his breathing slowed, I held his hand, and only
when I was sure he was dead did I think of his heart. I was careful when it
happened. I didn’t want there to be too much blood when his family found
him. For them to think he suffered, when he had died so peacefully.
As I took his heart, I wondered if they were looking for him. Had they
realized he was missing from the boat? Above the water’s edge, were they
screaming for him? Would my mother scream like that if I never came back?
I knew the answer. The queen wouldn’t care if I was gone forever. Heirs were
easy things to make, and my mother was the Sea Queen first and nothing
second. I knew she would only care that I hadn’t taken the boy’s heart while
he was still alive. That she would punish me for not being enough of a
monster. And I was right.
When I arrived home, my mother was waiting for me. Surrounding her
were the other members of our royal bloodline, arced in a perfect semicircle
as they awaited my entrance. The Sea Queen’s sister was at the forefront,
ready to greet me, each of her six daughters looped behind her. Kahlia was
last, directly beside my mother.
As soon as the Sea Queen saw me, she knew what I had done. I could see it
in her smile, and I was sure she could smell it on me: the stench of my regret
for killing the Kalokaírin prince. And no matter how much I tried to avoid
looking at her, the queen could tell I had been crying. The tears were long
washed away, but my eyes remained bloodshot and I had done too good of a
job trying to scrub the blood off my hands.
“Lira,” she said. “My sweet.”
I placed a trembling hand onto her outstretched tentacle and let her pull me
slowly into her hold. Kahlia bit her lip as my mother regarded my clean
hands.
“Have you come bearing gifts for mummy dearest?” the Sea Queen asked.
I nodded and reached into the netting tied around my waist. “I did what
you asked.” I cradled the young prince’s heart, lifting it above my head to
present it to her like the trophy she wanted. “My twelfth.”
The Sea Queen stroked my hair, her smooth tentacle slinking from my
scalp and along my spine. I tried not to blink.
“Indeed,” the Sea Queen said. Her voice was soft and slow, like the sound
of the dawn breeze. “But it seems you didn’t quite listen.”
“He’s dead,” I told her, thinking that was surely the most important thing.
“I killed him and I took his heart.” I held it a little higher, pushing it toward
her chest so she could feel the stillness of the prince’s heart against the
coldness of her own.
“Oh, Lira.” She cupped my chin in her hand, sliding the talon of her thumb
over my cheek. “But I didn’t tell you to cry.”
I wasn’t sure if she meant when I killed the prince, or not to do it now, in
her grasp, with our royal bloodline watching. But my lips shook with the
same fear my hands had, and when the first drop fell from my red eye, my
mother breathed a heavy lament. She let the tear run onto her thumb and then
shook it from her skin like it was acid.
“I did what you asked,” I said again.
“I asked you to make a human suffer,” the Sea Queen said. “To take its
still-beating heart and rip it out.” A tentacle slid over my shoulder and around
my tiny neck. “I asked you to be a siren.”
When she threw me to the ground, I remember feeling relieved. Knowing
that if she was going to kill me, she would have crushed me under her grasp.
I could take a beating. I could be humiliated and bloodied. If taking a few hits
would quell my mother’s temper, then it wouldn’t be so bad. I would have
gotten off easy. But I was a fool to think that my mother would choose to
punish only me. What good was it to scold her daughter when she could
shape her instead?
“Kahlia,” my mother said. “Would you do me a favor?”
“Sister.” My aunt swam forward, her face suddenly wretched and pained.
“Please don’t.”
“Now, now, Crestell,” my mother said. “You shouldn’t interrupt your
queen.”
“She’s my daughter.”
I remember hating the way Crestell’s shoulders hunched forward as she
spoke. Like she was already preparing for a blow.
“Hush now,” my mother cooed. “Let us not fight in front of the children.”
She turned to me and stretched out her arm toward my cousin. It was like
she was presenting Kahlia, the same way I had done with the Kalokaírin
heart. I didn’t move.
“Kill her,” the Sea Queen said.
“Mother—”
“Take her heart while she still screams, like you should have done with the
human prince.”
Kahlia whimpered, too scared to move or even cry. She glanced over at her
mother, then back to me, blinking a dozen times over. Her head shook
violently from side to side.
It was like looking into a mirror. Seeing the horror on Kahlia’s face was
like seeing a rendition of myself, every drop of terror I felt reflected in her
eyes.
“I can’t,” I said. Then, louder: “Don’t make me.”
I backed away, shaking my head so adamantly that my mother’s snarl
became a blur.
“You stupid child,” she said. “I am offering you redemption. Do you know
what will happen if you refuse?”
“I don’t need to be redeemed!” I yelled. “I did what you asked!”
The Sea Queen squeezed her trident, and all the poise that remained
vanished from her face. Her eyes grew to shadows, blacker and blacker, until
I could only see the darkness in them. The ocean groaned.
“This humanity that has infected you must be quelled,” she said. “Don’t
you see, Lira? Humans are a plague who murdered our goddess and seek to
destroy us. Any siren who shows sympathy toward them – who mimics their
love and their sorrow – must be cleansed.”
I frowned. “Cleansed?”
The Sea Queen pushed Kahlia to the seabed, and I winced when her palms
slammed against the sand.
“Sirens do not feel affection or regret,” my mother seethed. “We don’t
know empathy for our enemies. Any siren who feels such things can never
,be
queen. All she will ever be is defective. And a defective siren can’t be
allowed to live.”
“Defective,” I repeated.
“Kill her,” my mother said. “And we’ll speak no more of it.”
She said it like it was the only way I could ever make up for my sins
against my kind. If Kahlia died, then I’d be a true siren worthy of my
mother’s trident. I wouldn’t be impure. The emotions I was having were a
sickness and she was offering me a cure. A way out. A chance to rid me of
the humanity she claimed had infected me.
Kahlia just needed to die first.
I moved closer to my cousin, clasping my hands behind my back so the
Sea Queen couldn’t see how much they were shaking. I wondered if she
could smell blood from the crescents I had stamped into my palms.
Kahlia cried as I approached, great howls of terror spilling from her tiny
lips. I wasn’t sure what I planned to do as I got closer to her, but I knew I
didn’t want to kill her. Take her hand and swim, I thought. Get as far away
from the Sea Queen as we can. But I knew I wouldn’t do that, either, because
my mother’s eyes were the ocean and she would see us wherever we hid. If I
took Kahlia, we’d both be killed for treason. And so my choices were this: to
take my cousin’s heart. Or to take her hand and let us die together.
“Stop,” Crestell said.
She swooped in front of Kahlia, creating a barrier between us. Her arms
were spread wide in defense, fangs bared. For a moment I was sure she
would attack, slicing her claws through me and putting an end to this
madness once and for all.
“Take me,” she said.
I paled.
Crestell grabbed my hand – it looked tiny in hers, but nowhere near as
delicate – and pressed it to her chest. “Take it,” she said.
My cousins gasped around us, their faces contorted in terror and grief. This
was their choice: watch their mother die or see their sister killed. I stammered
before my aunt, ready to scream and swim as far away as I could. But then
Crestell shot a look to Kahlia, who trembled on the seabed. A worried, furtive
glance, quick enough for my mother to miss. When her eyes returned to
mine, they were filled with begging.
“Take it, Lira,” Crestell said. She swallowed and raised her chin. “This is
the way things must be.”
“Yes,” my mother cooed from behind me. I didn’t have to turn to know
there was a smile cutting across her face. “That would be quite the
substitute.”
She placed a hand on my shoulder, her nails scraping over my skin,
clamping me into place before she lowered her lips to my ear and let a
whisper form between us.
“Lira,” my mother said so quiet that my fin curled. “Cure yourself and
show me that you truly belong in the ocean.”
Defective.
“Any last words, sister?” the Sea Queen asked.
Crestell closed her eyes, but I knew it wasn’t to keep from crying. It was to
seal the fury in so that it didn’t burnish her irises. She wanted to die a loyal
subject and keep her daughters safe from my mother’s revenge. From me.
When Crestell opened her eyes again – one such a pure blue and the other
a most miraculous shade of purple – she looked nowhere but at me.
“Lira,” she said. Her voice rasped. “Become the queen we need you to be.”
It wasn’t a promise I could make, because I wasn’t sure I was capable of
being the kind of queen my mother’s kingdom needed. I had to be without
emotion, spreading terror rather than feeling it, and as my breathing trembled,
I just didn’t know if I had it in me.
“Won’t you promise?” Crestell asked.
I nodded, even though I thought it was a lie. And then I killed her.
That was the day I became my mother’s daughter. And the moment it
happened was the moment I became the most monstrous of us all. The
yearning to please her spread through me like a shadow, fighting against
every urge I knew she’d perceive as weakness. Every flash of regret and
sympathy that would lead her to believe I was impure.
Abnormal. Defective. And in a blink of an eye, the child I was became the
creature I am.
I forced myself to think only of which princes would please my mother
most: the fearless Ágriosy, who tried for decades to find Diávolos under the
misguided notion they could end our kind, or a prince of Mellontikós.
Prophets and fortune-tellers who chose to keep themselves apart from the
war, rarely daring to let a ship touch the water. I toyed with the thought of
bringing them to my mother as further proof that I belonged by her side.
Over time, I forgot what it was like to be weak. Now that I’m trapped here
in a body that is not my own, I suddenly remember. I’ve gone from being my
mother’s least favorite weapon to a creature who can’t even defend herself. A
monster without fangs or claws.
I run a hand over my bruised legs, paler than a shark’s underbelly.
My feet arch inward as an awful cold snakes through me and small bumps
begin to prickle over my new skin. I don’t understand what it means, and I
don’t understand how I could have gone from darting through the ocean to
stumbling among humans.
I heave a frustrated breath, turning my caress to the skin on my ribs. No
gills. No matter how deep I breathe, the skin doesn’t part and the air
continues to fog in and out of my lips. My skin is still damp and the water no
longer runs off it, seeping instead into every pore and bringing with it an
unbearable cold. The kind of cold that sends more bumps along the surface of
my skin, crawling from my legs to my frail arms.
I can’t help but start to fear the water outside of this cage. If Elian were to
throw me overboard, how long would it take for me to drown?
The lanterns glow, faint enough to give my human eyes the time to adjust.
Elian presses a key into the crystal cage, and a section of wall slides open. I
ignore the instinct to rush him, remembering how easily he pinned me to the
wall when I tried to attack Maeve. He’s stronger than I am now and more
agile than I gave him credit for. In this body, force is not the way.
Elian sets a plate down in front of me. It’s a thick broth the color of river
water. Pale meat and sea grapes float curiously at the top, and the
overwhelming smell of anise climbs through the air. My stomach aches in
response.
“Kye and I caught sea turtles,” he explains. “It stinks to high heaven, but
damn if it tastes good.”
“I’m being punished,” I say in a cold rendition of Midasan. “I want you to
tell me why.”
“You’re not being punished,” he tells me. “You’re being watched.”
“Because I speak Psáriin?” I ask. “Is speaking a language a crime now?”
“It’s banned in most kingdoms.”
“We’re not in a kingdom.”
“Wrong.” Elian leans against the door arch. “We’re in mine. The Saad is
my kingdom. The entire ocean is.”
I ignore the insult of a human trying to lay claim to what is mine and say,
“I wasn’t given a list of laws when I boarded.”
“Well, now you know.” He twists the key around on his finger. “Of course,
I could arrange for a more comfortable sleeping arrangement if you’d just
stop being so evasive.”
“I’m not being evasive.”
“Then tell me how you can speak Psáriin.” The curiosity in his voice
betrays his lax movements. “Tell me what you know about the Crystal of
Keto.”
“You saved my life and now you’re trading comforts for information? It’s
strange how fast kindness disappears.”
“I’m fickle,” Elian says. “And I have to protect the Saad. I can’t just go
trusting anyone who climbs aboard. They need a good enough story first.”
I smirk at that.
If a story is all I need, then that’s easy enough. The Second Eye of Keto is
a legend in our waters, too. The Sea Queen hunted it for years when she
began her reign. Where previous queens dismissed it as a lost cause from the
outset, my mother was always too hungry for power. She rehashed the stories
of the ritual to free the eye, over and over, in a bid to find some clue to its
location. Tales that generations had ignored, my mother made sure to
memorize. And her obsession meant that I knew them, too. She once told me
that the eye was the key to ending all humans, as much as it was the humans’
key to ending all of us. I think of her
,charcoal bone trident and the beloved
ruby that sits in the center, the true source of the Sea Queen’s magic. The eye
is said to be its twin, stolen from my kind and hidden where no siren can
follow.
My mother knows everything about the eye, except for how to find it. And
so, after many years, she gave up on the hunt. But her failure to succeed
where her predecessors failed has always irked her.
I pause, an idea sparking inside me.
The eye is hidden where no siren can follow, but thanks to my mother, that
no longer applies to me. If Elian can lead me there, then I can use the eye to
make the Sea Queen’s greatest fear come true. If she truly thinks I’m
unworthy of ruling, I’ll prove just the opposite by using the Second Eye of
Keto to overthrow her. To destroy her, the way she tried to destroy me.
I lick my lips.
If Elian is truly hunting the eye, then he’s doing so on the faith of stories.
And if a man can hunt them, then he can hear them. All I need is to convince
the prince that I’m useful, and he might just let me above deck and away
from the shackles of my cage. If I can get close enough, I won’t need my
nails to rip out his heart. I’ll do it with his own knife. Just as soon as he
secures my place as the ruler of the ocean.
“The Sea Queen stole my family,” I tell Elian, layering my voice in the
same melancholy I’ve heard in the calls of sailors as they watched their rulers
die. “We were on a fishing boat and I was the only one to survive. I’ve
studied them ever since I was a child, learning everything possible from
books and stories.” I bite down on my lip. “As for the language, I don’t
pretend to be fluent, but I know enough. It was easy to pick up with one of
them as my prisoner. My father managed to cripple it before he died, and that
meant I was able to keep it captive.”
Elian sighs, unimpressed. “If you’re going to lie,” he says, “do it better.”
“It’s not a lie.” I pretend to be wounded by the accusation. “One of them
was injured during the attack on my family. We’re from Polemistés.”
At the mention of the warrior land, Elian takes a step forward. He reaches
into his pocket and pulls out a small circular object. The same compass he
palmed when we spoke above deck. A thin gold chain hangs delicately from
the hilt, and when he flips it open, the ends chime together.
“Do you really expect me to believe that you’re from Polemistés?” Elian
asks.
I try not to take offense at the question – right now I wouldn’t believe I
was a warrior either – but I don’t argue my case. I don’t like the way Elian
glances down at the compass, as though he’s relying on it to discern
something. With every lie that crosses my thoughts, I can almost feel the
object reaching out to crawl into the watery depths of my mind. Pluck out the
lies like seaweed roots. It seems impossible, but I know how much humans
like their trickery.
“My family are hunters,” I say carefully. “Just like you. The Sea Queen
wanted revenge because she felt she was wronged.”
The space between us cloys with the compass’s phantom magic, and I
conjure an image of Maeve’s face to prove to the strange object that this is
not technically a lie.
“I tortured one of her sirens to get what I needed,” I say.
“What happened to the siren?”
“Dead,” I tell him.
Elian glances down at the compass and then frowns. “Did you kill it?”
“Do you think I’m not capable?”
He sighs at my evasive answer, but it’s difficult to miss the intrigue in his
eyes as he toys with the possibility of believing me. “The siren,” he says.
“Did she tell you about the crystal?”
“She told me a lot of things. Make me an offer worth my while, and
perhaps I’ll tell you, too.”
“What kind of offer?”
“A place on your ship and this hunt.”
“You’re in no position to bargain,” Elian says.
“My family has studied sirens for generations. I guarantee that I know
more about them than you ever could hope to. And you’ve already seen that I
can speak their tongue,” I say. “This isn’t a bargain, it’s a deal.”
“I’m not in the business of striking deals with girls in cages.”
I twist my lips into a cruel smile. “Then by all means, let me out.”
Elian laughs, pulls a pistol out, and shakes his head once again.
“You know,” he says, approaching the cell, “I think I might like you.
Thing is” – he taps his gun against my prison – “there’s a difference between
liking someone and trusting them.”
“I wouldn’t know. I’ve never done either.”
“When we get to Eidýllio,” Elian says, “we can drink to that.”
The thought is enough to make me wince. Eidýllio is a land devoted to
romance. They celebrate love as though it’s power, even though it has killed
far more humans than I ever have. I would rather be surrounded by the
blinding gold of Midas than be in a kingdom where emotion is currency.
“You trust me enough to buy me a drink?”
Elian pockets his pistol and heads back to the switch. “Who said I’d be the
one buying?”
“You promised that you would set me free!” I shout to his retreating
figure.
“I promised you more comfortable living arrangements.” Elian’s hand
flickers over the switch. “I’ll get Kye to bring you a pillow.”
I catch one last look at his angled smirk before the lantern dims and the last
speck of light is pulled from the room.
19
Lira
WHEN THE LIGHT BREAKS across the shore of Eidýllio, there’s a flash of pink
that shatters the sky. The sun gleams against the horizon, encircled by a
miraculous hue of diminished red, like melted coral. I’m pulled from the
depths of my cage and into the light, where there’s an explosion of warmth
and color, like nothing I have ever witnessed. There’s light in every corner of
the earth, but in Eidýllio it seems closer to magic. The kind that’s crafted into
Elian’s blade and my mother’s ashen trident. Dreams shaped into something
more powerful than reality.
Across the docks, the grass is the color of neon gobies. A meadow floating
on the water. Stems of juniper sprout like fireworks, rain beads clinging to
their tips in indestructible droplets. They are orbs of light guiding the way
back to land.
I realize that I’m warm. It’s a new sensation, far from the tickle of ice I
loved as a siren and the sharp frost I felt in my human toes aboard the Saad.
I’ve shed Elian’s damp shirt, which clung and dried against me like a second
skin. Now I have a ragged white dress, pinched at the waist by a belt as thick
as either of my legs, and large black boots that threaten to swallow my new
feet whole.
Madrid takes a step beside me. “Freedom’s in your grasp,” she says.
I throw her a disparaging look. “Freedom?”
“The cap planned to cut you loose once we arrived here, didn’t he?
No burn, no breach.”
I recognize the saying. It is a Kléftesis phrase from the kingdom of
thieves – no harm, no problem – used by pirates who pillage passing ships
and any land they dock on. If nobody is killed, the Kléftesis don’t believe a
crime has been committed. Their pirates are true to their nature and pay no
mind to noble missions and declarations of peace. They sail for gold and
pleasure and the pain they cause when taking it. If Madrid is from Kléftes,
then Elian chose his crew well. The worst of the worst to be his best.
“How trusting you are of your prince,” I say.
“He’s not my prince,” Madrid says. “He’s not any sort of prince on this
ship.”
“That I can believe,” I tell her. “He wasn’t even civil when I offered help.”
“Let’s be straight,” Madrid says. “You’re only looking to help yourself.”
“Is there anyone alive who isn’t?”
“The captain.” Her voice holds a spark of admiration. “He wants to help
the world.”
I laugh. The prince wants to help a doomed world. As long as my mother’s
alive, war is all we will ever know. The best thing Elian can do for his safety
is kill me and anyone else he can’t afford to trust. Instead he kept me
prisoner. Suspicious enough to lock me away, but not brutal enough to take
my life. He showed mercy, and whether it’s weakness or strength, it’s jarring
all the same.
I watch Elian descending the ship, paying no mind to the shipwrecked girl
,he could easily abandon. He takes off in a run and jumps the last of the way,
so that when his feet touch the tufts of grass, small droplets explode into the
air like rainfall. He pulls his hat off and takes a sweeping bow at the land.
Then he reaches up a tanned hand, ruffles the wisps of his raven hair, and
slips the hat back onto his head in a flourish. He takes a moment, surveying
the canvas, his hands hitched on his hips.
I can hear the exhale of his breath even from high on the deck of the Saad.
His joy is like a gust of unfamiliar wind sweeping up to us. The crew smiles
as they watch him stare into an ocean of grass and juniper and, in the
distance, a wall made of light. A castle peeks out from the city lines like a
mirage.
“He always does this,” Kolton Torik says.
His presence casts a shadow beside me, but for all the foreboding Elian’s
first mate could bring, he’s nothing of the dire pirate he could be. His face is
gentle and relaxed, hands shoved into the pockets of frayed shorts. When he
speaks, his voice is deep but soft, like the echo after an explosion.
“Eidýllio is one of his favorites,” Torik explains.
I find it hard to believe the prince is a romantic. He seems as though he
might find the notion as ridiculous as I do. I would know in an instant that
Midas isn’t his favorite kingdom; men don’t make homes if they have them
already. But my guess would have been Ágrios, a nation of fearlessness. Or
the warrior kingdom of Polemistés that I chose for my origin. Lands for
soldiers on the precipice of war. Fighters and killers who see no use in
pretending to be anything else.
I would not have guessed that the infamous siren hunter had humanity in
him.
“It’s one of my favorites too,” Madrid says, inhaling the air. “They have
streets of bakeries, with chocolate hearts oozing toffee on every corner. Even
their cards smell sweet.”
“Why is it his favorite?” I point to Elian.
Kye arches an eyebrow. “Take a wild guess.”
“What else do you need in life when you have love?” Madrid asks.
Kye snorts. “Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”
Madrid swipes at him and when Kye sidesteps her blow, she narrows her
eyes. “This is supposed to be the land of romance,” she tells him.
“Romance is for royals,” Kye says just as Torik throws an empty bag in the
middle of their makeshift circle.
He has shed his shirt, and I see that his bare arms are covered in tattoo
mosaics, not a single piece of skin spared from the patchwork quilt of color.
On his shoulder a snake stares down. Yellow, teeth bared, hissing as his
biceps flex.
“And what’s the captain, then?” he asks.
“A pirate.” Kye throws his sword into the bag. “And we all know why
pirates come to Eidýllio.”
Madrid shoots him a withering look.
I dare another glance at the prince. The warm wind bellows the tails of his
coat, and as it pulls back, the point of his knife catches my eye. It splinters
the sun’s growing hue, and then a small vein of black crawls up the metal and
snatches the light. Drinks it until there isn’t a glimmer left on the blade. I bite
down on the corner of my lip and imagine holding something that powerful.
A knife that absorbs life and light.
Elian’s stance goes rigid. His knuckles whiten on his hips, and his head
tilts ever so slightly back toward the ship. To me. As though he can sense my
thoughts. When he turns, it’s slow and meaningful, and it takes a few
moments for his eyes to find mine among his crew. He stares, unblinking,
and just when I think he’s going to raise his hand and signal for Madrid to
shoot me, or for Kye to throw me back into the crystal cave, he smirks. The
left side of his mouth tugs upward, and the action, somehow, feels like a dare.
Then the look is gone and Elian turns to survey the rest of his crew. When
he does, his smile becomes real and wide enough to dimple his bronzed
cheeks.
“You know the routine,” he tells them, climbing back onto the deck.
“Everything sharp or deadly in the bags.” He looks at me. “Think you’ll fit?”
I shoot him a feral look, and his crew reluctantly pulls their swords from
their belts. Drags arrowheads from their shoes. Reveals knives in the folds of
their trousers. Hoists guns that were tucked into their waistbands. At one
point, Kye takes off his boot and throws it in. The inked sun reflects the light
from a hidden dagger in the heel before it’s buried beneath a mass of
weaponry.
There are pirates unarming in front of me. Layer by layer they throw down
their protection, shedding it like a second skin. When they’re done, each of
them shuffles, placing awkward hands on their hips or reaching for weapons
that are no longer there.
Madrid brings her thumb to her mouth and bites down hard on the nail,
while Kye cracks his knuckles. The pops are as rhythmic as waves.
“Why are you doing that?” I ask, eyeing the stash of weapons.
If I can swipe one, then I can use it on the prince if he tries anything, but in
this gown, there’s nowhere to hide it. I sigh in frustration, knowing I won’t be
able to get close enough with a weapon in plain sight.
“No weapons in Eidýllio,” Madrid explains. She flicks the last two twin
blades from either of her sleeves.
“It’s law,” Kye continues. “You can’t touch the ground if you’re carrying,
so we pack up our arms and take them to the wall. Then drop the bag with the
scouts.”
“Why not just leave them on the ship?”
Madrid looks down to her discarded speargun, horrified. “Don’t worry,”
she whispers to the deadly contraption. “She didn’t mean it.”
Kye smirks and kicks one of the bags somewhat fondly. “Can’t risk
leaving our best metal on the ship. If another lot docks here, they might
decide to have a rummage. Of course,” he says, casting a meaningful look my
way, “it’d be really stupid for anyone to try to get on the wrong side of the
Saad’s captain.”
Elian claps a hand on Kye’s shoulder. A straw of black sugar is nooked
inside his mouth, carrying the familiar aniseed smell. “But you can’t bet your
life on people not being stupid,” Elian says. “That’s how you end up with a
knife in your gut.”
Torik hoists the weapon-filled bag from the floor and grunts. “Okay then,”
he says. “Heads or tails on which of you gits wants to help carry these.”
Kye pulls a gold coin from his pocket. A pyramid is etched onto the front
face, and so I immediately know that it’s Midasan. The royal crest is
unmistakable.
“Heads you lose, tails I win.” Kye throws the coin into the air but brushes
past Torik before it has a chance to land. As soon as the coin hits the deck by
Torik’s feet, Kye calls over his shoulder, “Guess it’s my lucky day!”
“I’m keeping that gold, you little sh*t,” Torik tells him, picking up the coin
and polishing it on his shirt before pocketing it.
Elian gestures for Madrid to help Torik with the bag and takes a bite from
the tarry sweet. As his arm moves from his side, I see the knife still secured
under the billow of his coat.
I gesture to the blade. “You don’t follow your own rules?”
“They’re not my rules,” Elian says. “And besides” – he taps the handle of
his knife, the mockery crisp in his voice – “I have diplomatic immunity.”
Kye laughs from the grass below. “Is that what we’re calling Queen Galina
now?” he asks. “You might want to tell Her Royal Highness that her title has
changed.”
“I think I’d rather not.”
“When are you going to go see her?” Madrid asks, slinging the other arm
of the weapons bag over her shoulder. “You just know that as soon as she
hears we’ve docked, she’ll send guards to escort you over to the palace.”
“She always wants to make sure we settle in okay,” Elian says.
Madrid snorts. “You mean she always wants to keep an eye on us.”
Elian shrugs noncommittally and presses a hand to the seashell.
I try to be indifferent, but the thought of it being in his grasp makes me
dizzy with anger. The sea kingdom of Keto has remained hidden from
humans since the dawn of time, lost in a maze of ocean and magic woven by
the goddess herself. The secret of its whereabouts is our best line of defense
in
,this ongoing battle, and to have that advantage destroyed by him – because
of me – would be unthinkable.
Even if the seashells do not work for humans, Elian isn’t like most
humans. There’s no telling how much havoc he would leave in his wake if he
captured a siren and forced her to use its power to lead him to our kingdom. I
doubt there are any limits to his desire to rid the world of my race. His
movements are as unpredictable as his motives, and if there’s anything I’ve
learned these past few days, it’s that the prince has a way of getting what he
wants. I’m not prepared to let him hold the key to my kingdom for long
enough to realize that it is one.
Elian leads me from his ship and onto the floating meadow, the seemingly
perpetual smudge of dirt creasing on his forehead. He never seems to be quite
perfect. Every glimpse of him is tarnished with an odd dishevelment,
noticeable even as he stands among such a makeshift crew. It seems to be a
way for him to fit in with the thieves and rogues he has collected, in a similar
way that I was fashioned into my mother’s vision of a true siren. And because
of this, I know his attempts are fruitless. Royalty cannot be unmade. Birth
rights cannot be changed. Hearts are forever scarred by our true nature.
“When we reach the wall, we can discuss your future,” Elian says.
I clench my fists, appalled at his audacity and the fact that I’m being forced
to tolerate it. Never the queen, always the minion.
“Discuss it?” I repeat.
“You said you wanted to come with us, and I want to make sure you’re
useful. You can’t just be a prisoner taking up space on my deck.”
“I was belowdecks,” I remind him. “In a cage.”
“That was this morning,” he says, as though it’s far enough in the past to
be forgotten. “Try not to hold a grudge.”
The grin he gives me is beyond taunting and I sneer, not deigning to reply.
Instead I breeze past and make sure to knock my shoulder as hard as I can
into his. The sooner I have his heart, the better.
THE WALL IS NOT made of light, but of rose petals. They are pure white and
when the sunlight bounces off the delicate leaves, they glisten like stars. At
first, it’s hard to tell whether they are part of the wall, or if they are the wall
itself. Tiny flower shavings somehow creating a barrier around the border to
Eidýllio’s capital. As we approach, I see the solid marble drawbridge begin to
fall, parting flowers through the middle.
Once we step inside the city, I’m hit by the smell of sugar bread and
peppermint. Market stalls line the curved cobble streets, each stone like a
ripple. By the entrance, a trader leans over a barrel of thick chocolate and
stirs it with a spoon that’s almost the same height as him. Customers lick
warm honey from their fingers and drip milk onto satin dress shirts.
When I open my mouth to sigh, the air caramelizes on my tongue.
I’ve never been inside a human city and I marvel at its abundance. How
many people. How many colors and smells and tastes. The way their voices
blur into whispers and roars while their feet clap against the cobblestone. So
many bodies moving and crashing. There’s an unnerving madness to it. How
do they breathe, with so little space? How do they live, with so much
mayhem? In spite of myself, I edge closer to Elian. There’s comfort in his
presence and how relaxed he disguises himself to be. As though he could
belong anywhere if he truly wanted to.
The scouts seem to recognize him. They smile and greet the prince with
swift bows before opening the weapons bag Torik slaps onto their station.
Though Elian’s knife is covered by his jacket, it’s not completely
unnoticeable and he makes no real attempt to hide it.
The scouts approach his crew, albeit warily, and begin to pat the first of
them down. They feel their pockets and run their hands over the linings of
their clothing, checking for any hidden weaponry. When it comes to Madrid’s
turn, she wags her eyebrows mockingly and Kye rolls his eyes.
The scouts continue along the group, passing Elian by. It seems he was
right about his so-called immunity. Either Elian’s sway extends far beyond
his own Midasan kingdom, or Queen Galina of Eidýllio really does have a
weakness for pirates.
A scout approaches me and gestures for me to hold out my arms. He
towers over me by at least two heads, with a patchy orange beard that trickles
down to his neck. His skin is fish-bone white, a less immaculate version of
my own. Or what it once was, before my mother’s curse. I still haven’t seen
my new self. I would rather stay blind to how humanity has tarnished a face
that once sunk ships.
The scout takes a step closer and I smell stale smoke on his uniform.
“Touch me,” I tell him, “and I will break every one of your fingers.”
His eyes roam over my body, taking note of how the wrinkled white dress
clings awkwardly to my sharpened shoulders. He must decide that I don’t
pose much of a threat, because he quickly grabs my arms and spreads them
out like wings.
I use his disregard to my advantage, confident that even without my
strength, I’m still deadly. I may not have my fins, or even my voice, but I am
my mother’s daughter. I am the most murderous creature in the hundred
kingdoms.
I twist my outstretched arm back underneath the scout’s hands and pull on
his wrist, then angle my elbow up and make to crack it across his smug face.
When I move, there’s a satisfying thump, but it’s not the sound of bone
crunching.
It’s the sound of me being flung to the ground.
The guard has snatched my arm and thrown me with enough force for my
elbow to scrape against the gravel. The pain sears across my skin and I feel
fury like never before. I could have killed him with one hand if this was the
ocean. One song. Yet now I’m cowering as my arm throbs under my weight.
How can I expect to take down a trained siren killer when I can’t handle one
pitiful guard?
I glare and the scout moves his hand to his hip, half-pulling his sword from
his belt. His comrades reach for pistols. I can see the anger in their eyes, as
they think about repaying me for trying to attack one of their own. But they
don’t draw. Instead they look to the prince.
Elian stares back with an indifferent expression. He’s sitting on the counter
of the scout station, one leg hoisted onto the wooden varnish, knee resting in
the crook of his elbow. In one hand, he holds an apple the color of rose
blossoms.
“So much for a warm welcome,” he says, and hops down from the counter.
The scout wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “She tried to hit me,”
he snarls.
Elian takes a bite from the apple. “She also threatened to break your
fingers,” he says. “You should grab her again and find out if she was
bluffing.”
“I was just trying to search for weapons. We need to check everyone
coming into the kingdom. It’s law.”
“Not everyone.” As Elian moves his hand back to his waist, there’s a flash
of the knife he never seems to let out of his sight. If the guards didn’t notice it
before, they have now. And it’s obvious that’s exactly what Elian wants.
The scout wavers. “She could be hiding a weapon,” he argues, but there’s
less conviction in his voice.
“Right.” Elian nods. “So many places she could have stashed it.” He turns
to me and holds out his hand. “Give up that crossbow you’ve got under your
skirt and they’ll let you off with a slap on the wrist.”
His voice is deadpan and when I only glare in response, Elian turns back to
the scout and throws his arms up, like I’m being difficult.
“You’ll just have to throw her in the dungeons,” Kye says, appearing by
Elian’s side. I’m not entirely sure if he’s joking. “She’s clearly part of some
elite smuggling ring.”
Elian turns to him and gasps, placing a hand to his heart. “Gods,” he says,
lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What if she’s a pirate?”
Kye snorts, and after a moment I realize that I’m smiling too.
I can’t remember the last time I truly laughed. I’ve been so set on pleasing
my mother that finding any joy of my own seemed unreasonable. Not that
,it
mattered; I could be the perfect monster and it wouldn’t change a thing. If I
disappoint her, I’m a failure. But if I excel, I prove my worth as a ruler and
that’s a far greater sin.
I think of what look she’ll have when I present the Second Eye of Keto to
her and throw it down like a gauntlet.
The scouts let us pass and when they move aside, the city opens its arms.
Nobody takes a second look at me. I blend into the stone, merging with every
other face in the market. I’m utterly insignificant for the first time. It’s both
freeing and maddening.
“Take a good look,” Elian says. “This could be your new home.”
His hat hangs at his side, hooked onto the handle of his knife. Concealing
the weapon and drawing attention to it all the same. He wants to be noticed.
He’s incapable of being forgettable.
I cross my arms over my chest. “You’d really just leave me here if you
don’t think I’m useful enough?”
“I prefer abandon,” he says. “Desert. Dump. Push heartlessly to the
wayside.” He sweeps a lock of thick black hair out of his eyes. “You have to
admit that Eidýllio is better than the plank,” he says. “Or a cage.”
At this moment I think I’d prefer either of them. The feel of land under my
feet is strange, and its steadiness tugs my stomach in too many directions. I
long for water gushing against my fins or even the rock and sway of the
Saad. Everything on land is too still. Too permanent.
“Don’t you miss it?”
I don’t know why I’m asking, as though Elian and I have anything in
common. I should leave while I can. I should kill him while I can. Forget
waiting until he leads me to the eye. Forget trying to overthrow my mother,
and just take his heart like she demanded, securing my place as her heir
again. If I come back with enough human weapons, surely I can take him on.
Instead I simply say, “The ocean,” and Elian’s eyes crinkle.
“It’s still out there,” he says.
“So far. We’ve walked for three hours.”
“It’s never too far. You’re forgetting that this whole place is a river delta.”
There are limits to my Midasan and when I stare blankly at the mention of
a river delta, Kye releases a loud sigh from a nearby market stall.
“Oh, come on.” He licks chocolate from his finger. “Don’t tell me you’re
not up on centuplicate geography.”
“It’s how Kardián was made,” Madrid explains. Her hair is in two high
ponytails now, and when she speaks, she reaches up to tug them tighter. “A
river delta formed from Eidýllio, and cousins of the royal family decided they
deserved a nation of their own. So they took it and named themselves king
and queen.”
“My kind of people.” Kye raises his fist in the air like a toast.
“Your kind of people aren’t anyone’s kind of people,” Madrid says.
“You’re uniquely idiotic.”
“You had me at unique,” Kye says, and then turns to me. “All that
separates Kardián and Eidýllio are rivers and estuaries. They’re everywhere
you look in this place.”
I remember Torik’s comment on the Saad, about how Eidýllio was Elian’s
favorite kingdom. At the time I couldn’t fathom why – the rogue prince
enamored with a land of love seemed odd at best and ridiculous at worst – but
now, understanding dawns.
“That’s why you like it here,” I say to Elian. “Because the ocean is never
too far away.”
He smiles, but just as he is about to respond, Torik places a hand on his
shoulder. “We got to get movin’, Captain. The Serendipity only holds our
rooms for two hours after sunrise.”
“You go,” Elian tells him. “I’m right behind you.”
Torik gives a swift nod and when he turns to leave, the rest of the crew
follows his lead. Except for Kye, who lingers on the edge of the crowd with
an unfathomable expression. He squeezes Madrid’s hand – just once – and
then watches until she disappears. When she’s no longer in sight, he turns
back to Elian and me, his face adopting a sudden severity.
It seems the prince is so rarely left unguarded.
“I owe you something,” Elian says. “Or, technically, you owe me, since I
saved you from drowning. But I’m not one for holding life debts.” There is a
flicker of a smile on his lips as he unloops my seashell from his neck.
Something like hope takes ahold of me. My fingers twitch by my side.
“Here,” he says, and throws it to me.
As soon as the scarlet shell touches my hand, power floods through me.
My knees almost give way as I feel an ungodly strength return. My bones
harden, my skin crystallizing. For a moment my heart withers back to what it
was. Then there’s a whisper that slowly turns to a hum. I can hear the call of
the Diávolos Sea and the kingdom of Keto. I can hear my home.
And then it’s gone. Just like my powers.
The rush disappears as quickly as it came. My body slackens and my skin
turns warm and soft. Bones so easily broken. Heart red and pounding once
more.
The ocean is silent.
“Lira.”
I snap my eyes up to meet Elian’s. I still can’t get used to the sound of my
name in his accent. Like one of the songs I used to sing. A melody as sweet
as it is deadly.
“If you miss the ocean,” he says, “then Reoma Putoder is the closest water
you’ll find. On the holy day, locals throw stones in the waterfall to wish for
their lost love. Access is forbidden the rest of the week, but I don’t doubt
you’ll be able to find a way around that.”
He makes to move by me and I sidestep. “Wait,” I say. “I thought you said
you wanted me to prove myself worthy of going with you. I told you that I
have information on the crystal you’re looking for and now suddenly you
won’t even consider a deal?”
“I’ve made enough deals lately,” Elian says. “And the last thing I need is a
straggler on this mission. Especially one I can’t trust. Besides, you can’t offer
me anything I don’t already know.” Elian settles his hat back onto his head
with a graceful twirl and tips it forward in my direction. “If you go to the
Reoma Putoder,” he says, “try not to drown this time.”
He doesn’t look at me again before he turns to weave his way through the
market and toward Kye. I catch a brief glimpse of them standing together and
then, just like that, they disappear into the crowd.
IT TAKES ME THE better part of an hour to find the Reoma Putoder. I don’t ask
for help, partly because my pride can’t take another human rescuing me.
Mostly, because my patience can’t take another human talking to me. I’ve
already been stopped over a dozen times by locals offering me food and
warmer clothing, as though I need it in this sweltering heat. There’s
something about a girl wandering alone in a wrinkled dress and old pirate
boots that unnerves them.
I bet ripping out their hearts would be more unnerving.
The Reoma Putoder is a waterfall with a pure white lagoon that,
somewhere far in the distance, leaks into the ocean. I heard it before I saw it,
lost in the endless bakery alleyways, the smell of pastries clinging to my skin
like perfume. It sounded like thunder and there were a few hesitant seconds
when I thought for sure that was what it was. But the closer I got, the more
recognizable the sound was. Water so powerful that it sent shudders through
me.
I sit quietly at the base of the waterfall, my legs hanging over the edge of
the lagoon. It’s so warm that every now and again I have to take my feet out
and let them rest against the dewy grass. At the bottom of the water, sitting
on sand that looks akin to snow, there are thousands of red metal coins. They
peek out from the shingle like tiny droplets of blood.
I thumb the seashell. Pressing it to my ear brings nothing but unbearable
silence. I’ve been trying ever since Elian left me in the marketplace. On the
walk to the waterfall, I held it against me desperately, hoping that with time it
would speak to me again. There were a few moments when I almost tricked
myself into thinking that I could hear the echo of a wave. The rumble of a sea
storm. My mother’s bubbling laughter. Really, the only sound was the
ringing of my ears. All of that power, gone. A tease of my own self dangled
in front of me just long enough for the thirst to return. I wonder if it’s another
one of
,which, really, is most
things – his role as an almost pirate is probably not one of them. It is a
contradiction to crewmen like Kye, who takes absolutely nothing seriously
and yet dresses like he’s an honorary member of the infamous Xaprár thieves.
“I feel weird just lookin’ at it,” Torik says. “All human up top.”
“Enjoy looking up top, do you?”
Torik reddens a shade and turns his attention away from the siren’s
exposed breasts.
Of course I understand what he meant, but somewhere along the seas I’ve
forgotten how to be horrified. There’s no looking past the fins and blood-red
lips, or the eyes that shine with two different colors. Men like Torik – good
men – see what these creatures could be: women and girls, mothers and
daughters. But I can only see them as they are: monsters and beasts, creatures
and devils.
I’m not a good man. I don’t think I’ve been one for a long time.
In front of us, the siren’s skin begins to dissolve. Her hair melts to sea
green and her scales froth. Even her blood, just a moment before threatening
to stain the deck of the Saad, begins to lather until all that is left is sea foam.
And a minute later that, too, is gone.
I’m grateful for that part. When a siren dies, she turns back into the ocean,
which means that there’s no unseemly burning of bodies. No dumping their
rotting corpses into the sea. I may not be a good man, but I’m good enough to
find that preferable.
“What now, Cap?”
Kye slides his sword back into place and positions himself alongside
Madrid, my second mate. As usual, Kye is dressed all in black, with
patchwork leather and gloves that end at the fingertips. His light brown hair
is shaved on both sides, like most men who are from Omorfiá, where
aesthetics are valued above all else. Which, in Kye’s case, also includes
morals. Luckily for him – and, perhaps, for us all – Madrid is an expert at
compelling decency in people. For a trained killer, she’s oddly ethical, and
their relationship has managed to keep Kye from sliding down even the
slipperiest of slopes.
I shoot Kye a smile. I like being called Cap. Captain. Anything other than
My Liege, My Prince, Your Royal Highness Sir Elian Midas. Whatever it is
the devouts like to spit out in between the constant bowing. Cap suits me in a
way my title never has. I’m far more pirate than prince, anyway.
It started when I was fifteen, and for the last four years I’ve known nothing
like I know the ocean. When I’m in Midas, my body aches for sleep. There’s
a constant fatigue that comes with acting like a prince, where even
conversations with those at court who fancy me one of them become too
exhausting to stay awake for. When I’m on board the Saad, I barely sleep. I
never seem to be tired enough. There’s a constant thrumming and pulsing.
Zaps like lightning that shoot through my veins. I’m alert, always, and so
filled with anxious excitement that while the rest of my crew sleeps, I lie on
the deck and count stars.
I make shapes of them, and from those shapes I make stories. Of all the
places I have been and will be. Of all the seas and oceans I’ve yet to visit and
the men I’ve yet to recruit and the devils I’ve yet to slay. The thrill of it never
stops, even when the seas become deadly. Even as I hear the familiar song
that strikes my soul and makes me believe in love like it’s the first time. The
danger only makes me thirstier.
As Elian Midas, crown prince and heir to the Midasan throne, I’m more
than a little dull. My conversations are about state and riches and which ball
to attend and which lady has the finer dress and if there are any I think are
worth a tumble. Each time I dock at Midas and am forced to play the part
feels like time lost. A month, a week, a day I can’t get back. An opportunity
missed, or a life not saved. One more royal I may as well have fed to the
Princes’ Bane.
But when I’m just Elian, captain of the Saad, I transform. When the boat
docks on whatever isle I’ve chosen for the day, as long as I have my crew, I
can be myself. Drink until I’m dizzy and joke with women whose skin feels
warm with exploits. Women who smell of rose and barley and, on hearing
I’m a prince, cackle and tell me it won’t earn me a free drink.
“Cap?” asks Kye. “State the play.”
I jog up the steps to the forecastle deck, pull the golden telescope from my
belt loop and press it to my kohl-rimmed eyes. At the edge of the bowsprit, I
see ocean. For miles and miles. Eons, even. Nothing but clear water. I lick
my lips, hungry for the thrill of more.
There’s royalty in me, but stronger than that there is adventure. Unseemly,
my father had said, for the Midasan heir to have a rusted knife, or set sail into
open waters and disappear for months at a time, or be nineteen and still not
have a suitable wife, or wear hats shaped like triangles and rags with loose
string in place of gold thread.
Unseemly, to be a pirate and a siren hunter in place of a prince.
I sigh and turn to face the bow. So much ocean, but in the distance, too far
to make out, there is land. There is the isle of Midas. There is home.
I look down to my crew. Two hundred sailors and warriors who see my
quest as honorable and brave. They don’t think of me like those at court, who
hear my name and imagine a young prince who needs to get exploration out
of his system. These men and women heard my name and pledged their
undying allegiance.
“Okay, you ragtag group of siren gizzards,” I call down to them, “turn the
lady left.”
My crew roars their approval. In Midas, I make sure they’re pampered
with as much drink and food as they like. Full bellies and beds with silken
sheets. Far more luxury than they’re used to sleeping on in the Saad, or on
the hay-filled beds of inns we find on passing lands.
“My family will want to see how we’ve fared,” I tell them. “We’re going
home.”
A thunder of stamping feet. They applaud in triumph at the announcement.
I grin and decide to keep the cheer on my face. I will not falter. It’s a key part
of my image: never upset or angry or deterred. Always in charge of my own
life and destiny.
The ship turns hard starboard, swinging in a broad circle as my crew
scurries around the deck, anxious for the return to Midas. They’re not all
natives; some are from neighboring kingdoms like Armonía or Adékaros.
Countries they grew bored of, or those that were thrown into mayhem after
the death of their princes. They’re from everywhere and their homes are
nowhere, but they call Midas so because I do. Even if it is a lie for them and
for me. My crew is my family and though I could never say it – perhaps,
don’t need to say it – the Saad is my true home.
Where we’re going now is just another pit stop.
4
Elian
IN MIDAS, THE OCEAN glitters gold. At least, that’s the illusion. Really it’s as
blue as any sea, but the light does things. Unexplainable things. The light can
lie.
The castle towers above the land, built into the largest pyramid. It’s crafted
from pure gold, so that each stone and brick is a gleaming expanse of
sunlight. The statues scatter on the horizon, and the houses in the lower towns
are all painted the same. Streets and cobbles glow yellow, so that when the
sun hits the ocean, it glitters in an unmistakable reflection. It’s only ever
during the darkest parts of night that the true blue of the Midasan Sea can be
seen.
As the Midasan prince, my blood is supposed to be made of that same
gold. Every land in the hundred kingdoms has its own myths and fables for
their royals: The gods carved the Págos family from snow and ice. Each
generation gifted with hair like milk and lips as blue as skies. The Eidýllion
royals are the descendants of the Love God, and so any they touch will find
their soul mate. And the Midasan monarchs are crafted from gold itself.
Legend says my entire family bleeds nothing but treasure. Of course, I’ve
bled a lot in my time. Sirens lose all serenity when they turn from hunter to
prey and pieces of their nails become embedded in my arms. My blood has
been spilled more often than any prince’s,
,my mother’s tricks. Let me keep the shell so she can taunt me with the
echoes of my destroyed legacy.
I grip it tighter. I want to feel it splinter into my skin. Crack and crumble to
nothing. But when I open my hand, it’s intact, undamaged, and all that
remains is an indent in my palm. With a scream, I raise my arm high above
my head and throw the shell into the water. It lands with an anticlimactic plop
and then sinks leisurely to the bottom. I can see every moment of its slow
descent until it finally settles against the water bed.
Then there is a glow. Faint at first, but it soon scatters into orbs and
embers. I inch back. In all the time I’ve used the seashells to communicate
with sirens, or even as a compass to my kingdom, I’ve rarely seen this. It
calls out as though it can sense my desperation, reaching into the waters to
search for another of my kind. Instead of a map, it’s acting as a beacon.
And then, in almost no time at all, Kahlia appears. My cousin’s blond hair
is swiped across the water, falling into her face so that her eyes fail to meet
mine.
I jump to my feet. “Kahlia,” I say with astonishment. “You’re here.”
She nods and holds out her hand. Resting against her long, spiny fingers is
my seashell. She throws it onto the grass by my feet. “I heard your call,” she
says quietly. “Do you have the prince’s heart yet?”
I frown as her head stays bowed. “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Can’t you
look at me now?”
When Kahlia does nothing but shake her head, I feel a pang. She once
admired me so venomously that it drove my mother to hate her. My entire life
Kahlia remained the only one in our kingdom who I thought to care about
and now she can’t even look me in the eye.
“It’s not that,” Kahlia says, like she senses my thoughts.
She lifts her head and there’s a tenuous smile on her thin pink lips as she
fiddles uncharacteristically with the seaweed bodice around her chest. She
takes in my human form and rather than look scared or disgusted, she only
looks curious. She co*cks her head. Her milk-yellow eye is wide and
glistening. But her other eye, the one that matches my own so perfectly, is
shut and bruised black.
I grit my teeth, grinding bone on bone. “What happened?”
“There had to be a punishment,” she says.
“For what?”
“For helping you kill the Adékarosin prince.”
I take an outraged step forward, feet teetering on the edge of the lagoon. “I
took that punishment.”
“The brunt of it,” Kahlia says. “Which is why I’m still alive.”
A chill runs through me. I should have known my mother couldn’t be
satiated with punishing one siren when she could have two. Why make me
suffer alone? It’s a lesson she’s taught me so often before. First with Crestell
and now with her daughter.
“The Sea Queen is entirely too merciful,” I say.
Kahlia offers me a meek smile. “Does the prince still have his heart?” she
asks. “If you bring it back, this will be over. You can come home.”
The desperate hope in her voice makes me flinch. She’s scared to return to
the Diávolos Sea without me, because if I’m not there, then nobody will
protect her from my mother.
“When we first met, I was too weak from almost drowning to kill him.”
Kahlia grins. “What is he like?” she asks. “Compared to the others?”
I consider telling her about Elian’s truth-discerning compass and the knife
he carries that’s as sharp as his gaze, drinking whatever blood it draws. How
he smells of anglers and ocean salt. Instead I say something else altogether.
Something she will find far more entertaining.
“He locked me in a cage.”
Kahlia splutters a laugh. “That doesn’t sound too princely,” she says.
“Aren’t human royals supposed to be accommodating?”
“He has more important things to worry about, I suppose.”
“Like what?” Her voice is eager as she swipes a string of seaweed from her
arm.
“Hunting legends,” I explain.
Kahlia shoots me a teasing look. “Weren’t you one of those?”
I raise my eyebrows at the jab, pleased to see some of the spark return to
her face. “He’s looking for the Second Eye of Keto,” I say.
Kahlia swims forward, throwing her arms on the damp grass by my feet.
“Lira,” she says. “You’re planning something wicked, aren’t you? Do I have
to guess?”
“That depends entirely on how much you enjoy playing minion to your
beloved aunt.”
“The Sea Queen can’t expect devotion if she preaches the opposite,”
Kahlia says, and I know she’s thinking of Crestell. The mother who laid
down her life for her in an act of devotion my own mother could only scoff
at.
It doesn’t surprise me that Kahlia would be eager to turn against the Sea
Queen. The only thing that has ever surprised me is her continued allegiance
to me. Even after what I did. What I was made to do. Somehow Crestell’s
death bonded us rather than tearing us apart as my mother had hoped it
would. I can’t help but feel smug at the look of cunning in Kahlia’s eyes.
Expected or not, the display of loyalty is all too satisfying.
“If the prince leads me to the eye, then the power it holds would make me
a match for the Sea Queen.” I hold my cousin’s gaze. “I can stop her from
ever daring to touch either of us again.”
“And if you fail?” Kahlia asks. “What becomes of us then?”
“I won’t fail,” I tell her. “All I need to do is share enough of our secrets to
get the prince to trust me and he’ll welcome me on board.”
Kahlia looks doubtful. “You’re weak now,” she says. “If the prince finds
out who you are, then he could kill you like he killed Maeve.”
“You know about that?” I ask, though I shouldn’t be shocked. The Sea
Queen can feel the death of every siren, and now that she’s keeping Kahlia so
close to her side in my absence, no doubt my cousin would have been there
when she felt it.
Kahlia nods. “The Sea Queen waved it off as though it were nothing.”
The hypocrisy of that strikes me. My mother showed more emotion when I
killed a lowly mermaid than when one of our own kind was gutted on the
deck of a pirate ship. Our deaths are nothing but a minor annoyance to her. I
wonder if the real reason she wants to kill the humans is not so much for the
good of our kind, but so she can stop experiencing the inconvenience of our
deaths. We’re expendable in this war. Every last one of us so easily replaced.
Even me.
Perhaps, especially me.
“That will change soon,” I say. I reach over and place a hand on Kahlia’s
arm, my palm an odd blanket of warmth over the frost of her skin. “I’ll take
the eye and the Sea Queen’s throne along with it.”
20
Elian
IN THE PALACE, IT’S always hard to tell who’s in their right mind.
I stand alone in the entrance hall and fasten my black waistcoat. I look
princely, which is exactly how I hate to be and, always, how Queen Galina
wants me. The sun of Eidýllio has long vanished, and with it the paint-blotted
sky has dimmed to midnight hues. Inside the palace, the walls are a soft red,
but under the light of so many chandeliers they look almost orange. Like
watered-down blood.
I try not to reach for my knife.
Madness moves at inhuman speed here, and even I’m not quick enough to
stop it. I feel unsettled in this place, without my crew beside me, but bringing
them would mean breaking a pact between the royal families of the world.
Letting them in on a secret that should never be known, especially to pirates.
So instead of bringing my crew, I lied to them. I lie to everyone these days.
Whisper stories of how mundane a pirate’s life is to my sister. Wink when I
tell my crew about Queen Galina and how she likes me all to herself.
Only Kye knows otherwise, which is the one favorable aspect to being a
diplomat’s son that either of us has been able to find. Being aware of royal
secrets – or having dirt on the world’s leaders to use when convenient – is
something Kye’s father specializes in. And Kye, who usually makes it a point
to be a paradox to his upper-class bloodline, has kept that trait. It’s the only
thing he inherited from his father.
“Are you sure you don’t want me there?” he asked on the way to the
Serendipity.
I glanced back to see if Lira was still
,standing in the center of the market
square, but it was far too busy and we were far too fast and she was far too
elusive to stay prominent in a crowd.
“I need Queen Galina to trust me,” I said. “And your being there won’t
help.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody trusts diplomats.”
Kye nodded as though that was a valid point, and shoved his hands into his
pockets. “Still,” he said. “It’d be nice for you to have backup in case Galina
isn’t fond of your plan to manipulate her kingdom.”
“Your confidence in me is heartwarming.”
“Nothing against your charm,” he said. “But do you really think she’s
going to go for it?”
“Everything you just said is exactly against my charm.” I knocked his
shoulder with mine. “Either way, it’s worth a try. If there’s any hope that
Queen Galina can help me sidestep a marriage alliance with someone fully
capable of killing me in my sleep, then I’ll take it.”
“You say that like Galina isn’t fully capable of killing you when you’re
awake.”
He had a point, of course. Kye always made a habit of having points,
especially where dangerous women were concerned. Still, I left him behind
with the others, because as nice as backup would be, there’s not a chance in
hell Galina would let a pirate into her palace.
I look down at my shirt to check if my buttons are fastened, just in case –
there are certain sins that won’t be tolerated – and stand up a little straighter.
Comb back my hair with my hand. I already miss my hat and my boots and
everything else that keeps the Saad with me even when she’s docked.
But Galina really does hate pirates.
She trusts me more when she can see the prince of gold rather than a
captain of the sea. Though there are a lot of things I will never understand
about her, that isn’t one of them. I barely trust myself when I’ve got my hat
on.
“She’s waiting for you.”
A guard steps out from the shadows. He is covered head to toe in red
armor, not a single slice of skin on show. His eyes float aimlessly in a sea of
red fabric. This is what it’s like for most of the guards and household staff.
Never any chance of being touched directly.
I eye him cautiously. “I was waiting for you,” I tell him. “The door looks
too heavy to open all by myself.”
I can’t tell if he smiles or glares, but he definitely doesn’t blink. After
considering me for a mere second, he steps forward and brings his hand to the
door.
The room is different. Not just from the rest of the palace, but from how it
was the last time I was here. The marble walls have turned charcoal and are
thick with stale ash and the smell of burning. The ceiling sprawls to endless
heights, ribbed by grand wooden beams, and the color is gone from
everywhere but the floor. It’s the only red thing, polished to shine.
And in the far corner, on a throne shaped like a bleeding heart, the Queen
of Eidýllio smiles.
“Hello, Elian.”
The guard closes the door, and Queen Galina beckons me forward. Her
black hair glides down her waist and onto the floor in tight coils. It’s woven
with rose petals that shed from her like tiny feathers. Her deep brown skin
blends into the satin dress that begins at her chin and ends far past her toes.
She holds out her hand for mine, fingers spread like a spiderweb.
I consider her for a moment and then raise an eyebrow, because she should
know better. Or at least, be aware that I know better.
The legend of Eidýllio says that anyone who touches a member of the
royal family will instantly find their soul mate. The secret of Eidýllio, which
only the royal families of the hundred kingdoms – and Kye’s family,
apparently – are privy to, is a little different. Because the gift, passed down
through the women of the family, does not help men find love, but lose their
will completely. Overtaken by endless devotion and lust until they become
mindless puppets.
I take a seat on the plush sofa opposite the thrones, and Galina drops her
hand with a smirk. She leans back and stretches her legs out onto the tiles.
“You came to visit,” Galina says. “Which must mean that you want
something.”
“The pleasure of your company.”
Galina laughs. “Neither of us has pleasurable company.”
“The pleasure of your company and a mutually beneficial bargain.”
Galina sits up a little straighter. “A bargain, or a favor? I much prefer
favors,” she says. “Especially when they place princes in my debt.”
Sakura’s face flashes across my mind, and I think back to the bargain I
made with her. My kingdom, for an end to the siren plague. “I’m in enough
debt with royalty,” I say.
“Spoilsport,” Galina teases. “I won’t ask for much. Just a region or two.
Perhaps a kiss.”
Usually I entertain this game of cat and mouse for a little longer. Let her
toy with me through thinly veiled threats of skin on skin, as though she would
ever dare turn me into one of her playthings. On a normal day, we would
pretend. I, to be scared she would touch me. And Galina, to be brave enough
to consider it. But the truth is, that for all of her faults – and the last I
counted, there were many – Galina takes little joy in her abilities. It even
caused the king to turn against her when he grew tired of protecting her secret
for a marriage that offered no intimacy.
Galina didn’t hold his hand or stand close enough for their skin to touch,
nor did she share a bed with him on their wedding night or any other night
that followed. They slept at distant ends of the palace, in separate wings with
separate servants and ate very much the same way: at opposite edges of a
table large enough to seat twenty. It was information we shouldn’t have
known, but once the king had a drink, he was more than vocal about such
matters.
Unlike her predecessors, Galina has no desire to force love to secure heirs.
She didn’t want her husband to slowly lose his mind with devotion, and so
instead he slowly lost it to greed. He wanted more than she could offer – her
kingdom, if he could – and it resulted in a coup bloodier than most wars.
Since his betrayal, she seems to have chosen a life of even more solitude.
There is to be no second husband, she told the other ruling families. I have no
interest in being betrayed again or passing my curse on to any children. And
so instead she takes in wards from Orfaná, which houses all of the world’s
unwanted children.
Not continuing her bloodline is bad enough, but choosing to rule alone has
left her country suffering. With Kardiá gaining power, Galina needs someone
by her side to do the things her gift prevents her from, like liaise with the
people and offer the warmth she has grown too frightened to give. And I need
someone who can get me out of my deal with Sakura.
I walk toward the throne and hold out a piece of parchment.
This time, I’m too anxious to play pretend. Galina’s reluctance to remarry
tells me all I need to know and, in a fortuitous turn of fate, presents a rather
interesting solution to one of my many problems. So rarely does karma grant
me such favors.
Galina takes the parchment from me and her eyes scan over the paper, first
with a confused frown and then with an intrigued smirk. It’s exactly the sort
of reaction I was hoping for.
“Prince Elian,” she says. “How did you get your hands on something like
this?”
I take a step forward, as close as I can get without risking my sanity.
“From the same place you can get everything you’ve ever wanted.”
THINGS WERE GOING SMOOTHLY. Or rather, they had screwed themselves into a
great mess, and I was getting closer to pressing out the wrinkles. Galina
played coy, but there was undeniable thirst in her eyes that gave me hope.
Mutually beneficial, she mused, quoting my words back to me.
Her support would mean one less thing to think about on this impossible
mission. And with Lira finally off my ship, I’ve also got one less person to
worry about trusting. All in a day’s work.
I struggle to get Lira’s face out of my mind as I walk through the sparse
Eidýllion streets. When I returned the seashell, there had been an odd look in
her eyes. Like I was idiotic and wonderful at the
,same time. Like I was a fool
and she was glad for it.
I take in a long breath and press my palms to my eyes, trying to blot out
the sleep. When she told me that the Sea Queen had taken revenge on her
family, it seemed sincere enough, and the compass, though unsteady, had
pointed north just the same. Still, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that
something isn’t right. That no matter what truths she may give, there are lies
hidden within.
I stroll across the abandoned market street, which is thick with pastry
crumbs. The night is warm and sweet, even with the moon blanketing the
sky. The stars here are clearer than in most kingdoms, and it’s a struggle for
me to keep walking. Not to stand and marvel at them. Lie on the cobblestone
and think about their stories, the way I do aboard the Saad.
I head toward the Serendipity. We stay there each time we dock in
Eidýllio, because it’s an inn and a tavern, and there are few things that can’t
be solved with both sleep and rum. As I make my way there, a symphony of
footsteps trails behind my own. I slow my pace and slip into a nearby alley
marked by abandoned trader stools. It’s thin, and a line of stars hangs
overhead like streetlamps.
I push myself against the wall, feeling warm brick against my back. The
footsteps become uncertain, searching. There’s a small moment of
trepidation, when the world goes quiet and all I hear is a low gasp of wind.
Then the footsteps follow me into the alley.
I don’t wait for my attacker to strike. I step out of the darkness, hand
poised over my knife. Ready to gut whoever would be stupid enough to try to
jump the captain of the Saad.
A girl stands, half in the shadows, dark red hair clinging to her cheeks.
When she sees me, she hooks her hands over her hips, exasperated. Her eyes
flood through me like poison.
“Why are you hiding?” Lira asks. “I was trying to follow you.”
I let out a long breath and sheathe my knife. “I’m pretty sure I got rid of
you already.”
Lira shrugs, unoffended, and I consider what it would take to get under her
skin. She waves off each and every comment like they’re barely an
annoyance. As though she has far better things to do than worry about what
me or any of my crew thinks.
Lira studies me. “Why do you look like a prince all of a sudden?” she asks.
“I am a prince,” I say, and move to pass her.
Lira walks in stride with me. “Not usually.”
“What would you know about being usual?”
Lira’s face remains blank, and once again I fail to have any sort of impact.
Then she rolls her eyes, as if in compromise. Here, I’ll act irritated. Just to
please you, Your Highness.
“You’re right,” Lira tells me.
She pulls on the fabric of her dress. It’s an old raggedy thing that Madrid
found shoved into a trunk belowdecks. A stowaway from a ransack of a
pirate ship. I’m almost sure it was pretty once, just as I’m almost sure we’ve
been using it to clean Madrid’s speargun for the past year. It was the best that
I could do on short notice, unless Lira wanted to be clothed like a pirate,
which I doubted.
Still, looking at her now, the decent man in me feels a little ashamed.
Lira stops walking to clutch the ends of her dress in both hands and then
lower to the ground in a sardonic curtsy. I, too, stop, shooting her a scathing
look, and she scoffs, which is the closest thing to a laugh I’ve heard from her.
“Queen Galina isn’t big on pirates,” I tell her, as I turn away and begin
walking again. Lira follows. “It’s not like I enjoy dressing this way.”
I tug at my collar, which suddenly feels tight around my neck. There’s
silence and Lira promptly stops walking. I turn to face her, a question in my
eyes, but she just stares.
“Here,” she says, and makes a grab for my knife.
I flinch back and grab her wrist before she has the chance. Lira shoots me a
disparaging look, like I’m even more of an idiot than she thought. I can feel
her pulse strumming under my thumb before she slowly pulls out of my
grasp.
She reaches for my knife again, tentatively, and this time I let her. I can tell
she’s enjoying the fact that I’m wary, as though it’s the greatest compliment I
could give. When her hand touches the knife, there’s a spark in my chest, like
a cog being pulled loose from a machine. I’ve always been connected to it in
a way that I struggle to explain. When Lira touches it, I feel a sudden
coldness passing from the blade through to my bones. I watch her with steady
eyes, not risking a blink. She hesitates with the blade in her hands, as though
considering all the possibilities it could bring. And then she takes a breath
and swiftly cuts a line down my shirtsleeve.
The blade grazes my skin but, miraculously, doesn’t draw blood.
I snatch the knife back from her. “What do you think you’re doing?” I ask,
surveying the tear below my shoulder.
“Now you look like a pirate,” she says, and continues walking.
Incredulous, I jog to catch up with her. I’m about to tell her that she’s
going to have to pay for that, either with coin – which I doubt she has – or her
life, but she turns to me and says, “I saw the Reoma Putoder.”
“Did you make a wish?”
“Maybe I stole one instead.”
She says this with a biting smile, but as the sentence fades, she reaches up
to toy with the seashell I returned. It looks unnaturally bright against her
neck. She touches it contemplatively, and I recognize the gesture. It’s
something I’ve done a thousand times over with my family crest ring.
Whenever I think of the people I’ve left behind, or the burdens of a kingdom
I’ll never feel ready to rule. If Lira’s story is true, then the necklace probably
belonged to the siren who killed her family. A talisman to remind her of the
revenge she must carry out.
“I still want to come with you,” Lira says.
I fight to keep walking with long, even strides. The Serendipity appears
ahead, another building in a row of chess-piece houses. It’s stacked three
stories higher than the others, with orange brick and a sign that hangs from a
silhouette of the Love God. Outside, a group of women smoke cigars on thick
oak benches, large jugs of mulled wine by their feet.
We stop by the doorway and I raise an eyebrow. “To avenge your family?”
“To stop this war once and for all.”
“We’re at war?” I make a grab for the door. “How dramatic.”
Lira snatches my torn shirtsleeve. “This needs to end,” she says.
I flinch at the contact, resisting the urge to go for my knife. There’s never a
time when I don’t have to be on guard.
I roll my shoulder out of Lira’s grip and keep my voice low. “Don’t keep
making the mistake of thinking you can touch me,” I tell her. “I’m the crown
prince of Midas and captain of the world’s most deadly ship. If you do that
again, a few nights in a cage will seem like a godsend.”
“The Sea Queen took everything from me,” Lira spits, ignoring the threat.
There’s a deep crease in the center of her brow, and when she shakes her
head, it’s as though she is trying to shake the wrinkle out. “You can’t imagine
the pain she’s caused. The Crystal of Keto is the only way to fix that.”
She hisses the last part. The raw and scratchy way her voice pounces on
the Midasan, like the words aren’t enough to convey what she’s feeling,
makes my head swim. So much inside of her that she can’t get out. Thoughts
and feelings there are never enough ways to show.
I swallow and try to pull myself together. “You said you know things that
nobody else does. Like what?”
“Like the ritual you must perform if you want to free the Crystal of Keto
from where it’s hidden,” she says. “I’d bet my life you don’t have the first
clue about that.”
I don’t let the surprise register on my face. Even Sakura didn’t know the
first thing about the ritual we need to conduct, and it’s hidden in her
kingdom. What are the chances a stowaway on my ship would be the one to
have the last piece of my puzzle? There’s no way I’m that lucky.
“You have a habit of using your life as collateral,” I say.
“Does that mean you will take the deal?” Lira asks.
I’d be a fool to take it and trust a stranger
,who claims to know the one
secret I don’t. I haven’t survived this long by putting my life in the hands of
my ex-prisoners. But to not take it would make me even more of a fool. Lira
can speak Psáriin. She has experience hunting sirens. What if I leave her
behind and then can’t even free the crystal once I have it? If I make it all that
way only to drown in the final wave. The ritual is the only part of my quest
where I don’t have an idea past winging it, and now Lira is offering up a plan
of her own on a gold platter.
If Kye were here, he’d tell me not to even think about considering it. Good
riddance, he said when we left Lira to the streets of Eidýllio, sure neither of
us would see her again. I’ve got enough to protect you from without adding
deadly damsels to the list. And he wasn’t wrong. Kye had sworn to protect
me – not just to my father, whose money he’d taken more for the heck of it
than to seal any deal – but to me. To himself. And Kye has never taken that
job lightly. But I have a job too, a mission, and without Lira’s help, I could
leave the world open to the evils of the Sea Queen and her race forever.
“Well?” Lira presses. “Are you going to take the deal?”
“I told you I don’t take deals,” I say. “But maybe I’ll take your word
instead.”
I pull open the door to the Serendipity, and Lira pushes through ahead of
me. I’m hit with the familiar smell of metal and ginger root, and there are a
thousand memories that shift through my mind, each as dastardly as the next.
For all the ideas a name can give, the Serendipity’s tells nothing of its true
nature. It’s a den for gamblers and the kinds of men and women who never
see the light of day. They stick to moonlight, far from the ornate colors of the
town. They are shadows, with fingers made sticky by debt and wine strong
enough to knock a person dead from a single jug.
Some of my crew takes the large round table at the back and I smile. When
I left to visit Queen Galina and strike a deal for my future, an odd wave of
nausea crept up into my stomach. Like ocean sickness, if I could ever feel
such a thing. Land sickness, maybe. Being separated from them, especially
for such an important task, left me drained. Seeing them now, I’m revitalized.
“Just so you know,” I say to Lira, “if you’re lying, I might kill you.”
Lira tips her chin up, eyes defiant and too blue for me to look at her
straight. At first I’m not sure if she’s going to say anything back, but then she
licks her lips and I know it’s because she can taste the sweetness of whatever
insult she’s about to throw.
“Maybe,” she says as the light whimpers against her skin, “I might just kill
you first.”
21
Elian
FOG POOLS BY THE open window, like the whirls of cigar smoke. With it
comes the smell of dawn as the pink-lipped sky barely stays tucked behind
the line of ocean. Time is lost here, in a way that can’t be said for anywhere
else in the kingdom, or the world. The Serendipity exists in its own realm,
with the people who could never truly belong anywhere else. It deals in deals,
and caters only to traders who could never set up stalls for their goods.
Torik breaks into a low whistle as he deals another hand. His fingers glide
over the cards, slick as butter, swiping them across the table in perfect piles
by the stacks of red coins. When he’s done, Madrid fingers her deck blankly,
like the cards themselves don’t matter, only what she does with them. Madrid
is very good at adapting and never satisfied with playing the hand she’s dealt.
I’d like to say I taught her that, but there are so many things Madrid was
forced to learn before she chose the Saad. When you’re taken by a Kléftesis
slave ship, you quickly learn that to survive, you can’t bend to the world; you
have to make it bend to you.
Unfortunately for Madrid, her tell is the fact that she has no tell. She’s
never willing to end how she begins, and though that means I can’t guess her
hand like I can most people’s, knowing that she won’t settle makes it easy to
guess what she’s going to do next.
Lira watches us predatorily, her eyes darting each time a hand moves or a
coin falls from the top of a pile. I can tell that she sees the same things I do;
whenever someone scratches their cheek or swallows a little too forcefully.
Minute beads of sweat and twitching lips. The intonation when they ask for
another jug of wine. She notices it all. Not only that, but she’s making notes
of it. Filing their tells and ticks away, for whatever reason. Keeping them
safe, maybe, to use again.
When Kye shifts a row of red coins into the center table, I watch Lira. She
quirks her lips a little to the right, and even though she can’t see his cards –
there’s no possible way she could – she knows his hand. And she knows he’s
bluffing.
Lira catches my eye and when she sees me staring, her smile fades. I’m
angry at myself for that. I never seem quick enough when it comes to
watching these moments for long enough to pick them apart and see how she
works. Why she works. What angle she’s working.
I push my coins into the center of the table.
“It’s too quiet in here,” Madrid says.
She grabs the wine decanter from the table and fills her glass a little higher,
until red sloshes over the brim. If Madrid is a good shooter, she’s an even
better drinker. In all our years together, I’ve never so much as seen her lose
balance after a night of heavy liquor.
Madrid sips the wine carefully, savoring the vintage in a way none of us
have ever thought to. It reminds me of the wine-tasting lessons my father
forced me to attend as part of my royal training. Because nothing says King
of Midas like knowing a fine wine from something distilled in a back-alley
tavern.
“Sing ‘Shore of Tides,’ ” Torik suggests dryly. “Maybe it’ll drown out the
sunlight.”
“If we’re voting,‘Little Rum Ditty’ will do. Really, anything with rum.”
“You don’t get a vote,” Madrid tells Kye, then quirks an eyebrow at me.
“Cap?”
I shrug. “Sing whatever you want. Nothing will drown out the sound of me
winning.”
Madrid pokes her tongue out. “Lira?” she asks. “What do they sing where
you’re from?”
For some reason, Lira finds this amusing. “Nothing you would appreciate.”
Madrid nods, as though it’s more a fact than an insult. “ ‘Siren Down
Below,’ ” she says, looking at Kye with a reluctant smile. “It’s got rum in it.”
“Suits me then.”
Madrid throws herself back onto her chair. Her voice comes out in a loud
refrain, words twisting and falling in her native Kléftesis. There’s something
whimsical to the way she sings, and whether it’s the tune or the endearing
grin drawn on Kye’s face as she bellows the melody, I can’t help but tap my
fingers against my knee in rhythm to her voice.
Around the table, the crew follows on. They hum and murmur the parts
they can’t remember, roaring out each mention of rum. Their voices dance
into one another, colliding clumsily through verses. Each of them sings in the
language of their kingdom. It brings a piece of their home to this misshapen
crew, reminding me of a time, so long ago, when we weren’t together. When
we were more strangers than family, belonging nowhere we traveled and
never having the means to go somewhere we might.
When they’ve sung through three choruses, I almost expect Lira to join in
with a rendition from Polemistés, but she remains tight-lipped and curious.
She eyes them with a tiny knot in her brow, as though she can’t quite
understand the ritual.
I lean toward her and keep my voice to a whisper. “When are you going to
sing something?”
She pushes me away. “Don’t get too close,” she says. “You absolutely
stink.”
“Of what?”
“Anglers,” she says. “That oil they put on their hands and those stupid
sweets they chew.”
“Licorice,” I tell her with a smirk. “And you didn’t answer my question.
Are you ever going to grace us with your voice?”
“Believe me, I’d like nothing more.”
I settle back in my chair and open my arms. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready for you to tell me everything you know about the Crystal of
Keto.”
It always
,comes back to that. We’ve been in Eidýllio for two days, and
Lira has been relentless in her questions. Always wanting answers without
ever revealing any herself. Someone, of course, has to go first. And I’ll admit
that I’ve grown bored waiting for it to be her.
“All I know is that it’s in Págos,” I tell her, wary of the glares Kye is
sending my way. If it were up to him, the only way Lira would come aboard
the Saad is if she were back in the cage.
“It’s at the top of the Cloud Mountain,” I explain. “In a sacred ice palace.”
“You have a great ability to disguise knowing a lot as knowing a little.”
“And you have a great ability to disguise knowing nothing as knowing
everything,” I tell her. “You still haven’t told me about the ritual.”
“If I tell you, then there’s no use in you keeping me around. And I’m not
going to spill the best leverage I have so you can leave me stranded here.”
She has a point. The best habit I have is keeping only what I can use. And
Lira is definitely something I can use. Even thinking it makes me sound too
pirate-like for my own good, and I imagine my father’s crude disappointment
at how I’ve come to regard people as a means to an end. Bargaining chips I
trade like coin. But Lira is in the unique position of knowing what she is and
of being more than happy to play along if it gets her what she wants.
“Tell me something else then.” I swap a card from the deck. “What do you
know about the crystal?”
“For starters,” she says, chastising, “it isn’t a crystal, it’s an eye. The ruby
eye of the great sea goddess, taken from the sirens so their new queen and her
predecessors would never be able to hold the power that Keto did.”
“Tell me something I don’t know.”
“Okay,” she says, like it’s a challenge I’ve thrown down. “The Sea
Queen’s trident is made from Keto’s bones and Keto’s second eye is what
powers it. When the goddess was killed, her most loyal child was nearby. She
couldn’t prevent Keto’s death, but she did manage to steal one of her eyes
before the humans could take both. With that and the few pieces of Keto that
remained, she fashioned the trident and became the first Sea Queen. That
trident has been passed down from generation to generation, to the eldest
daughter of every Sea Queen. They use it to control the ocean and all of its
creatures. As long as the queen has it, every monster in the sea is hers. And if
she finds the other eye, she’ll use it to enslave humans in the same way.”
“What a thrilling story.” Kye stares at his deck. “Did you make that one up
on the spot?”
“I’m no storyteller,” Lira says.
“Just an outright liar, then?”
I press my fingers to my temples. “That’s enough, Kye.”
“It’ll be enough when we leave her stranded here like we planned.”
“Plans change,” Lira says.
“Let’s get one thing straight,” Kye tells her. “If you think that just because
you’ve manipulated your way into this mission that it means you’re part of
our crew, then you’re wrong. And as long as you’re on the Saad, there’s not a
step you’re going to take that I won’t be watching. Especially if it’s near
Elian. So put just one foot wrong and it’ll land you back in that cage.”
“Kye,” I warn.
Lira clenches the corner of the table, looking about ready to come undone.
“Are you threatening me right now?” she asks.
“Nobody is threatening anyone,” I say.
Kye throws his deck down. “Actually, that’s exactly what I was doing.”
“Well, great,” I tell him. “Now that you’ve let her in on the fact that you’re
my hired protection, maybe you can be quiet for five seconds so I can ask her
a question.” I turn back to my glaring new crew member, ignoring the
irritation on Kye’s face.
“What did you mean, enslave humans in the same way?” I ask.
Lira releases her grip on the table and turns her stony eyes from Kye.
“Sirens are not a free species,” she says.
“Are you trying to tell me that they’re just misunderstood? No, wait, let me
guess:They actually love humans and want to be one of us but the Sea Queen
has them under mind control?”
Lira doesn’t blink at my sarcasm. “Better to be a loyal warrior than a
treacherous prisoner,” she says.
“So once I kill the Sea Queen, they can hunt me of their own free will,” I
say. “That’s great.”
“How are you even going to navigate up the Cloud Mountain of Págos to
get to the eye?” Lira asks.
“We,” I correct her. “You wanted in on this, remember?”
She sighs. “The stories say that only the Págese royal family can climb it.”
She eyes me skeptically. “You may be royal, but you’re not Págese.”
“Thanks for noticing.”
I slide more red coins into the center of the table, and Torik throws his
hands up.
“Damn you all,” he relents, folding his cards over in a dramatic
declaration. “Sweep my deck.”
I grin and slip two of his cards into my own deck – one that I want, and
another that I want them to think I do. I split the rest between Kye and
Madrid, and they don’t hesitate to shoot me disparaging looks at having
ruined their hands.
“I have a map,” I tell Lira.
“A map,” she repeats.
“There’s a secret route up the mountains that will shave weeks off our
journey. There are even rest sites with technology to build quickfires to stop
the cold. It shouldn’t be a problem.”
Lira nods, slow and calculating, as though she’s trying to piece together a
puzzle I haven’t given her. “How did you get the map?” she asks.
“My charm.”
“No, really.”
“I’m really very charming,” I say. “I even roped this lot into sacrificing
their lives for me.”
“Didn’t do it for you.” Madrid doesn’t look up from her deck. “Did it for
the target practice.”
“I did it for the hijinks of near-death experiences,” Kye says.
“I did it for more fish suppers.” Torik stretches his arms out in a yawn.
“God knows we don’t have enough fish every other day of the year.”
I turn to Lira. “See?”
“Okay, Prince Charming,” she says. “Whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll come
around to bite you later on. I’d rather enjoy that then than hear it now.”
“Ever the cynic.”
“Ever the pirate,” she retorts.
“You say that like it’s an insult.”
“You should assume,” she says,“that everything I say to you is an insult.
One day the world is going to run out of luck to give to you.”
She folds her arms over her chest and I paint on my most arrogant smile,
like I’m daring the world, and fate along with it, to catch up with me. Even
though I know it will someday, I can’t let anyone else see that. Either things
fall into place, or they fall apart, but either way, I have to keep up pretenses.
22
Lira
KAHLIA’S FACE IS HAUNTING me. I picture her on the edge of Reoma Putoder,
head bowed as she tried to hide her wounds. Ashamed that I’d see the pain
my mother inflicted on her in my absence. I can taste it like a sickness in my
mouth. Kahlia’s anguish lingers at the back of my throat the same way it did
on the day I held Crestell’s heart in my hand.
I prowl the deck, watching the crew settle into their routines. They laugh as
they scout the water and play cards as they load their guns. All of them seem
so at peace, no hidden aches for home behind their eyes. It’s as if they don’t
mind being ripped from their kingdoms over and over, while I miss mine
more each day. How can they claim a nomad home so easily?
“You’re thinking too much,” Madrid says, settling beside me.
“I’m making up for the people on this ship who don’t think at all.”
Madrid hooks her arm around a cobweb of rope and swings herself onto
the ledge of the ship. Her feet dangle off the edge as the Saad glides forward.
“If you’re talking about Kye,” she says, “then we can agree on that.”
“You don’t like him?” I press my palms flat on the edge of the ship.
“Aren’t you mates?”
“Mates?” Madrid gapes. “What are we, horses? We’re partners,” she says.
“There’s a big difference, you know.”
The truth is, I don’t. When it comes to relationships, I don’t know much at
all. In my kingdom, there’s no time to get to know someone or form a bond.
Humans speak of making love, but sirens are nothing if not regimented. We
make love the same way we make war.
In the ocean, there
,are only mermen. Most serve as guards to my mother,
protecting the sea kingdom of Keto. They are the strongest warriors of us all.
Vicious and deadly creatures, more vile than their mermaid counterparts.
More brutal than me.
Unlike sirens, mermen have no connection to humanity. Sirens look like
humans, and so there’s part of us that’s connected to them. Or perhaps, they
look like us. We’re born half of sea and half of them, and sometimes I
wonder if that’s where our hatred really comes from.
Mermen don’t have this problem. They’re crafted more from the ocean
than any of us, made from the most deadly mixes of fish, with tails of sharks
and sea monsters. They have no desire to interact with land, even for the
purpose of war. They exist, always, under the sea, where they are either
solitary and disciplined soldiers of the guard, or rampant creatures who live
wild on the outskirts of the ocean.
Under order of the Sea Queen, these are the creatures we mate with. Before
I was thrown into this curse, I was promised to the Flesh-Eater. Mermen have
no time for names and other nonsenses and so we call them as they are:
Phantom, Skinner, Flesh-Eater. While mermaids are fish through and
through, laying eggs to be fertilized outside of their bodies, sirens are not as
lucky. We must mate. And it’s the brutality and savagery of the mermen that
make them a worthy combination to create more of our murderous race. At
least, that’s what my mother says.
“I’m glad the captain agreed to let you stay,” Madrid says.
I shake the thoughts of home and look at her questioningly. “Why would
you be glad?”
“We need to start outnumbering them.”
“Who?”
“The men,” she says. “Ever since we pulled down to skeleton crew, there’s
been too much testosterone aboard.”
“It seems safer to have a full crew for this mission.”
She shrugs. “The captain didn’t want to risk them.”
“Or he couldn’t trust them.”
Madrid heaves herself back onto the ship’s deck, her fairy-like boots
stomping against the wood grain. “He trusts us all.”
There is something defensive in her voice, and her eyes narrow ever so
slightly.
“Are you upset?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. Humans are so sensitive.
“No,” Madrid says. “You just shouldn’t say things like that. Someone
might hear.”
“Like who?”
“Kye.”
“Because he and Elian are good friends?”
“We’re all good friends.” Madrid throws her hands in the air. “Quit doing
that.”
“I’m not doing anything.”
“You’re trying to meddle.”
It seems like such a silly thing to be accused of in the grand scheme of
things. I’m plotting to steal back my birthright, betray my mother, and then
rip out Elian’s heart so no human can be a worthy threat to us. Yet somehow
Madrid thinks my comments on her friendships are troublesome. Will they
have a word for what I’ll be when I turn on them?
“What are you talking about?” Kye asks, stepping out from the cabin
belowdecks.
He looks at me with a mix of mistrust and curiosity. It’s a drastic change
from the carefree rapport he shares with everyone else aboard the Saad. If
there’s anyone on this ship I’ve failed to convince of my usefulness, then it’s
Elian’s pseudo-bodyguard. I could leak every bit of information I have on the
Sea Queen – I could even tell him where the Diávolos Sea is – and Kye still
wouldn’t think I’m worth keeping around. His earlier threats in Eidýllio play
in my mind. He looks at me like he’s just waiting for me to slip up and reveal
any number of things he could use to sway Elian further into the notion that I
can’t be trusted. Whether it’s on this ship or in my mother’s ocean, there
never seems to be a time when I don’t have to prove myself, or worry that
anything I do could lead to my downfall.
“Apparently, I’m a meddler,” I tell Kye.
Madrid snorts. “At least she’s open to criticism.”
“Good,” Kye says. “I have a lot of that to go around.”
“Speaking of things to go around.” Madrid looks at my dress with a
grimace. “Don’t you want to change your clothes sometime soon? You can’t
honestly want to be stuck in that thing for the rest of the trip.”
“It isn’t a trip,” Kye says. “It’s a sacred quest to save the world and destroy
the Sea Queen and we shouldn’t be bringing along stragglers.”
Madrid nods. “Sure,” she says. “But we also shouldn’t be making Lira
wear my cleaning rag.”
I finger the hem of the white dress. It’s fraying toward the bottom, string
peeling from the fabric like skin. The material isn’t so much white anymore
as it is a muted gray, thick with the charcoal of smoke and grime that I don’t
want to imagine the origin of.
“She can dress herself,” Kye mutters. His eyes cascade over the wrinkled
dress, to the shabby ends of my red hair. “If you were planning something
though,” he says,“start by giving her a shower.”
“A shower,” I repeat.
He sighs. “Warm water and soap. I’m assuming they have that where
you’re from?”
Madrid tugs her shirtsleeves up to her elbows, revealing sundials and
poetry painted onto every inch of her skin. The tattoos on her hands and face
are simple enough, but there’s no mistaking the ones that circle her arms, past
her elbows and probably winding over her shoulders, too. The mark of
Kléftesis pirates. Killers by trade. Though I assumed she was from Kléftes, I
never dreamed Elian would choose an assassin to be on his crew. For a man
who denies being at war, he certainly picks his soldiers well.
Madrid nudges me and lowers her voice. “The water isn’t warm,” she says.
“But Kye wasn’t lying about the soap.”
“It beats jumping in the ocean,” Kye argues. “Unless you want me to
fashion a new plank?”
“No,” I say. “We’ll save that for the next time you threaten me.”
He scowls. “If the captain wasn’t watching, I really would pitch you
overboard.”
I roll my eyes and look over to the upper deck, where Torik is currently
steering the ship. Elian leans on the railings beside his first mate. The same
railings I was tied to. His hat hangs low over the shadows of his eyes, stance
loose and casual. His left foot is hooked behind his right and his arms
crisscross over his chest, but even I can recognize the difference between
appearing relaxed and actually being so. It’s the mark of a true killer, to never
show the fire within.
He watches us with hawk eyes, glancing back to Torik every now and
again to continue their conversation. Mostly, he talks with me in his sights.
He makes no qualms about surveying me because he clearly wants me to
know that my every move is being watched. I’m not trusted, and Elian
doesn’t want me to forget that. It’s smart, if not a little annoying, but the
more he watches me and sees that I’m not doing anything, the more
complacent he’ll get. And eventually he’ll forget to look at all. Eventually
he’ll trust me enough that he won’t think he needs to.
“He doesn’t care that I can see him,” I say.
“It’s his ship,” Kye says.
“Aren’t I a guest?”
“You’re not a prisoner.” I don’t miss the disappointment in his voice.
For some reason, this makes me laugh. “He’s going to get bored watching
me all the time.”
Madrid frowns, lines creasing through her tattoos. “The captain doesn’t get
bored,” she says. “It’s not in his bones.”
I take in a long, cold breath and look back at the water. “What’s our next
destination?”
“Psémata,” Kye says.
“The land of untruth.”
“Something you’re familiar with?” he asks, and Madrid smacks him on the
shoulder.
“Actually, my mother made me learn about most of the kingdoms,” I
answer truthfully. “She thought it would be useful for me to know about
my” – I stop short before the word prey leaves my lips – “about history.”
“What did you learn?” Kye asks.
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder to Elian, who reclines farther
against the railings, pitching his elbows onto the wood. “Enough.”
“And how many languages do you speak?”
I eye Kye carefully, aware that this is starting to sound like an
interrogation. “Not many.”
There was never a reason for me to learn more than Midasan and a few
other lingering dialects common throughout the kingdoms. My own
language, for all its jagged edges,
,more than sufficed. Really, I could have
chosen not to speak Midasan at all. There are many sirens who don’t learn the
language, even if it’s so widely used in the human world. Our songs steal
hearts no matter what tongue they’re in.
Still, I feel lucky knowing such things now. If I hadn’t, the prince would
have killed me as soon as I opened my mouth. A human who can only speak
Psáriin is not exactly the best disguise.
“The captain speaks fifteen languages,” Madrid says admiringly.
“Don’t forget to wipe the drool off your shoulder.” Kye points to her arm.
“Right there.”
Madrid slaps his hand away. “I meant that it’s impressive because I only
know two.”
“Right,” he says. “Of course you did.”
“Why would anyone want to know fifteen languages when most of the
world speaks Midasan?” I ask.
“Don’t let the cap hear you say that,” Madrid warns. “He’s all for
preserving culture.” She says the last bit with a roll of her eyes, as though
there’s nothing she would like more than to watch her own culture wither to
flames. “He studied in Glóssa, but in the end he realized nobody can master
every language, except one of their royals.”
“Lira doesn’t need a backstory of the captain’s life,” Kye says guardedly.
“Not when she could be trying on something that doesn’t stink of weapon
grease.”
Madrid smiles. “Right,” she says, and snaps her fingers at me. “How do
you feel about something a little bolder?”
“Bolder?”
I hesitate, and the beginnings of a smile drift over Madrid’s warrior
features.
“Don’t panic,” she says. “I just mean far less damsel and far more
buccaneer.”
I nod slowly. I couldn’t care less what she dresses me in, so long as it
warms my fragile bones, because right now the cold is pressing against them
with the weight of a hundred sirens.
I dare another look at Elian. His hat shields his eyes from the midday sun,
but I can still feel them on me, watching. Waiting. For me to slip up and
reveal my true intentions or, just maybe, for me to do something to earn his
loyalty. Let him watch. If Madrid has her way, the next time he sees me, I’ll
be as much of a pirate as he is.
23
Elian
I DON’T REALIZE HOW restless I am until Lira emerges from below the
forecastle deck, dressed in everything but a peg leg.
The crew is humming something soft and off-kilter, while Kye speaks
animatedly with Torik about old debts dying hard. Yet there’s silence when
we see her.
Lira’s hair is pulled to one side in sweeping strands, with braided string
running through odd sections. Large gold hoops hang from her ears,
stretching her lobes. Even from the quarterdeck, I can see the dried blood
around the loops. She’s dressed in a pair of dark teal trousers with an ornate
jacket to match, ridged by oval button twists. Her shoulders are a flourish of
gold tassels, and the ends of a white dress shirt poke out from her wrists.
There are patches on her elbows, hastily stitched together with black string.
Lira places a hand on her hip and tries to pretend she doesn’t feel self-
conscious, but it’s the first true thing I’ve seen on her face since we met. She
may look like a pirate, but she’s got a way to go before she can pass for one.
“You’ve got to me kidding me,” Kye says. “I told Madrid to give her a
shower, not dress her up like a pirate princess.”
“It’s sweet that you think she looks like a princess,” I say. “I’ll be sure to
tell her that later.”
“I’m serious,” Kye tells me, like I couldn’t have worked that one out for
myself. “First she weasels her way onto this ship and now she’s even trying
to look like one of us? It’s like she wants us to forget that’s she’s an outsider
so we’ll turn our backs on her.”
“You’re getting an awful lot of conspiracy from a dress shirt and a new
pair of boots.”
“Don’t be naïve,” Kye says. “You know better than to trust strangers.”
I half-smile, grinding my teeth together. Advising me to be cautious is one
thing, but lecturing me on the deck of my own ship like I’m a child is another
altogether. Na•ve. The word is too familiar not to get under my skin.
“You sound like my father,” I say. “If I want a lecture, I’ll ask for one.”
“I’m trying to give you some advice.”
“You’re trying to second-guess me and it’s getting old fast.” I sigh, feeling
the tiredness creep back in – the one usually reserved for my trips to Midas.
“I’m not some novice setting sail for the first time,” I tell him. “I’m the
captain of this ship and I’d appreciate it if you stopped treating me like an
inexperienced little prince who needs to be advised.”
Kye’s shoulders go rigid, but I’m too frustrated to care about the way his
face blankets over in practiced calm. On this ship, I’m not supposed to be a
Midasan royal with a legion of bodyguards and counsels. I’m supposed to be
a damn pirate.
It’s times like this I’m reminded of the bargain my father offered him: to
stay by my side as a guardian rather than a friend, protecting me from the
world I’m eager to explore. Even if Kye denies that’s why he’s here, having
him doubt my decisions and question my moves just makes me think of my
father and his court. It reminds me that Kye’s a diplomat’s son, used to
handling royals. And I’m just another prince, getting adventure out of my
system before I become king.
I slide down the ladder and onto the main deck. Lira has a gun holster
attached to her thigh, above the folds of her knee-length boots. From the red
fabric belt that clinches her waist, there’s also a golden cuff just big enough
to pull a sword through. Thankfully, Madrid didn’t give her the weapons to
match.
“You almost blend in,” I say.
Lira’s nose crinkles. “That’s not a compliment.”
I pull off my hat and step toward my sword, which rests against the ladder.
It’s a saber that begins in strong gold and fades to ashen black. The handle is
an elaborate cuff with a map of Midas swirled into the metal, and the blade
itself curves up ever so slightly at the tip, for the most deadly strike.
I point the weapon at Madrid and say,“Lend Lira something.”
I ask Madrid, because she’s more attached to her speargun than anything
else. And because I know the rest of the crew would be hesitant to oblige.
Trying to separate a pirate from his sword doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Elian.”
Kye’s voice gives me pause. It’s a warning not to do anything stupid or
reckless, especially if it’s only to prove a point.
“Madrid,” I say, gesturing to her cutlass.
She hands it over without pause, deliberately avoiding a glance in Kye’s
direction. She’s eager to see what will happen, just as the rest of my crew is. I
can feel their eyes circling us, hear the quiet as their voices drift off and they
stop singing to take in the sight.
“I didn’t realize you could smile,” I say as Lira studies her new blade.
“You’re going to teach me how to fight.”
It isn’t a question, any more than it’s a request. She’s demanding it, as
though I haven’t so much as offered and it’s her feminine charm that’s
spurred this whole thing on.
As though she has any sort of charm.
I don’t make a habit of teaching strangers my tricks, but if Lira’s going to
survive among my crew, then she’s going to need to know how to carry a
blade. Watching her grapple with the guard in Eidýllio was embarrassing
enough, and I need her if I’m going to be able to take down the Sea Queen.
Lira isn’t going to offer any of her secrets – not the intimate details of the
ritual or any other nuances – until we reach the mountain peak. Which means
I need her alive and able to defend herself if I’m not there. Especially when
we arrive at our next destination. If Lira thinks my crew is rough around the
edges, then she’s going to be in for a shock when she meets the Xaprár.
“I’m going to teach you how to survive,” I correct. “First lesson being:
Don’t stand like that.”
I gesture to her feet, which are pressed closely together, knees as straight
as nails. If Lira really was telling the truth about her family, then I’d expect
her to know better. Warriors from Polemistés are nothing if not natural
mercenaries. But then, she said
,her family died when she was just a child, and
that could mean she was too young to be properly coached.
I adjust my position and Lira widens her stance to match. She’s like a
mirror, even raising her arm to mimic the bend in my elbow.
“If I beat you, what do I win?” she asks.
“The ability to defend yourself.”
Her smile is lethal. “And if I kill you?”
“False confidence is nobody’s friend,” I school in a faultless echo of my
father’s voice.
And then I attack.
Lira swoops her sword up in a high arc, blocking my first blow. She’s
quick, but uncertain. Her feet are clumsy and when she sidesteps, her knees
knock against each other. She doesn’t seem used to walking, let alone have
the right footwork for a duel. I swing again, slower and softer than before.
Our swords clink together.
I twist away and bring my sword above my head, giving Lira an opening to
attack. She doesn’t hesitate. Her blade comes down on mine, hard. If she’s
not going to win by skill, she’s going to do it with brute force. Never mind
that I’m actually trying to teach her something. All she wants to learn is how
to win.
I crouch down and sweep my foot under hers, but she jumps at the last
minute and I miss. “That’s good,” I say. “How did you know I was going to
do that?”
“You’re highly predictable.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop retreating, then. When I attack, it’s your job to get me
on the defensive. Always switch your position so your opponent needs to be
the one to get away.”
“Wars aren’t won by running,” she says.
“You can’t win a war,” I tell her. “Someone else just loses.”
Lira’s sword wavers and a look of confusion passes over her severe
features. Like she expected another kind of reply from the siren-slaying
prince. When she doesn’t speak, I point my sword at her, uneasy with the
lingering silence. “Attack me,” I say.
She lurches forward with enough power that our blades smash against each
other. The noise ricochets on long after I step away. Lira strikes again,
repeatedly, and with no real purpose other than to do any kind of harm. It’s
the same misguided mistake that all novices make. Attacking with no goal
but death.
“Have a purpose,” I tell her, blocking another attempt.
Lira’s breath is quick and heavy. “What does that mean?”
“You have to decide what you want. What’s going to cause the most harm
and how you can achieve it. You have to think before you attack.”
I press forward and Lira withdraws, then steps toward me. Her feet jabbing
and dancing across the deck. It’s not exactly graceful, but it’s better. At the
very least, she’s a fast learner.
I bring my arm down on hers, harder this time. A little more force with
each blow, until I can see her arms begin to falter. Just when I think her
sword is going to drop, she twists to the side and brings her left elbow up. I
block it just in time, inches before my nose is shattered. She’s adapting, using
whatever she has to win. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so shrewd.
I push Lira away and she falls to the floor with a grunt. She flips onto her
back, elbows digging into the wood of the deck, and lets out a long breath.
“Gallantry is not your strong point,” she says.
“I’ll remember that the next time you’re drowning.”
“I wasn’t drowning.” Lira heaves herself off the floor. “I can’t drown.”
“No,” I say. “You can’t swim.”
She glowers and then raises her sword, gesturing for me to do the same.
I’m more than happy to oblige. It seems I can get under her skin after all.
Lira pierces the blade forward, aiming for my heart. I jump out of the way
and slam the handle of my sword into her stomach. She stutters back, but her
teeth are ground together. There’s no scream or sign of pain aside from the
devilish flicker in her eyes. I think about stopping, but I don’t have the
chance before she’s surging toward me once more.
She throws her weight into the next blow and I struggle to bring my sword
up fast enough. It’s unexpected, and I take a moment too long to process it,
giving Lira the perfect opening.
Her fist cracks against my cheek.
The pain is intense but fleeting, and Lira blinks, surprised at herself. I’m
less shocked at her for taking the opening than I am at myself for giving it. I
kick my leg up, sending Lira’s sword flying across the deck. She tries to copy
the gesture, aligning her foot directly with my heart. But she can’t keep her
balance, and as soon as her ankle is in the air, I grab it and twist. She whirls
over and crashes onto her hip.
I take a step toward her. Her palms are flat on the deck, but when she sees
me nearing, her head whips up and she curls her leg out. I feel my feet being
swept out from under me, but catch myself before I slam beside her.
I step back and Lira pounces to her feet again. We eye each other like
hunter and prey, and I co*ck an eyebrow, daring her to move toward me. Lira
smiles impishly in return and picks up her fallen weapon.
We continue on that way, swords arcing through the air, our breath ragged.
Soon there’s sun in the distance, or perhaps even moonlight. Everything is
muted and as Lira swoops her blade down on mine once more, I let it all fall
away. My mission, my kingdom. The world. They exist somewhere other
than in this moment, and now there is only this. Me, my ship, and a girl with
oceans in her eyes.
24
Lira
I HUM IN SYNC with the ocean, one hand hitched to the empty sword loop on
my waist and the other closing over the edge of the Saad. Night quilts the sky
with stars sown like the uneven stitching of my jacket.
A new land lies somewhere in reach – the next plotted point in Elian’s
quest – and the crew sleeps peacefully below while we sail toward it. Above
where I linger, the ship’s wheel stands firm, twitching ever so slightly to steer
the Saad onward. Even without a pirate awake to command it, Elian’s mighty
vessel navigates knowingly along his chosen course.
I fasten my jacket over my chest as the wind picks up speed and quicken
my song to match the pace. It’s an odd sensation to be able to sing and have
nobody suffer a consequence for it. To use my voice in the complete opposite
way it was intended, with neither death nor sorrow in its wake. Leaving
behind nothing but a melody.
I feel at peace.
There’s something about the easy routine of the Saad that settles the awful
parts holding true inside my heart. Nights are spent taking in the uncanny
tranquility of the ocean, far from my mother’s wrath, and the crew – even
Kye, who isn’t at all afraid to be entirely unwelcoming – offers a unique
comfort. The easy rapport they share reminds me of home. Of Kahlia. They
look at Elian the same way my cousin looks at me: with devotion that isn’t
offered in blind fidelity, but earned through something far deeper. Trust.
Friendship. Maybe even love. At the very least, I can pretend not to be my
mother’s daughter. Live like I’ve never killed, and spend hours of a day
without worrying that everything I do might be used against me.
I can almost see why Elian chose to abandon his birthright in favor of such
a nomadic life. Though I plan to return to the Diávolos Sea and take my
mother’s place, I can’t deny the appeal of a life spent far from the weight of
kingdoms. It definitely isn’t the worst idea the prince has had. Most likely. At
least he knows what he wants.
My mother’s voice boomerangs inside my mind, commanding me to give
up the hope of trying to overthrow her and just take Elian’s heart before it’s
too late. If I fail at getting the Second Eye of Keto, then not only will I die,
but I’ll die a traitor to the ocean. But what’s the alternative? Bowing and
praying that one day she gives me the throne, all the while watching Kahlia
wince in her presence? If I follow my mother’s orders, then I’m condemning
Kahlia and the rest of the ocean to her rule. But if I don’t follow them, if I
dare to go through with my plot, then I risk proving just how defective I
really am.
I grip the ship more tightly, inhaling the slick salt in the air.
If only my quest were as simple as Elian’s, singularly focused on being
,the
savior of humanity. It might seem like a big undertaking, but it’s not like it
requires him to betray everything he’s ever known. If he succeeds, his mother
might be proud. If I succeed, mine might die.
Thinking of Elian makes the night seem colder. I know whichever plan I
go with will lead to his death. Either I try to kill him now, or I wait to kill him
after, but there’s no path I’ve mapped out for myself that doesn’t end
alongside his life.
Every action will betray. Every choice will slaughter. Despite what my
mother says, I seem to be the exact kind of monster she wanted.
The very moment I think that, a soft melody slips through the air. A distant
lullaby, too far to make out, but familiar all the same. It’s drowsing and
seductive. So much so that it takes me a few moments to realize the ship is
quaking. It’s like the ocean hears the treachery of my thoughts and sends a
mighty force crashing into the side of the Saad. I hurl forward and my hands
slam over the edge of the ship’s body.
I barely stop myself from plummeting overboard. I hold back a scream and
look down at the peaceful ocean below. There’s not a wave in sight, or the
slow bubble of froth that comes after such a powerful surge. But there is a
shadow.
I blink.
It lingers in the pooling darkness, half-swallowed by water and gripping
firmly on to the Saad. I squint, leaning farther over the edge to get a closer
look.
From the darkness, a skeleton claw rises.
The shadow scrambles toward me, scurrying up the side of the Saad with
nefarious speed. I jump back just in time for the creature to pounce onto the
deck and shake the sails.
Ridges crisscross down its body like scars, patched by motes of gray that
seep into its flesh. Each of its fins are set apart in razors, and its large torso is
carved into endless folds, leading to arms that end in inky talons. Half-shark,
half something far more demonic.
The Flesh-Eater.
I drop to my knees and my mother’s monster roars. He skitters toward me,
reaching out with slick palms to drag a hand down my cheek.
“Pórni mou,” he gnarls.
I don’t react to the possessive claim, or the repulsive way he phrases it, his
claws scraped against my skin in warning. I was wary of the Flesh-Eater even
when I was a siren, but now that I’m human, he could easily tear through me.
Perhaps that’s why my mother sent him. I wonder why Elian and his crew
haven’t come running. Is it possible they didn’t feel the ship lurch? I focus
again on that familiar lullaby gliding through the wind, making my eyes
heavier with each verse.
A siren’s song. Making sure the crew stays in their slumber.
“Anthrópinos,” the Flesh-Eater barks.
Human.
The word croaks from deep within his throat, splintering through the
cracks in his fangs. Disgusted. Curious. Perhaps amused, if it’s possible for
mermen to feel something so closely related to joy. The Flesh-Eater takes
ahold of my chin and jerks my face to his so I can smell the sour blood on his
breath. When he slides his viscous lips against mine, I keep deadly still. My
teeth grate together, but it’s only seconds before I feel flesh crawling along
my tongue. I can taste the decay in him.
The Flesh-Eater rips away from me and spits. He swipes his shark tail in
the air and bares his saliva-stringed fangs. He can taste the humanity in me
just as I can taste the demon in him. At his outburst, a call of laughter spills
from the ocean, ricocheting off the Saad and blowing through her sails. The
music climbs and my heart clinches.
My mother’s long tentacles spill over the deck like oil, familiar tribal
tattoos cutting across her skin. Her crown sits gloriously sharpened, crawling
down the length of her back in a magnificent headdress. She grasps the
trident and stares at me with eyes like pits.
“Don’t look so frightened, darling.” The Sea Queen bears her fangs to a
smile. “Mother’s here.”
I pull myself up from my knees and stare hard at the floor, to give the
appearance of bowing. The longer I glare at the wood grain, the more my
skin heats, sweat pasting through my clothes as the anger boils beneath. I can
hardly bear the thought of looking at her. After everything she’s done, for her
to show up here – on Elian’s ship, of all places – is the worst kind of insult.
A terse silence gathers between us, and for a moment I wonder what the
next sound will be. The Flesh-Eater’s roar; my mother’s laughter; the erratic
pounding of my furious heart.
Instead I hear my song.
The deadly lullaby from before grows louder, and I snap my head up in
sudden recognition, stumbling backward. It crawls across the deck, reaching
out with delicate hands to sway the Saad. The melody is as opiate as ever,
and even I’m barely able to keep my footing as it grows. Hearing it feels like
being lost in a memory, or a dream that’s impossible to wake from. It feels
like being born into a world imagined.
With the lie of my song, there’s no chance any of the crew will wake from
their sleep.
My mother presses a long webbed finger to her chest, and her seashell
flickers against my voice. When my eyes begin to fog, her mouth tugs up.
“It’s only a keepsake,” she says. “I’ll return it if you succeed.”
I try desperately to blink the sorrow from my eyes. “Have you come to
taunt me?” I ask.
“Not at all,” the Sea Queen says. “I’ve come to see how the Princes’ Bane
is faring.” She arches her neck. “Do you have the prince’s heart hidden
somewhere in those unsightly rags?”
It doesn’t surprise me that she’s come to check if I’m sticking to her plan.
Being punished and pushed in the exact direction she’s plotted, like Elian’s
ship following his course even while the captain sleeps. I am my mother’s
vessel. Or so she thinks.
“It’s not that simple,” I say.
“Oh, Lira.” She swipes a string of seaweed from her trident. “Queens do
not make excuses. I suppose this is just further proof of why you can’t
become one.”
“I deserve to be queen,” I say. “I’m strong enough to lead our kind.”
“You’re weak,” she accuses. “You’ve always been weak. Look at you
now, dressed in your human clothes, with your human emotions. Do you
know what I see in your eyes, Lira? It’s not death or darkness or even anger.
It’s tears.”
I swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the look on your face,” she says. “Your human grief.”
I want to argue, but even I can’t deny the sadness pricking the backs of my
eyes. I felt anger as a siren, but never sorrow. Not since I took Crestell’s heart
with my mother’s hand steady on my shoulder. But hearing my song cleave
through Elian’s ship, knowing that at this very moment my mother is still
able to use me as a weapon without my consent, feels like being speared. And
the way she looks at me, not at all concerned, so entirely contrasted by the
worry I felt when I saw Kahlia’s wounds. Or that Kye had when Maeve
attacked Elian. Or even the look on the prince’s face when he pulled me from
the ocean my mother left me to drown in. How can the Sea Queen see it as a
weakness when it’s the very thing that binds the humans together, ensuring
their strength as a unit? A family.
The Flesh-Eater snarls and my mother reaches out to run a talon over his
face. She slices a line across his cheek slowly, soothingly, and the Flesh-
Eater growls in satisfaction.
“Your time is running out, Lira,” she says, bringing her finger to her lips.
“And if you don’t bring me the prince’s heart soon, then I’m going to take
yours.”
25
Lira
WHEN I LOOK IN the mirror, a stranger stares back. She takes in my newfound
piracy and my newfound humanity – the face the Flesh-Eater still claimed for
his own – and frowns in a way that marks her innocent features with a
curious dent, deep in the center of her brows. Her lips thin and she roughly
irons the wrinkle out with the palm of her hand.
My skin is flushed red from sun and my hair is stiff with the saltwater
breeze. I step forward and touch the glass with spiny fingers, blinking rapidly
as I take in this version of myself. Legs and feet. Eyes, each the
,same color.
A human heart beating somewhere underneath it all, ready for my mother to
take.
In the reflection, I see Elian. He stands behind me with an amused
expression, leaning against the doorway, his arms tangled over his chest. He
doesn’t say anything, and we continue to watch each other through the
pathway of glass until an odd feeling washes over me, worse than dread.
Soon we’ll be in Psémata, and that means Págos won’t be far off. Then the
Cloud Mountain. The Second Eye of Keto. Elian’s certain death. Each point
of my deception is so seamlessly plotted that I should feel prepared. But I
don’t. Everyone I’m going to betray is too close. My mother may even be
watching, and that means there’s a chance she could discover my plan. It
feels like a miracle that she didn’t smell it on me before, or hear how fast my
human heart beat. And then there’s Elian, who gave me a blade instead of
stabbing me with it, standing behind me now. The mercy he practices and the
loyalty he has earned are both ideals that my mother would sooner burn out
of me – because mercy is never an option, and loyalty is always taken – but
those very emotions my mother said made me weak seem to make him
strong. He’s a warrior who is my opposite in every way and yet, in some
ways, maybe fierceness alone, we seem to be the same.
In the mirror, Elian continues to stare. I frown when I realize that my back
is to him. I’ve never been able to turn my back on my mother before.
I spin to face him. “What?” I ask.
“Are you done admiring yourself?”
“Never,” I say, though truth be told, I’m glad to be distracted from my
thoughts.
“We’re about to dock at Psémata. Try to remember what I told you.”
As though I could forget. What he told me was to lie, which I had enough
practice in to not think of it as something that needed to be done, but
something that always was.
“If Psémata is so dangerous,” I say, “then why are we stopping there?”
“Because we need to get something.”
I shoot Elian a skeptical look. “You mean we need to steal something.”
“Good,” he says. “You’re learning.”
I follow him out onto the main deck, where the crew is gathered. Kye tucks
his sword into the strap across his chest and slips a pistol under his coat.
Rather than go to his side, Elian avoids eye contact with his bodyguard,
choosing to stay beside me. Kye doesn’t move to shadow him either,
suddenly preoccupied with adjusting his coat collar.
“You’d think the land of lies would be a little more forgiving when it came
to thievery,” Madrid says. “But apparently not.”
I give Elian a scathing look. “You stole something last time you were
here,” I say. “And now you’re going to do it again?”
“Who said I was the one who stole something the first time?”
His voice is indignant, which doesn’t fool me. I roll my eyes to illustrate
this, and Elian sighs.
“Look,” he says, “all that matters is that the Saad isn’t welcome.”
“The Saad,” I repeat. “Or you?”
“You say that like there’s any sort of difference.”
“I suppose there isn’t.” I twist my seashell between my fingers. “You’re
both equally dense.”
Elian laughs. Loudly, monotone, and in a way that’s nearly as mocking as
my comment. “Come on,” he says. “We don’t have time for you to learn how
to be funny.”
PSÉMATA IS A VERY peculiar shade of gray.
There’s color, but it’s diluted into an eerie film of black. Like a just-visible
cloud coating the land in a tint of shadow and dust. It reminds me of looking
through murky ocean water at twilight, or the feeling of staring straight into
my mother’s eyes. A darkness that seems ever-present.
I rub a knuckle in my eye and when my vision refocuses, everything seems
darker than it was before. The more I try to make the shade disappear, the
stronger it gets. It’s no wonder this is the land of lies and treachery, with air
as gray and smog-like as the scruples of the people who breathe it.
The wind sweats as we weave through the streets, avoiding eye contact and
the usual noise Elian and his crew enjoy making. Only a dozen of them are
with us, the others waiting on the Saad. They move like wraiths, floating
instead of walking. Gliding across the hardstone pavements. I stumble to
keep in step with them, nowhere near as graceful, but every bit as invisible.
As we make our way across the square, I tip my hat farther down my head.
It’s ridiculous, I realize, because there isn’t a human alive who can recognize
me. If anything, I’m the most ghostlike of us all. Still, I do it anyway, thrilled
by the slight jump of my heart when someone lingers their stare on our group
for too long. When I look to Elian, his face is blank and stoic, but his eyes are
nowhere near as dead. They flicker with the same dirty pleasure. It’s this, I
realize, that draws the crew as much as the ocean. The pleasure of becoming
as elusive as they are notorious.
We turn into an alleyway, where a man waits for us. He’s dressed in a long
black coat with a white pressed-down collar, and his heavily ringed hand
rests upon a cane that is the same sandy shade as his hair.
Elian flashes him a smile, and when the man doesn’t return it, he flashes
him a pouch of coin instead. A toothy grin slides onto the stranger’s face, and
he presses his palm flat against the gray stone wall. It slides out from under
him, drawing back like a curtain.
He hands Elian a small key and gestures for us to step inside. Once we do,
the wall closes behind us and leaves nothing but shadows in our midst. The
torchlight flickers as wisps of air blow through the stone entrance. We hunch
together at the foot of a staircase the narrow room can barely contain. I reach
up to fiddle with my seashell. The space is too small, and I realize quickly
that it’s the smallest space I’ve ever been in. Even the crystal cage seems
commodious in comparison.
“What is this?” I ask.
Elian casts a glance over his shoulder. “Stairs,” he says, and begins to
climb them.
I don’t waste good breath on a retort. Staring up at the never-ending spiral,
I have a suspicion that I’ll need to save it. I can’t imagine the climb up the
Cloud Mountain of Págos being this arduous.
I keep my silence as we ascend, wondering if we’ll reach the top before my
legs buckle out from under me. But just as it seems I won’t be able to take
another step, Elian comes to a halt and a large oak door emerges from the
barely there light.
“This is dramatic,” I say, squashing myself into the space beside him. “Is
someone on the other side going to try to kill us?”
“Since when did you become one of us?” Kye asks, and Madrid jerks him
in the ribs. He grunts and then says, “Fine. I look forward to you laying down
your life for mine, comrade,” at which point I debate whether or not to push
him back down the stairs.
I watch Elian pull the key from his pocket and twist it into the slanted lock.
When the door pushes open, I expect to be hit with a rush of dust or the smell
of dying embers and decay. Instead I’m hit by light. It flashes away gray and
echoes from dozens of sphere-shaped torches that blink with deep yellow
flames.
The room is large and accommodating enough for a hidden attic, with an
alleyway of doors that lead off to separate rooms. A low chandelier slices
through the middle, with beads that graze the polished floors.
“This is not what I expected,” I say, taken aback by the misplaced
opulence.
Elian steps farther into the room. “As you like to remind me,” he says, “I
am a prince. This is where royalty who don’t want to be found go to never be
found.”
“This is where we should always stay.” Kye throws himself onto a plush
fur chair that leans against the farthest wall. “There’s no rum, but damn if the
beds aren’t good.”
“Like you’re going to find out,” Madrid says with a smile. “Only enough
beds for half of us, remember? And I think it’s your turn for floor duty.”
“We can’t share?” He presses an injured hand to his chest. “Plenty of
women would kill to climb into bed with me.”
Madrid bristles. “They’re single beds,” she says sharply.
Undeterred, Kye places a hand on her knee.
,and I can attest to the fact that it
has never been gold.
This, my crew knows. They’ve been the ones to clean my wounds and
stitch my skin back together. Yet they entertain the legend, laughing and
nodding dubiously whenever people speak of golden blood. They would
never betray the secret of my ordinariness.
“Of course,” Madrid will say to any who ask. “The cap’s made from the
purest parts of the sun. Seeing him bleed is like looking into the eyes of the
gods.”
Kye will always lean in then and lower his voice in the way only someone
who knows all of my secrets could. “After a woman is with him, she cries
tears of nothing but liquid metal for a week. Half for missing his touch so
terrible, and the other half to buy back her pride.”
“Yeah,” Torik always adds. “And he sh*ts rainbows too.”
I linger on the forecastle of the Saad, anchored in the Midasan docks. I’m
unsettled at the idea of having my feet on solid ground after so many weeks.
It’s always the way. Stranger still is the thought that I’ll need to leave the
truest parts of myself on the Saad before I head to the pyramid and my
family. It’s been nearly a year since I’ve been back, and though I’ve missed
them, it doesn’t seem like long enough.
Kye stands beside me. The rest of the crew has begun the walk, like an
army marching for the palace, but he rarely leaves my side unless asked.
Boatswain, best friend, and bodyguard. He would never admit that last part,
though my father offered him enough money for the position. Of course, at
the time, Kye had already been on my crew for long enough to know better
than to try to save me, and my friend long enough to be willing to try
anyway.
Still, he took the gold. He took most things just because he could. It came
with the territory of being a diplomat’s son. If Kye was going to disappoint
his father by joining me on a siren scavenger hunt rather than spending a life
in politics and cross-kingdom negotiations, then he wasn’t going to do it by
halves. He was going to throw everything he had into it. After all, the threat
of disinheritance had already been carried out.
Around me, everything shimmers. Buildings and pavements and even the
docks. In the sky, hundreds of tiny gold lanterns float to the heavens,
celebrating my homecoming. My father’s adviser is from the land of fortune-
tellers and prophets, and so he always knows when I’m due to return. Each
time the skies dance with flaming lanterns, bejeweled beside stars.
I inhale the familiar smell of my homeland. Midas always seems to smell
of fruit. So many different kinds all at once. Butter pears and clingstone
peaches, their honey-stuck flesh mingling with the sweet brandy of apricots.
And under it all is the fading smell of licorice, which is coming from the
Saad and, most likely, me.
“Elian.” Kye slings an arm over my shoulder. “We should get going if we
want anything to eat tonight. You know that lot won’t leave any chow for us
if we give them half a chance.”
I laugh, but it sounds more like a sigh.
I take off my hat. I’ve already changed out of my sea attire and into the one
respectable outfit I keep aboard my ship. A cream shirt, with buttons rather
than string, and midnight-blue trousers held up by a golden belt. Not quite fit
for a prince, but nothing of the pirate in it either. I’ve even removed my
family crest from the thin chain around my neck and placed it on my thumb.
“Right.” I hook my hat over the ship wheel. “Best get it over with.”
“It won’t be so bad.” Kye hitches his collar. “You might find yourself
enjoying the bowing. Might even abandon ship and leave us all stranded in
the land of gold.” He reaches over and messes up my hair. “Wouldn’t be such
a bad thing,” he says. “I quite like gold.”
“A true pirate.” I shove him halfheartedly. “But you can get that idea out
of your head. We’ll go to the palace, attend the ball they’ll no doubt throw in
my honor, and be gone before the week is out.”
“A ball?” Kye’s eyebrows rise. “What an honor, My Liege.” He bends
over in a swooping bow, one hand to his stomach.
I shove him again. Harder. “Gods.” I wince. “Please don’t.”
Again he bows, though this time he can hardly keep from laughing. “As
you desire, Your Highness.”
MY FAMILY IS IN the throne room. The chamber is decorated in floating balls
of gold, flags printed with the Midasan crest, and a large table filled with
jewels and gifts. Presents from the people to celebrate their prince’s return.
Having abandoned Kye to the dining hall, I watch my family from the
doorway, not quite ready to announce my presence.
“It’s not that I don’t think he deserves it,” my sister says.
Amara is sixteen, with eyes like molokhia and hair as black as mine, and
almost always sprinkled with gold and gemstones.
“It’s just that I hardly think he’ll want it.” Amara holds up a gold bracelet
in the shape of a leaf and presents it to the king and queen. “Really,” she
argues. “Can you see Elian wearing this? I’m doing him a favor.”
“Stealing is a favor now?” asks the queen. The braids on either side of her
fringe swing as she turns to her husband. “Shall we send her to Kléftes to live
with the rest of the thieves?”
“I wouldn’t dream of it,” says the king. “Send my little demon there and
they’ll see it as an act of war when she steals the crest ring.”
“Nonsense.” I finally stride into the room. “She’d be smart enough to go
for the crown first.”
“Elian!”
Amara runs to me and flings her arms around my neck. I return the hug
and lift her off the floor, as excited to see her as she is to see me.
“You’re home!” she says, once I set her back on the ground.
I look at her with mock injury. “For five minutes and you’re already
planning to rob me.”
Amara pokes me in the stomach. “Only a little.”
My father rises from his throne and his teeth gleam against his dark skin.
“My son.”
He envelops me in a hug and claps me on each shoulder. My mother
descends the steps to join us. She’s petite, barely reaching my father’s
shoulder, and has delicate, graceful features. Her hair is cut bluntly at her
chin, and her eyes are green and catlike, lined in wisps of black that lick her
temples.
The king is her opposite in every way. Large and muscular, with a goatee
tied with beads. His eyes are a brown that match his skin, and his jaw is sharp
and square. With Midas hieratic decorating his face, he looks every bit the
warrior.
My mother smiles. “We were beginning to worry you had forgotten us.”
“Only for a little while.” I kiss her cheek. “I remembered as soon as we
docked. I saw the pyramid and thought, Oh, my family lives there. I
remember their faces. I hope they bought a bracelet to celebrate my return.” I
shoot Amara a grin and she pokes me again.
“Have you eaten?” my mother asks. “There’s quite the feast in the banquet
hall. I think your friends are in there now.”
My father grunts. “No doubt eating everything but our utensils.”
“If you want them to eat the cutlery, you should have it carved from
cheese.”
“Really, Elian.” My mother smacks my shoulder and then brings her hand
up to brush my hair from my forehead. “You look so tired,” she says.
I take her hand and kiss it. “I’m fine. That’s just what sleeping on a ship
does to a man.”
Really, I don’t think I looked tired until the moment I walked off the Saad
and onto the gold-painted cement of Midas. Just one step and the life drained
out of me.
“You should try sleeping in your own bed longer than a few days a year,”
says my father.
“Radames,” my mother scolds. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just speaking to the boy! There’s nothing out there but ocean.”
“And sirens,” I remind him.
“Ha!” His laugh is a bellow. “And it’s your job to seek them out, is it? If
you’re not careful, you’ll leave us like Adékaros.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“It means that your sister may have to take the throne.”
“We won’t have to worry, then.” I sling my arm around Amara. “She’d
definitely make a better queen than me.”
Amara stifles a laugh.
“She’s sixteen,” my father chides. “A child should be allowed to live her
,“I’ll flip you for it.”
Madrid pushes his hand from her leg. “Heads I win, tails you’re an idiot?”
“Torik should sleep on the floor,” Kye says, settling back into the chair.
“He’s always on about home comforts being dangerous for making us believe
we actually have a home.”
Torik casts him a side-eye. “I know enough about knives to stick them
where the sun don’t shine if you aren’t careful.” Kye smirks. “It’s not good
form for someone like me to sleep on the floor. I’m practically an aristocrat.”
Torik casts him a blank, unimpressed stare. “You’re an aristoprat,” he says.
I look to Elian, who stands like a statue beside me. It’s surprising not to
hear him chime in with his crew’s tender insults, or smile as they carelessly
throw cheers around. He brings his hand to the back of his neck, unsure what
to do with himself when he’s not smiling.
“So our next step is to hide out here?” I ask.
“Our next step is to try to think of how we’re going to get our hands on an
ancient artifact without revealing who we are,” Elian says.
“Steal,” I correct. “How you’re going to steal an ancient artifact.”
“It’s not stealing if you’re stealing it back.” Elian slips out of his jacket and
throws it onto the table behind him. “The necklace belongs to the Págos
family. I bargained a lot to get my hands on the map that shows their route up
the mountain, but without the necklace, all of it is for nothing. She told me it
was the key to the hidden dome.”
“She,” I repeat. “Who are you talking about?”
“The Princess of Págos,” Elian says.
His eyes dart to Kye, and a strange look passes between them. Kye clears
his throat.
“You mean she sacrificed her family’s secrets for jewelry?” I scoff. “How
trite.”
Elian raises an eyebrow. “If I remember rightly,” he says, with a look that
is far too smug, “you were willing to sacrifice your life for a necklace.”
“I was willing to sacrifice yours first,” I say.
LONG AFTER THE REST of the crew disappears into sleep, Elian and I sit
together. We plot in the most ghastly ways, scheming through each detail of
his plan, including how to get the princess her family’s necklace without
getting a bullet in our hearts. Key points I’m keen to clarify.
Sunlight threatens to spill through the tiny round window above us, buried
in the arch of the ceiling. The candles have died down to withering embers,
and their faint afterglow casts blurry shadows around us. The smell of dawn
smokes through the air, and with it the grayness seeps in from the outside
world.
“I still don’t understand how you know that these pirates have the
necklace,” I say.
“The Xaprár are infamous for stealing from royalty,” Elian explains,
palming a licorice stick. “If there’s a precious heirloom missing anywhere in
the world, you better believe that Tallis Rycroft and his band of pirate thieves
have it in hand.”
“Even if that’s true, wouldn’t they have sold it by now? What use would it
be to keep something like that?”
“You’re assuming that Rycroft needs to steal to survive,” Elian says.
“Maybe he did once, but now he steals just to prove that he can. A necklace
like that carries prestige. It would be more of a trophy to him than a treasure.
Just another artifact to prove how good he is.”
“If he’s that good,” I say,“how are you going to steal it from him? I think
he might notice your hand running through his pockets.”
“Misdirection.” Elian takes a bite out of the licorice stick. “They look over
here” – he waves a hand theatrically – “while I’m pilfering over here.” He
wags his other hand at me, looking all too satisfied. “As long as you can
manage to look innocent and above suspicion.”
“And if that doesn’t work?”
“I have a backup plan.” Elian produces a small vial from his pocket with a
flourish. “It’s less wily, but equally duplicitous.”
“Poison?” I muse. “Were you keeping that around for your future wife?”
“It’s not lethal,” Elian says. For a killer, he seems oddly offended at the
idea. “And no.” He pauses, then turns to me with a half-smile. “Unless you
were my wife.”
“If I were your wife, then I’d take it.”
“Ha!” He throws his head back and pockets the vial once more.
“Thankfully that’s not something we have to worry about.”
“Because you’re betrothed?”
He hesitates. “Why would you say that?”
“You’re royal,” I tell him. “That’s what royalty does. They marry for
power.”
I think back to the Flesh-Eater and the way my mother’s voice turned into
a song when she told me she had chosen her finest warrior to continue our
line. The orange rusted blood in the corners of his lips as he regarded me with
a mix of hunger and regimented disinterest. And on the Saad, just nights
before, when he claimed me even in my human body. An uneasiness creeps
through me at the memory.
“I don’t want it to be that way,” Elian says. “When I marry, it won’t be
about power.”
“What will it be, then?”
“Sacrifice.”
His voice is crisp. There’s a certainty to it, as though he’s resigned to the
fact rather than proud of it. He swallows, just loud enough to catch me off
guard, and the action makes me shift, his discomfort snaking through the air
toward me.
Elian’s eyes drop to the floor, and I feel as though I’ve exposed him or
he’s laid himself bare and suddenly regrets it. Either way, I’m not sure what
I’m supposed to say, and something about the moment seems so personal –
too personal – that I find myself searching for anything to fill the quiet.
“You’re right,” I tell him, trying to shake the melancholy from my voice.
“Spending a lifetime with you would be a sacrifice.”
“Oh?” A glow returns to Elian’s eyes and he smiles as though the last few
seconds didn’t happen. Erasing whatever parts of his past he doesn’t want to
remember.
“What would you be losing?” he asks.
“If I married you?” I stand to tower above him, pushing away the
unraveling thing inside me. “I suppose it would be my mind.”
I turn, and the ricochets of his laughter follow me out of the room. But
even with that infectious melody, I can’t shake the look that crossed his face
when I mentioned marriage. It makes me more curious than I ought to be.
I think sinister thoughts, but I know the most likely of them is an arranged
marriage, ordered by the Midasan king to bind their kingdom to another.
Maybe the weight Elian carries is born from the shackles of a royal life and a
kingdom that is unwanted but needed all the same. It’s something I can
understand. Another similarity between us that I’d be blind not to note. In the
pits of our souls – if I amuse myself with the notion that I have a soul – Elian
and I aren’t so different. Two kingdoms that come with responsibilities we
each have trouble bearing. Him, the shackles of being pinned to one land and
one life. Me, trapped in the confines of my mother’s murderous legacy. And
the ocean, calling out to us both. A song of freedom and longing.
26
Elian
STEALING IS SOMETHING I first mastered when I was sixteen and spent the
better part of the year in the northern isle of Kléftes. Everything was new and
it was all I could do not to beg everyone I met for a piece of their history. A
skill or a story only they knew. I wanted it all.
My crew was barely a crew and I was barely a man, let alone a pirate.
After Kye, Torik was one of the first men I recruited, and with his addition,
my father insisted on a ship capable of the task I set myself, while I insisted
on something that was more weapon than boat.
I gained Torik’s unyielding loyalty in his home country of Ánthrakas,
where the mines run deep and coal travels through the wind in a song. But
though he was great with a pistol and even greater with a sword, even he
didn’t have the stomach for the brute force that was needed to kill a siren.
And as the days went on, I found I was the same. I needed to be more agile.
Kléftes breeds thieves, but more than that it breeds ghosts. Men and
women traded like cattle, reared to be demons and killers and whatever else
their masters demand. Subject to the whims of slavers who would sooner sell
their own people than lose a trinket.
,They are trained to be as invisible as
they are deadly, able to sweep in through the night unnoticed and carry out
deeds that never could be done in the true light of day.
I wanted to learn from them, and one day, when the mantle of king was
forced upon me, inflict the same suffering on them that they inflicted on the
world. Sirens weren’t the only enemy. Humans could be just as demonic, and
it was a wonder to me that my father and the other kingdoms hadn’t banded
together to wage war on Kléftes. What good was a global peace treaty if the
kingdoms were savaging themselves?
Of course, Madrid changed that. When I strode into Kléftes and saw her –
tattooed and bleeding from so many wounds, it was hard to make out her face
beneath it all – I realized that some things couldn’t be fixed. In a world that
bred killers as easily as ours, the best I could hope for was to make them
mine. Killers couldn’t undo death, but they could find new prey. They could
find a different kind of pain to inflict.
I stare at the Xaprár as they prepare their ship for sail. They’re Kléftesis
snatchers known for sleuthing into kingdoms and leaving with the most
precious jewels. Masters of disguise who have stolen heirlooms from too
many royals to count. They would be legends if they weren’t so reviled by
the ruling families. It would be easy enough to declare a bounty on their
heads, but nobody would be brave enough to try their hand at it. Going after
one of the Xaprár would be like going after a member of the Saad. Which
means that it would be suicide. Not to mention that the Xaprár are good at
stealing from royalty but even better at stealing for royalty. Thieves for hire
who most of the families don’t dare think of crossing, for fear they may need
their services one day.
Luckily, I don’t have that fear.
I watch Tallis Rycroft lounge at the base of the mighty dock steps. He
counts his loot brazenly, fingers slick with the kind of speed that comes only
from years of earning nothing and taking everything.
I’m not one to listen to the stories that filter through our world like grains
of salt through open hands, but there’s something about Rycroft that has
always set me on edge. He owns a slave ship in the northern isle. I can’t be
sure which, and I know it’s unlikely to be the same vessel Madrid had to
murder her way out of, but there isn’t a member of my crew who doesn’t
bristle at his name. Politics prevail, though, and declaring a feud with the
Xaprár wouldn’t be worth it.
I look to Madrid and Kye, who tuck themselves behind the shrubs beside
me. While Kye turns to me with a questioning stare, Madrid’s eyes stay
focused on Rycroft, unblinking. She won’t risk letting him out of her sight;
she doesn’t risk anything when it comes to her countrymen. It’s why Kye
insisted he be in her squad, if for nothing else than to hold her back if the
time comes.
Torik has taken flank across the way with more of the crew, weapons
poised for whatever could go wrong. To approach Rycroft with my crew, in
any place outside of a tavern, would arouse suspicion. I have to be cautious
and clever, which is lucky because I like to think I’m always both of those
things at any given time.
I turn to Lira. She looks like a portrait, with deep copper hair pulled from
her star-freckled face, only confirming the fact that she isn’t capable of lying
low. Not saying whatever crosses her damned mind. Lira can keep secrets but
she can’t, by any stretch of the imagination, keep peace. While I have ample
practice in pretend, there’s too much fire in Lira’s eyes for such things. Some
people burn so brightly, it’s impossible to put the flames out. Thankfully,
that’s just what I need.
The captain of the Saad approaching another pirate ship with his league of
siren killers would only end in death, but Elian Midas, prince and arrogant
son of a bitch, strolling through the docks with a new woman on his arm, too
brazen to be a sleuth or a spy . . . that just might work. Rycroft might just let
enough of his guard down to let us aboard his ship. And once we’re on board,
all I need is for Lira to confirm he has what we’re looking for.
“If you’re ready,” I say to Lira,“I give you permission to risk your life for
me.”
She lifts her chin. There’s something about the way she carries herself that
reminds me of the women at court. She has the air of someone with a lifetime
of never knowing anything but her own way. I know because I have an
identical look. Though I try to hide it, I know it’s still there. The entitlement.
The stubbornness that can never truly be lost.
It’s not a look that belongs on the face of a lost orphan girl.
I make to take her hand and head toward Rycroft’s ship, when Kye grabs
on to my shirtsleeve. He doesn’t need to say anything; I can read the look in
his eyes telling me that he’d rather be the one by my side if we’re going to go
head-on with Rycroft. Truth be told, I’d feel better having him there too.
Thing is, as pretty as Kye might find himself, I don’t think Rycroft would
agree, and what I need right now is an inconspicuous companion, not a
pirate-shaped protector.
“Just trust me,” I tell him.
“It’s not you I don’t trust.”
Lira laughs, like someone worrying about my safety is the funniest thing
she’s heard all day. “Better be careful,” she tells me. “I could strike a bargain
with the Xaprár and use those three days of sword training to stab you in the
back.”
“As though you’d ever abandon the luxuries of the Saad for Rycroft’s rust
boat,” I say, gesturing to Rycroft’s ship.
It isn’t a bad vessel, but it’s no match for the deadly beauty of the Saad.
With a redwood body and sails the color of ash, it’s more than worthy for
looting, but to hunt the Princes’ Bane and her sea witch mother, or hold a
prince whose heart does not beat but crashes like ocean waves . . . well, it’s
not quite capable of that.
“I don’t see much difference,” Lira says. “Paint the wood a shade darker,
give the captain a large chip for his shoulder, and I wouldn’t notice a thing.”
I widen my eyes, outraged, but Lira only smiles.
“Just remember,” she says, blue eyes glistening,“if you want this scum to
believe you and I could be together” – her voice echoes with shameless
disbelief – “then you need to take off that ridiculous hat.”
“Just you remember,” I say as we step out from behind the shrubs and
approach my lounging rival, “if we’re caught, there’s no way in hell I’m
risking my neck to save you.”
Rycroft spots us the moment we maneuver out of the dark and into the
unforgiving light of the star-dappled sky. He doesn’t speak as we approach,
or move from his sprawling position on the dock steps that lead to his ship.
But I know he sees us. He continues counting his riches, but his moves are
more precise. It’s not until we’re directly above him that he deigns to look up
with a gold-studded grin.
Objectively speaking, Tallis Rycroft isn’t a handsome man. His features
don’t quite seem to belong to him, just another thing he’s stolen. His eyes are
dark pits that bore into his ashen skin, and his lips are pale brown – thin and
curved upward in a permanent smirk, hooded by a slender mustache. A deep
burgundy turban wraps around his head, and from it large pieces of gold and
silver hang like droplets, falling into his face and down his neck. When he
looks at me, he runs his tongue over his lips.
“Where’s your guard dog?” he asks in heavy Kléftesis.
“Which one?” I reply in Midasan, not willing to give him the satisfaction
of making me use the tongue of thieves and slavers.
Rycroft stands and leans against the rope of the dock steps. “If you’re here,
Kye and that tattooed whor* can’t be far off. And let me guess: She has a
target on my head? Like a pissant prince would dare take me out.”
I school my features into surprise. “Such paranoia,” I say. “It’s just me and
my lady friend, alone and unarmed. Really, you can’t be scared of a single
pissant prince, can you?”
Rycroft narrows his eyes. “And this one?” He casts a lecherous grin toward
Lira. Though
,I’m sure she doesn’t speak the language – there aren’t many
outside Kléftes who do – her face twists in measured disgust.
“Not a guard dog,” I tell him.
“Really?” He slips into Midasan and lets an alley-cat grin loose on his
face. “Looks like a bitch to me.”
I keep a lofty smile on my face. “You’re as pleasant as ever.” I slip a lazy
arm around Lira’s waist. She bristles and then eases herself rigidly into my
grip. “And after my new friend and I came to admire your ship.”
“Admire it,” Rycroft repeats. “Or steal it?”
“An entire boat?” I give him my most sh*t-eating grin. “It’s nice to know
you have such a high opinion of me.” I turn to Lira. “Do you think it could fit
in your purse?”
“Perhaps,” she says. “Nothing here looks very big.”
She casts a meaningful look at Rycroft and I cough, covering my mouth to
hide the possibility of laughter.
Rycroft snarls. “Okay,” he says. “I’ll play this out.” He opens his arms in a
dangerous welcome, revealing the full mass of the ship behind him. “Come
aboard. We’ll talk over rum fit for a king.”
It’s a jab. A double-edged sword to point out what I’ve not yet become and
mock me with what I will one day be. Never a pirate, always a prince.
I accept Rycroft’s invitation with a curt nod and keep my arm wrapped
protectively around Lira. My every instinct is on edge, telling me to walk
behind him and not in front. Watch his hands and his eyes and the two dozen
men who are leering down at us as we settle around a table on the ship deck.
To never, for a single second, think that he doesn’t wish me dead. And that
he’s not going to try to make that wish come true when I steal the Págese
necklace.
The rum Rycroft offers us is from Midas, which wouldn’t bother me half
as much if it wasn’t also from the royal cellar. The bottle is blown glass,
twisted into the shape of our crest, with liquid gold printing the intricate
details. The drink itself is littered with gold dust that glistens against the
reflection of the glass. I don’t know when he stole it, or why – if he did it just
because he could, or if he did it just because he wanted me to know that he
could – but my hands clench into fists under the table.
I pray to the gods that Madrid’s finger slips on her trigger.
“How’s it taste?” Rycroft asks.
Lira brings the goblet to her lips and inhales. I’m not sure if she’s smelling
for poison or if she actually wants to savor the drink, but she closes her eyes
and waits a few moments before bringing the goblet to her mouth. There is a
spot of blood on her tongue when she licks her lips, from the shards of gold
that dance inside the bottle.
When Lira runs her tongue over her lips, my hands unclench and the anger
seeps from me. Everything she does is sensual, playing her part as perfectly
as she can. Or maybe she doesn’t need to act and simply enjoys the lustful
way Rycroft’s teeth scrape his lip when he watches her.
“It’s perfectly lovely,” Lira says, her voice almost unrecognizable.
“Good.” Rycroft’s smile could cut through steel. “I wouldn’t want you to
be unsatisfied.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Lira says. “Not now that I’m in such
good company.”
Rycroft’s eyes fill with a calculating lust. He blinks at her, then turns to
me. “Are you gonna tell me the reason for your visit?” he asks. “Or shall we
keep playing this game?”
There was never an option to stop playing. String him along and let his
suspicions get the better of him. Let him think that I’m up to no good while
Lira plays to his ego and swoons on his every senseless word. Let him think
that he needs to watch my every move and scour the docks where my crew
waits. Let his attention be on everything but the newly demure Lira. The
harmless arm piece I’m flaunting in front of him like the jackass prince I am.
“Actually,” I say, swirling the goblet of rum, “there is something.”
Rycroft leans back and hoists his feet onto the table. “Spit it out,” he says.
“If it’s a trade you want, we can come to an agreement.”
His eyes flicker to Lira and she smiles coyly. I didn’t realize she was
capable of looking coy, but it seems I’ve underestimated her skills of deceit.
She wraps a winding piece of hair around her finger, so convincing that I
have to do a double take to catch the clamped fist she’s concealing under the
table. Her face betrays nothing of it.
“A yellow sapphire amulet disappeared from the Midasan royal vaults,” I
say, recalling the lie verbatim as we practiced. “I was hoping you might know
something.”
Rycroft’s strange features fill with delight. He arches his arms behind his
head. “So you’ve come slinging accusations?” He looks far too pleased by it.
“It’s precious to me,” I tell him. “If it were to suddenly reappear or if you
caught word of where it might be, the information would be very valuable.
Priceless, one might say.”
I can almost see Rycroft weigh the options of whether he should pretend he
has something of mine, just to watch me squirm, or offer to help me find it
for a fee as large as he would like.
“I don’t have it,” Rycroft tells me, like a moth to the flame. “But I’ve heard
whispers.”
Lies, I think. Such bullsh*t lies.
“It’s possible I know where it is.”
I swallow my smirk and feign intrigue at the chance that he could have the
location of my imaginary Midasan heirloom. “What would that information
cost me?”
“Time,” he says. “For me to check my sources are correct.” For him to
actually gather sources. “And I think I’d also like your ship.”
I knew it was coming. For every unpredictable thing Rycroft did, there
were a hundred more easily guessed. What better way to make a prince suffer
than to take away his favorite toy?
I let a flicker of practiced irritation cross over my features. “Not going to
happen.”
“It’s your ship or your amulet,” Rycroft says. “You have to decide.”
“And how do I know you’re not the one who has it?” I time my anger in
perfect pulses. “I’m not paying you to give me back something you’ve
already stolen.”
Rycroft’s eyes go dark at the insinuation. “I told you I didn’t have it.”
“I’m not going to take your word for it.”
“So, what, you want me to take you belowdecks and let your sneaky sh*t
fingers trawl through my treasure?” he asks.
Which is exactly what I want. The entire reason we came here and talked
our way onto his ship was to get a look at his spoils and confirm that
Sakura’s necklace is among them.
“If you think that’s happening,” Rycroft says, “then you’re stupider than
you look.”
“Fine.” I glare. Spoiled, impatient. Playing my part just as he would
expect. I wave a dismissive hand over to Lira. “Let her look instead. I don’t
care either way, but unless one of us has a peek at the unmentionables you’re
hiding, you can keep your ship and watch the Saad sail off into the sunset
without you.”
It was always going to be Lira, of course. I knew there wasn’t a chance in
hell Rycroft would let the captain of the Saad into his treasure trove. But to
let one of the Midasan prince’s captivating floozies take a quick look around?
Maybe.
“Her,” Rycroft repeats with a snake smile. “How will she know what she’s
looking for?”
“It’s yellow sapphire,” I tell him. “She’s not a complete idiot.”
Lira kicks me under the table, hard. Rycroft shoots her a devil’s smile and
turns to one of his approaching shadows. The man is older than I am, his skin
brandished by the sun, and I can’t help but think he looks familiar. A cleaver
is sheathed to his belt, and large earrings stretch chasms into his lobes. When
he leans down to whisper into Rycroft’s ear, he sweeps a long velvet coat out
of the way.
I straighten, knowing where I’ve seen him before. The man from the
Golden Goose. The one who started this quest by pointing me in the direction
of the Sea Queens’s weakness.
He’s one of the Xaprár.
It was Rycroft who sent me after the crystal.
“I have a new bargain for you,” Rycroft says, all teeth. “Now that my men
have sights on your crew, how about we both be a little more honest? Your
guys are good at hiding, but they’re not Xaprár. What they are,
,is screwed.
And they’ll be dead if you don’t tell me exactly how you plan to get the
Crystal of Keto.”
I don’t blink. “Never heard of it.”
“Whose life should I bring you to get your memory going?” Rycroft slides
his finger across the rim of his goblet. “The tattooed bitch with the gun? Or
maybe I’ll slice the giant a new smile? Pick a person and I’ll pick the body
part.”
I arch an eyebrow. “That’s very dramatic.”
“I like dramatic,” he says. “How about Kye’s head on a platter?”
“How about me killing you before your crew can even blink?”
Rycroft smiles. “But then where would your friends be?” He gestures to
one of the Xaprár, who pours him another measure of rum.
“So you kill me as a trade for their lives?” I ask.
Rycroft throws his head back. “Now who’s dramatic? I wouldn’t risk
starting a war with your daddy.” He waves a hand. “Just tell me what I want
to know.”
“How about you tell me why you’re suddenly so interested in the crystal?”
Rycroft leans back in his chair, letting his gold teeth track to a lazy smile.
“I’ve had my sights on it for a while. Every pirate likes hunting for lost
treasure, and the more elusive it is the better. You know that, don’t you, Your
Highness?” Rycroft pulls aside his collar. The necklace is not quite like it
was in the stories. The stone is not a stone, but a droplet of blue that teeters
from the chain like it’s ready to fall. Each fragment of it dances as though it’s
made of water, with small ornate fangs latching around the diamond.
The lost Págese necklace. I was right. Rycroft does have it.
“I got my hands on this straight after hearing it was the key,” Rycroft says,
folding his collar back over to hide the necklace.
“How did you even find out about that?”
No way had Rycroft gotten the information easily when I had to sell my
country – and my damn soul – for it.
“I’m a man for hire,” Rycroft says. “And the Págese are always looking for
someone to do their dirty work. I had a few words with one of their princes a
few years back after completing a job. You’d be surprised how loose his lips
got after a few whiskeys and some sweet nothings.”
I bristle. Rycroft had played the seducer, using a charm conjured from hell
knows where, while I had put my country on the line. He had nothing to lose,
so he’d traded nothing. Whereas I had an entire kingdom to lose and I’d
offered it at a bargain price. Too caught up in my own crusade to even stop to
think. Pathetic. I was starting to feel really damn pathetic.
“Why do you want to kill the Sea Queen?” I ask. “Hero isn’t exactly your
color.”
Rycroft rolls his shoulders back. “I don’t give a damn about your little war
with the octobitch,” he says. “I care less about her life span than I do yours.”
“Then what?”
Rycroft’s eyes are hungry. “All the power of the ocean,” he says. “If I get
that crystal, then I control the oldest magic there ever was.” He takes a swig
of rum and then slams the goblet back onto the table, hard. “And if the Sea
Queen gives me any trouble, I’ll put her and her little bitches back in their
place.”
Lira’s lips curl. “Is that so?”
“It’s a fact,” he tells her. “Let them try to come for me.”
The fabric of Lira’s dress is bunched between her fists, and when she
makes like she’s going to stand, I place a hand on her knee. We’re far too
outnumbered to start throwing punches.
“Why the charade of having your man come to Midas and feed me
information?” I ask. “Why get me involved at all?”
“I’m not an idiot,” Rycroft says, though I beg to differ. “Nobody can make
the climb up the mountain and live to tell the tale. The ice prince may have
been willing to tell me about some ancient necklace nobody had seen in a few
lifetimes, but he wasn’t going to give up the most carefully guarded secret of
their bloodline.”
“And you knew that it was information I could get.”
“You’re the prince of Midas,” he says. “Royalty sticks together, doesn’t it?
I knew you’d all be in on one another’s dirty secrets. Or if you weren’t, you
could be.”
And he was right. I managed to weasel my way into the secrets of Sakura’s
family just like Rycroft knew I would, learning things I had no right to, for a
mission he had planned. All of my talk about being a captain, telling Kye I
wasn’t some naïve prince to be advised and influenced, and all the while I
was playing into the hands of Tallis Rycroft and his merry band of
miscreants.
“So you planned to use me to find out the way up the mountain.”
“Not just that,” Rycroft says. “I need entry, too. I’m not about to start a
war with the Págese by trespassing on their mountain. They’d know I was
there the second I started the climb, and they’d be on me and my guys before
I got anywhere near the ice palace. A pirate isn’t gonna get close to that
crystal.”
Lira slinks back into her chair, realization dawning on her face the moment
it does mine. “But a prince might,” she says.
Rycroft claps his hands together. “Smart girl,” he says, then turns to me,
his arms wide and welcoming. “Your diplomatic connections are gonna come
in handy, golden boy. If my bets are right, you’ve already talked your way
into some kind of deal with them. Offered them something in exchange for
entry. If I’m with you, I can stroll right on up there with nobody on my back
and then loot the whole damn place. By the time they realize what me and my
lot are doing, I’ll already have the power of the ocean in my hands.”
“Great plan,” I say. “Only problem being that I’m not telling you a thing
and my schedule is a little packed to take you on a guided tour of a
mountain.”
“Not like I thought you’d be easy,” Rycroft says. “But you don’t have to
take me anyway; we’re taking you.”
The Xaprár inch closer, creating a circle around us.
“As for the information, I can torture that out of you and your little lady on
the way. It’ll be a time-saver.”
I smirk and look over at Lira. She blinks, not in shock, but as though she is
considering what he’s saying like a proposition rather than a threat. If she’s
scared, she does a good job of hiding it.
She lifts her rum from the table with a slow and steady hand. “Just so we
understand each other,” she says, swirling the goblet indifferently, “I’m not
his lady.”
Before I can register the look on Rycroft’s face, Lira lurches forward and
throws the golden liquid straight into his eye. Rycroft lets out an ungodly
howl, and I jump to my feet, knife drawn as the pirate clutches his face where
the gold dust slices with every blink.
“You bitch,” he snarls, blindly drawing his sword.
Lira pulls out the small dagger she slipped into her boot earlier, and I press
my back to hers. Rycroft’s shadows surround us, and from the corner of my
eye, I see snipers gather on the quarterdeck. I can take a dozen men, maybe,
but even I’m not bulletproof. And Lira, for all the fire that runs through her
veins, is not invincible.
“You think that was clever?” Rycroft wipes his eyes with the back of his
sleeve.
“Maybe not,” Lira says. “But it was funny.”
“Funny?” He takes a step closer, and I see the anger rolling from him like
smoke. “I’ll show you funny.”
I arch my body, turning our positions so Lira squares off with the Xaprár
and I come face-to-face with Rycroft. “No point crying over spilled rum,” I
tell him.
For a moment Rycroft stares at me, deathly still. His lips curl upward and
he blinks back a dribble of blood from his left eye. “To think,” he says,
“when I tortured you, I was going to let you keep your most precious
appendage.”
When he lunges, I push Lira to the side and dart back. The Xaprár clear a
path for us and then circle like vultures, ready to peck at the leftover carcass
of the kill. Rycroft brings his heavy sword down, and when my knife meets
it, the sparks are blinding.
I kick at his knee and Rycroft stumbles back with a hiss, but it’s only
seconds before he’s on me again, slashing and swiping with his sword. Lethal
blows primed to kill. I jump back and his blade slices across my chest.
I don’t take my focus off him to register the pain. He’s mad to try this.
,To
attack not just a prince, but a captain. Spilling royal blood is punishable by
death, but spilling mine . . . well, my crew would think death was too kind.
I thrust my arm forward, aiming my dagger for his stomach. Rycroft twists
out of the way, barely, and I feel my ankle slip. Saving what little grace I
have, I plunge the blade into his thigh. I feel the jar of bone as it settles inside
his leg. When I pull, my hand comes away empty.
Rycroft clasps a hand around the knife. He looks inhuman, like even pain
is too scared to touch him now. Without ceremony, he yanks on the handle,
hard, and the blade oozes from him. It comes away clean and for a moment I
worry that Rycroft will see the otherworldly shine of the steel, but the pirate
barely glances at it before tossing it across the ship.
“What now?” he asks. “No more tricks.”
“You’d kill an unarmed man?” I raise a taunting finger.
“I think we both know that you’re never unarmed. And that when I kill
you, it’ll be a damn sight slower than this.”
He lurches his head in a gesture to someone behind me. I’m able to spare
one last look to Lira, taking in the blinding light of her eyes, flared in
warning, before a shadow pitches toward me. I whip my head back a second
too late, and a blinding pain explodes against my skull.
27
Lira
I BRING MY TONGUE to the cut on my lip. My hands are secured to a large
beam, and on the other side of the room, tied to an identical shaft, Elian sags
on the floor.
He looks every bit the handsome prince, even with his head slumped
against the splintered wood, his injury matting his hair. His jaw ticks as he
sleeps, and when his eyes flutter as though they’re about to open, something
snags in my chest.
He doesn’t wake.
His breathing is hitched, but I’m surprised he’s even breathing at all. I
heard the crunch as the bat connected with the back of his head. A coward’s
blow. Elian was winning, and in just a few more minutes – even without that
knife he loves so damn much – he would have killed Tallis Rycroft. With his
bare hands if he had to. And I would have helped.
If I had my song, I wouldn’t have even wasted it on a man like Tallis. Let
him drown knowing the horror of death, without the comfort of beauty or
love. Elian has an army and we should have used that to attack Rycroft, but
the prince prefers trickery to war.
Get away clean, he said. Before anyone can notice what we’ve taken.
I look to my hands, smeared with Elian’s blood. This is not getting away
clean.
In the sea, mermaids sing songs about humans. There’s one they hum like
a child’s lullaby, which weaves the story of Keto’s slaughter. In it, the
mermaids speak of human bravery and how they claimed victory against all
odds, but until I was dragged onto Elian’s ship, I’d never seen courage from a
human. Even the strongest men fell under my spell, and those I didn’t lure
were too scared to challenge me. Elian is different. He has courage, or
recklessness masked as something like it. And he also has mercy. Mercy even
for creatures like Maeve, whose life he took as a last option. He didn’t want
to savor it; he just wanted it over with. Like I had with the Kalokaírin prince.
With Crestell.
I wonder if I’d be that sort of a killer if I had been raised human. Merciful
and hesitant to shed blood. Or, perhaps, if I wouldn’t have been a killer at all.
If I would have just been a girl, like any other who walked the world. Keto
created our race in war and savagery, but it was the sea queens who took her
hate and made it our legacy. Queens like my mother, who taught their
children to be empty warriors.
Elian’s family taught him to be something else. The kind of man willing to
throw a strange girl out of harm’s way and battle a tyrannical pirate in her
place. The chivalry I used to scoff at has saved my life twice now. Is that
what it means to be human? Pushing someone else out of danger and
throwing yourself in? Every time I protected Kahlia, the Sea Queen chided
me for my weakness and punished us both as though she could beat the bond
out of us. I spent my life rethinking every look and action to be sure there
wasn’t any visible affection in either. She told me it made me inferior. That
human emotions were a curse. But Elian’s human emotions are what led him
to save me. To help me. To trust that I’ll do the same when the time comes.
Elian stirs and lets out a low groan. His head lolls and his eyes flicker
open. He blinks in his surroundings, and it only takes a few moments before
he notices the restraints binding his hands. He tugs, a halfhearted attempt at
escape, and then cranes his head toward me. From across the room, I see his
elegant jaw sharpen.
“Lira?” His voice is as coarse as sand. He must see blood somewhere – it
seems to be everywhere – because the next thing he asks is, “Where are you
hurt?”
Again, I lick the crack in my lip where Tallis struck me.
The blood is warm and bitter.
“I’m not.” I angle my face away so he doesn’t see otherwise. “You bled all
over me.”
Elian’s laugh is more of a scoff. “Charming as ever,” he says.
He takes in a long breath and closes his eyes for a moment. The pain in his
head must be getting the best of him, but he tries to swallow it and appear the
brave warrior. As though it would be an offense for me to see him as
anything else.
“I’ll kill him for this,” Elian says.
“You should make sure he doesn’t kill us first.”
Elian tugs at the rope again, twisting his arm in the most bizarre angles in
an attempt to slip the restraints. He moves like an eel, slippery and too quick
for me to see what he’s doing from where I’m sitting.
“Enough,” I say, when I see the rope begin to redden his skin. “You’re not
helping.”
“I’m trying,” Elian tells me. “Feel free to yank your own thumb out of its
socket anytime now. Or better yet, how about you use that Psáriin to call
some sirens here and let them kill us before Rycroft has a chance?”
I flick my chin up. “We wouldn’t be here if you hadn’t insisted on such a
ridiculous plan.”
“I think getting my head smashed in may have affected my hearing.”
Elian’s voice loses its usual musicality. “What did you just say?”
“You didn’t even realize he was tricking you,” I say. “And you walked
right into his hands.”
Elian’s shoulders twitch. “He has the necklace, so whether I knew about
his ambush or not, I still would have come. I’ve sacrificed too much to fall at
the last hurdle.”
“As though you’ve ever had to sacrifice anything,” I shoot back, thinking
of the kingdom I have hanging on the line. “You’re the prince of a kingdom
that’s full of brightness and warmth.”
“And that kingdom is exactly what I’ve sacrificed!”
“What does that mean?”
Elian sighs. “It means that my deal with the princess was about more than
just a map and a necklace.” His voice is rueful. “I promised she could rule
alongside me if she gave me her help.”
My lips part as the weight of his words sink through the air. While I’m
trying everything I can to steal my throne from my mother, Elian is busy
bargaining his away for treasure.
Just like a pirate.
“Are you stupid?” The disbelief shoots like a bullet from my mouth.
“Finding the crystal could save lives,” Elian says. “And marrying a Págese
princess wouldn’t exactly be bad for my country. If anything, it’ll be more
than my father ever dreamed of me achieving. I’ll be a better king than he
could have hoped for.”
Though the words should be overcome with pride, they are rough and
bitter. Tinged in as much sadness as they are resentment.
I think about how much time I spent trying to make my mother proud.
Enough that I forgot what it was like to feel content or anything I wasn’t
ordered to feel. I let her gift me to a merman like I was nothing but flesh he
could devour, all the while reasoning that it was something I had to do for my
kingdom. And Elian has thrust that own perdition onto himself. To fulfill the
burden of the world and the duty of his title, he’s willing to lose the parts of
himself he treasures the most. The freedom and the adventure and the
,joy.
Parts I barely remember having.
I look away, discomforted by how much of myself I see in his eyes.
Either way, you have to take his heart, I think to myself. What other choice
is there?
“If the necklace is that precious,” I say,“we should have just killed Tallis to
get it.”
“You can’t just kill everyone you don’t like.”
“I know that. Otherwise you’d be dead already.”
But it’s not true. It almost surprises me how untrue it is. Because I could
have killed him – or at least tried – and fulfilled my mother’s orders a dozen
times over.
The ceiling rattles before Elian can retort. There’s a low rumble in the
wind, and for a moment I think it might be the sea waves crashing against
Tallis Rycroft’s pathetic excuse for a ship, but then the rumble grows louder
and a bang shakes the cabin. Dust rains from the ceiling, and beneath us the
floorboards splinter.
There’s a chorus of yells and then nothing but the sound of cannons and
gunfire. Of screaming and dying. Of the world descending into chaos.
Elian pulls at the ropes with a new ferocity. He shuts his eyes and I hear a
resounding pop. I stare in disbelief as he tries to pull his hand from the
restraints, his left thumb now slack. Miraculously, it slips halfway down
before the rope lodges against his skin.
“Damn,” he spits. “It’s too tight. I can’t slip out.”
The cabin groans. A large split slivers up the wall and the window frame
cracks with the pressure. Above us, footsteps pound the deck and the
thunderous clashing of swords is second only to the deafening snarl of
cannon fire.
“What is that?” I ask.
“My crew.” Elian jerks at the rope again. “I’d recognize the sound of the
Saad cannons anywhere.” He gives me a smile to light up nations. “Listen to
my girl roar.”
“They came for us?”
“Of course they came for us,” Elian says. “And if they’ve battered up my
ship doing it, then there’s going to be hell to pay.”
As soon as the words leave his lips, a cannonball crashes through the
window. It shoots past me and collides with the wooden beam that holds
Elian. He ducks his head with siren speed, and wood shavings rain down his
back. My breath lodges and a feeling of nausea rises up through my stomach.
Then Elian lifts his head and shakes the dust from his hair.
I let loose a long breath and my frenzied human heart returns to its normal
rhythm. Elian surveys the massacre of wood around him. And then slowly,
almost wickedly, he smiles.
He rises to his feet and slips out from beneath the shattered beam. He
jumps, bringing his bound hands under his feet and to his chest in one swift
motion. Briefly, he scans the dank room for something to cut the rope, but the
cabin is desolate save for its two prisoners.
Elian glances at me and his smile fades as he takes in my restraints. The
undamaged beam ready to take me down with the ship. He looks at his tied
hands, his thumb still painfully dislodged from the socket. The room that is
too bare to make use of. The girl he can’t seem to save.
“Go,” I tell him.
Elian’s eyes harden. Darken. That green disappearing under a whirlpool of
anger. “Being a martyr doesn’t suit you,” he says.
“Just go,” I hiss.
“I’m not just going to leave you here.”
The sound of gunfire pierces the air. And a scream – a roar of fury – so
loud that I wince. Elian turns to the doorway. Outside, his crew could be
dying. The men and women he calls family marking their lives as forfeit to
save their captain. And for what? For him to surrender his own life to save
the very monster he has been hunting? A girl who has been plotting to steal
his heart from under him? A traitor in every sense of the word.
Both of us have put our lives and our kingdoms on the line to find the eye
and overthrow my mother. If nothing else, I won’t stand by and watch
someone else lose their kingdom just so I won’t be alone when I lose mine.
“Elian.” My voice takes on a murderous calm.
“I—”
“Run!” I scream, and to my surprise, he does.
His teeth grind for a moment before, jaw pulsing under the weight of the
decision. And then he turns. Quick as an arrow, the young prince darts from
the cabin and leaves me to my doom.
28
Lira
I WAIT FOR DEATH to come.
There’s a chance that when I die, I’ll return to my siren form. The corpse
of the mighty Princes’ Bane, stuck inside a pirate’s ship. Perhaps, a sunken
ship. Perhaps, where nobody but the mermaids will find me. My mother
might even feign mourning at the loss of her heir, or simply command the
Flesh-Eater to help make her a new one.
I’m feeling a bit too sorry for myself when Tallis Rycroft bursts through
the door. His eyes scratch over the cold and empty cabin, and he rips a
wooden plank masquerading as a shelf from the wall, its rusted nails
snapping with the force.
His trousers are stained red from where Elian’s knife went in. Through the
tear I can see thick black stitches crisscrossing his skin back into place. A
rush job, but it seems to have done the trick. Elian must have missed any
arteries.
Tallis’s knuckles are raw and scratched pink. When he charges across the
room, it’s in a jagged limp. He spots the broken beam where Elian was and
snarls, kicking the splinters at me.
I don’t flinch.
“Where is he?” he barks.
I cross one leg over the other and slump my shoulders indifferently. “You
are going to have to be a little more specific.”
In two strides, Rycroft crosses the room and wraps his thick hands around
my neck. He pulls me to my feet and growls.
“You tell me where he is,” Tallis hisses. “Or I’ll snap your pretty little
neck.”
The weight of his hands around my throat reminds me of my mother’s
hold. I want to cough and splutter, but there doesn’t seem to be enough air.
There’s a fury without measure in my veins, pushing and pulling my insides
until all that’s left is a deep pit of loathing.
I twist my lips into a snarl of my own. “You seem upset,” I say.
Tallis wrenches his hands from me. “They’re ripping my ship to shreds,”
he seethes. “When I find that bastard, there aren’t words for what I’ll do.
He’s declared war.”
“I think you did that when you attacked the Midasan prince and took him
prisoner. If you think this is bad, imagine the entire might of the golden army
devoted to hunting you down.”
Tallis narrows his eyes.
“What do they call it when someone attacks a member of one of the royal
families? Ah, yes.” My smile could cut through flesh. “Treason of Humanity.
Is it still the drowning they go for?”
Tallis’s face goes slack at the mention of it.
The last punishment was long before my time, but sirens still tell stories.
Humans who took arms against royalty, breaking the pact of peace among the
kingdoms. They were anchored into the ocean and left for my kind. But no
siren attacked. Instead they watched the traitors lose their breath and clutch at
their throats. Then, in their final moments, approached so that the humans
could drown in fear. According to my mother, it was only when the humans’
hearts pumped for the final time that the sirens ripped them from their chests.
From the look on Tallis’s face, he’s heard the same nightmarish tales.
He draws his sword in a clumsy arc and presses the blade to my cheek.
“What do you care?” Tallis whispers. “He left you here, didn’t he?”
He says it like I should feel betrayed, but nothing in the accusation stings.
Elian left because I told him to and he would have stayed if I had asked. He
would have died, perhaps, if I would have let him. But I didn’t. I salvaged
some small part of myself that I forgot existed – a part I was so sure my
mother had gutted from me – and I let him go.
“Could we continue this conversation after you kill me?” I ask.
Tallis strokes my cheek with his blade. Then, before I have time to flinch,
he lifts the sword into the air and brings it swiftly down.
I look at my freed hands and the cleanly sliced rope falls to my feet.
“I like my women with a little fight,” Tallis purrs. “Let’s see how much of
one you put up.”
I don’t waste time on a smile before I bear my nails to claws.
Whatever Tallis expects,
,it’s not for me to try to tear his heart out. Like a
vulture, I swoop down and scratch until my arms feel heavy. His chest. His
eyes. Anything I can get my hands on. When he pushes me off, I barely stay
on the ground for a second before I’m on him again.
I’m an animal, slicing my teeth into his delicate human flesh. I can taste
him in my mouth. Acrid. A strange mix of metal and water. I bite harder,
until he tears me from his arm and a slice of his skin goes with me.
“You filthy whor*!” he screams.
I wonder how much I resemble the Flesh-Eater now, with a piece of
Rycroft inking the corner of my lips and a smile like the devil goddess who
made us all. I swipe my tongue across my lips, snarling as his filthy blood
clots in the edges of my teeth.
Tallis strides over to me, each footstep like thunder against the decrepit
floorboards. When he reaches me, he hoists me up by the ruffles of my dress
and smashes me into the wall. His legs pin mine in place, knees digging into
my thighs.
He slams my face to the side with the heel of his palm and my cheek
scrapes against a twisted nail. “I’m going to make you pay for that,” he says,
breath warm in my ear.
“Sure you are.” I shift my hips into place, keeping my hands steady as I
reach under the fabric of his cloak. “But first, I would appreciate it if you
didn’t get your blood all over me.”
As soon as I feel the knife hilt under his clothes, I pull my hand back and
then lurch it violently forward. My wrist twists to the left and Tallis blinks.
When I lurch my hand upward, he swallows, a choked and ragged sound.
His hands drop from my clothes and he stumbles backward.
I slink down the wall and let out a breath.
Misdirection, Elian said. Be too quick for them to notice.
I look at Tallis. His demon eyes and bone-gray skin. The look of fear and
surprise that rolls over him like a sea storm. And the knife – his own knife –
spearing his gut. It wasn’t hard to lift. Apparently, it’s difficult to notice
someone stealing a weapon from your waistband when they also happen to be
tearing their teeth through your skin.
The blade is so deep that the handle barely surfaces through his shirt. It
takes a moment before he falls. Seconds of him frowning and gasping before
his head finally hits the floor.
I stand over his body and swallow. There’s a hollowness in my chest, and
the rush that usually comes with death is replaced by a deep pit that sits
beside my erratically beating heart. This is the first kill I’ve made since
becoming human, and somehow I thought it wouldn’t matter, but there’s
blood all over me and Tallis’s face is slack and I don’t know why but I’m
shaking.
I look down at him and all I can see is Crestell, dying over the sound of
Kahlia’s cries. My hands so wet with her blood, a promise begged between
us.
Become the queen we need you to be.
I close my eyes and wait for the moment to pass. Hope that it will, or else I
might just go crazy in this cabin. It doesn’t make sense for me to think of her
now; it’s not like Tallis is the first kill I’ve made since. I squeeze my fists and
feel the blood cloy under my nails. But Crestell was the start of it, the one my
mother used to pull me over to her edge. As a human I could pretend I had
some kind of a clean slate if I wanted to. At least for a little while. But not
now. Not anymore. I’m a killer in every life.
I open my eyes and when I look back down, Tallis is Tallis again, and my
aunt’s face returns to a memory. I sigh in relief and then squint as something
shines in the corner of my eye. In the growing sun, I catch the string of metal
around Tallis’s neck. The light blinks from it, like a tiny star fighting to stay
ablaze. Unsteadily, I crouch down beside the pirate’s body and pull back his
collar.
The Págese necklace is still latched around him. The key to freeing the eye.
I smile and twist the clasp free, careful, as though I might wake the sleeping
pirate, and then pocket the stolen artifact.
When the door to the cabin crashes open, I jolt. My shoulders tense,
fingernails ready to become weapons once more.
Elian doesn’t even glance at Tallis Rycroft.
He crosses the room toward me, eyes bright and so green and flickering
with relief. His hair is swept in every direction, ruffling across his forehead,
streaking his face. His shirt is torn, but I breathe a sigh when I see there are
no new injuries. Just dirt and the splatters of gunpowder. I don’t think about
whether I’m relieved because I still need him if I’m going to overthrow my
mother or whether it’s something else entirely.
Elian’s knife is secured in his belt, the magic of it still so strong to me, and
in his hand is a sword – his sword – gold and ash glimmering against the
shattered glass. When he reaches me, he throws it to the floor and braces my
shoulders. His smile is like nothing I have ever seen.
I say the first thing I can think of, mirroring his words to me from Eidýllio.
“I’m pretty sure I got rid of you already.”
Elian’s cheeks dimple and he casts a look over his shoulder. Kye, Madrid,
and Torik are gathered in a tightly grouped line behind him. They came. Not
just for their captain, but for the stowaway. The strange girl they found
floating in the middle of the ocean. They came for me.
When he turns back to me, his eyes flicker over my face. His lips tense to a
thin line as he notices the scrapes burning into my cheek. The blood that
covers me, so much of it my own and so much of it not mine at all.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
He shrugs. “What I do best.”
“Getting on my last nerve?”
“Saving you,” he replies, picking up his sword. “This is the second time.
Not that I’m counting.”
It’s the third, actually, if we count how he pushed me from Rycroft’s path
on the deck of the ship. Elian may not be counting, but I am.
“I can’t believe you came back for me,” I say.
I don’t bother to keep the gratitude from my voice.
Elian taps his belt, where his knife sits happily. “I actually came back for
this,” he says. “Rescuing you was mostly an afterthought.”
I level a glare. “I don’t need rescuing.”
For the first time, Elian glances down to the body sprawled across the
decaying floor. It’s like he only just realizes that the leader of the infamous
Xaprár, kidnapper of pirates and princes alike, is bleeding out by his feet.
“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Elian says.
“Too late.”
He grins. He’s still grinning when I see Rycroft’s head rise from the
floorboards. The pirate’s hand is at his waist in barely any time at all, and
when he lifts it into the air, I’m surprised to see that the pistol is as black as
squid ink. Just as Elian turns his head – as his crew lurches forward in panic –
a shot fires out.
It’s not the first time I’ve heard a gun fired, but the sound seems louder. It
shudders through my bones and drums in beat with my heart. Everything is a
rush of sounds. The smell of gunpowder and the awful scream of warning
that shoots from Kye’s lips. And then Elian. The way his smile drops when
he notices the dread in my eyes. Three life debts.
It’s almost a reflex when I push him out of the bullet’s path.
There is an instant quiet that blankets the room. A fragment of a second
when the world seems to have lost all sound. And then I feel it. The pain of
scorching metal tearing through my human skin.
29
Elian
I DIED ONCE AND I haven’t been able to do it again since.
I was thirteen at the time, or some other number just as lucky. About a mile
out from the Midasan shore, there’s a lighthouse on a small stretch of floating
meadow. The sea wardens use it as a vantage point, while my friends and I
used it to prove our bravery. The idea was to swim the mile, touch the
soaking tufts of grass, and stand on top like the proud victor.
The reality was not drowning.
Nobody ever made the swim, because anybody stupid enough to consider
it was too young, and anyone old enough had learned the usefulness of boats.
But the fact that nobody had done it – that if I could, I’d be the first – only
made the idea more appealing.
,And the roar of my brain begging me not to
die turned to a quiet whisper.
I made it to the lighthouse, but I didn’t have the strength to pull myself up.
I did, however, have the strength to scream before my mouth filled with
water and I let the gold wash me away.
I’m not sure how long I was dead, because my father refuses to speak of
such things and I never asked my mother. It felt like an eternity. After, the
world must have felt particularly sorry for me, because of all the crazy,
deadly things I’ve done since – which far outweigh a mile-long swim – I’m
still alive. Untouched by another brush of mortality. Made invincible,
somehow, by that first fatality.
The moment the bullet whizzes through the air and I feel Lira’s cold hands
at my back pushing me to the ground, I’m angry at that. At my invincibility.
My flair for survival while those around me continue dying.
“No!” Madrid screams, pitching forward.
She cracks her boot against Rycroft’s chin and sends teeth in so many
directions, I can’t focus. Kye grabs her by the waist, holding desperately as
she tries to tear herself from his grasp and finish off the pirate. The one who
stole her captain. Who may or may not have sold her into slavery. Who just
shot a girl right in front of her.
Madrid screams and curses, while Lira makes no sound at all.
She frowns, which seems louder, and presses her hand to the hole in her
side. Her palm comes away wet and shaking.
She looks down at the blood. “It doesn’t burn,” she says, and then buckles
to the floor.
I rush to her, skidding underneath her frail body before it cracks onto the
wood. I catch her head in my hands and she lets out a choked sound. There’s
blood. Too much blood. Every time I blink, it seems to pool farther and
farther until the entire right side of her dress is soaked through.
I lay my hand on her rib and press down. She’s right: it’s not warm. Lira’s
blood is like melted ice running between my fingers. The harder I press, the
more she shudders. Convulsing as I try to stop any more of the cold seeping
from her.
“Lira,” I say, the word more like a plea than a name. “You’re not going to
die.”
I resist looking at the wound again. Not wanting to, for fear that she might
actually die and my last words to her might be a lie and what a jackass thing
that would be.
“I know,” Lira says. Her voice is steadier than mine, like the pain is
nothing. Or at least, it’s something less than she’s felt before. “I’ve still got a
mountain to climb.”
Her head lolls a bit and I steady my hand, propping her up. If she loses
consciousness now, there’s no knowing if she’ll wake up.
“This evens the score, you know,” I say. “But I’m still a point up.”
Lira shifts. “Quick,” she says. My fingers are webbed by her blood,
shirttails damp against my hip. “Take this to make up for it.”
She lifts a shaking arm and a small pendant falls from her hand to mine.
Bluer than her eyes and far too delicate to hold so much power. The Págese
necklace.
She got it.
I laugh and consider what smart comment I could make – telling her that
it’s not really my style, or that maybe I already have it in gold – but then
Lira’s eyes quiver back and there doesn’t seem to be much point in being
funny if she isn’t the one to hear it.
“Captain!” Madrid yells, Kye’s hands still clinched to her waist. “She
needs a medic.”
Torik shadows over me, squeezing my shoulder with his mighty hands and
bringing me back to reality. I swallow. Nod. Stand with Lira far too light in
my arms. Run from the dregs of Rycroft’s sh*tty ship, leaving a trail of blood
in my wake.
“Get moving!” I shout, once I step foot back onto the Saad. “And blow
that ship to hell in our backwash.”
The Saad lurches and my crew jumps into anarchy. They run from one end
of the deck to the other, pulling the lines from their winches and recleating
the boom. Trimming sails and scanning for the wind. I cleave forward,
pushing past the ones who stop dead, noticing the blood-soaked girl in my
arms and offering their hand.
“Elian,” Kye says. “You’re injured. Let me carry her.”
I ignore him and turn to Torik. His face is wretched as he stares down at
Lira. She may not have been one of us before, but dying in the line of duty
has a way of securing people’s loyalty.
“Make sure the medic is ready,” I say, and my first mate nods.
Rycroft is slung carelessly over his shoulder, his blood dripping down
Torik’s back. He’s alive, but barely, and if I get my hands on him, then he
won’t stay that way for long. With Lira still limp in my arms, I yell for Torik
to get a medic and he throws Rycroft to the floor without hesitation before
rushing belowdecks.
Really, we don’t have a medic, but my assistant engineer traveled with a
Plásmatash circus and that’s close enough. As I carry Lira toward him,
through the twists and tunnels of my ship, I’m caught off guard by the notion
that out of all the princes and pirates and killers and convicts, a small boy
from a circus is the only one who can help. It seems funny, and I think how
Lira might laugh, knowing that a rookie engineer will be stitching her skin
back together. What biting comment she would come back with and how it
would sink into me like a perfectly wonderful kind of poison. Like a bullet.
I push my way into the cramped room, Kye rushing in behind me. The
would-be medic gestures to a table in the middle of the engineering room.
“Put her down there,” he says in a panicked breath. “And open her dress.”
I do as he says and grab my knife. The strange thing is that at first I don’t
think I can see any more blood gushing from the wound – it seems to all be
on her dress and on me – and then when I do see blood, it doesn’t seem like
enough. Or perhaps it’s all already come out. Maybe there just isn’t any left.
“Gods.” Kye recoils as I slash open Lira’s dress. “Is she going to live?”
“Do you care?” I snap back.
It isn’t his fault, but yelling at Kye feels a little like yelling at myself, and I
need to be yelled at right now. Because this is on me. If Lira dies, then it’s on
me.
I can’t believe you came back for me.
But I left her first.
“I don’t want her to die, Elian.” Kye squeezes my arm, keeping me steady
as the fraying parts inside threaten to dismantle me. “I never did. Besides” –
Kye shoves a hand into his pocket and sighs through the next words – “she
protected you when I couldn’t.”
“It looks like a clean shot,” the medic says, and I turn, the irony of it
gnawing at me. It was a dirty shot, through and through.
“It just scraped her ribs,” he says. “I have to check no organs were
damaged though.” He points a gloved finger at Kye. “Don’t just stand there
shadowing my light. Get me some towels.”
Kye doesn’t bristle at the order, or argue that we should let Lira die to be
sure she can’t betray us. He turns, hurries from the room, and doesn’t even
waste the time to glare properly.
“She didn’t nick anything important,” the medic says.
He phrases the last part as an afterthought, but when he turns to me, his
eyes are expectant.
“I’m not sure,” I tell him. “There was a lot of blood.”
He shrugs and grabs an instrument that does not look entirely legitimate
from a nearby toolbox. “Haven’t met an engine I couldn’t fix yet,” he says.
“The human body’s just another machine.” He looks at me with assuring
eyes. “I saved a monkey with a knife wound to the ribs once. There was an
accident with a balloon bursting. It’s not that different.”
I think this is supposed to be reassuring, so I nod just as Kye bursts back
into the room with a handful of fresh towels. After, we’re both ushered back
out the way we came, and I don’t argue. I’m glad to be sent away so the
medic can work, free from staring at Lira’s limp body and thinking about
how I’ve never seen her look so vulnerable. So capable of being finite.
I don’t give myself a moment to breathe before I walk back onto the deck
and toward Rycroft’s body. My crew flares their nostrils, waiting to be let
loose. Beside me, I sense the rigid way Kye stands. Barely able to restrain
himself
,and hoping desperately I don’t ask him to restrain the others. That’s
the thing about my crew. They don’t need to be friends. They don’t even
need to like one another. Being on the Saad is the same as being family, and
by saving me, Lira has proven something to Kye. I locked her in a cage and
made her barter her way onto my ship, and she saved me all the same,
believing that it was the right choice. A life for a life. Trust for trust.
Tallis Rycroft stares at me and he’s not alive enough to make it look
menacing. His left eye is closed, a lump stretching out like a mountaintop,
and the wounds on his face make his lips indistinguishable. The hole in his
stomach bleeds on.
“What are you going to do with him?” Kye asks. His voice is not
altogether calm, something unbalanced on those usually carefree tones. He
wants revenge as much as I do. And not just for taking his captain, but for the
broken girl lying in the dregs of our ship.
“I don’t know.”
Madrid walks a small pocketknife between her fingers. When it nicks her,
she lets the blood drip onto Rycroft’s injured leg. “He doesn’t deserve to
live,” she says. “You don’t have to lie to us.”
One of Rycroft’s eyes blinks, slowly, as he comprehends the storm he has
created. The young prince in me wants to feel sorry for him, but I keep
looking at the half-moons and long, serrated lines that crease into his biceps.
Wounds made trying to fend him off. Nail marks so similar to the ones along
my own chest.
I hesitate, caught off guard as a distorted image of the Princes’ Bane
flashes across my mind. She could have snapped my neck or done any
manner of things to disable me, but she let her claws tear slowly through my
chest instead. That was the thing about sirens. They always went straight for
the heart.
“Captain,” Madrid says, and I blink away the image.
“I’m going to find some shark-infested waters,” I tell her, regaining my
composure. “And then drop his favorite appendage in.”
There is a phlegmatic silence, while everyone within earshot considers
those words. Rycroft half-blinks again.
“Next time,” Kye says, clearing his throat, “lie to us.”
“What about Lira?” Madrid asks.
I shrug. “Depends on how pleasant she is when she wakes up.”
“I meant,” she says, “is she really going to be okay?”
I stare down at Rycroft, and it takes every scrap of strength I have to smile.
“My crew is not so easily killed.”
It’s a bullsh*t line, but I need everyone to believe it. I need to believe it
myself. I picture Lira, and it’s like I can feel her cold blood dripping through
my hands like melted ice. If she dies, then my plan and this entire mission
dies with her. More than anything, I’m counting the minutes until our rookie
engineer emerges and tells me that everything is fine. That Lira didn’t die for
me and that she can still offer the last piece of the puzzle to free the Crystal
of Keto from its cage.
That maybe – just maybe – I don’t need to rip Rycroft into any more
pieces.
30
Lira
I WAKE AND THEN immediately wish I hadn’t.
There’s a raw pain in my ribs, like there’s a creature gnawing at my skin,
and I feel groggy in a way that tells me I’ve had too much sleep.
The room I’m in is as jumbled as my thoughts. I brush my open shirt out of
the way and brace my heavily bandaged ribs. My teeth grind against one
another as I let my legs swing over the side of the bench. It’s a mere second
of being upright before the gnawing turns into a bite.
“There’s something about a bullet wound that makes me want to jump out
of bed too.”
Kye is washing his hands in a nearby sink. It’s thick with oil and grease.
When he’s finished, he shakes the water from his hands and turns to me with
a condemning look.
“This is supposed to be a bed?” I ask.
He places a wet hand against my forehead, and I resist the urge to retract
from the cold.
“I don’t think you’re dying now,” he says.
“Was I dying before?”
He shrugs. “Maybe. But the little circus medic fixed you up okay. He even
taught me how to dress your wound so he could focus on helping the ship
stay afloat.” Kye nods to the bandages with a smug look. “Pretty perfect,
aren’t they? My first.”
“Could you not have given me a bed, too?” I ask, not failing to notice that
someone – I hope Madrid rather than Kye – has also dressed me in something
more plain and comfortable than the dress I was in.
“Madrid fetched you pillows.” Kye wipes his hands on a nearby rag. “It’s
the best we could do since moving you wasn’t an option.”
I glance down at the stained sheet draped thinly over me. There’s a black
velvet pillow where my head was, plush enough for me to have slept
comfortably for however long, and a thin oval cushion is pressed into the
shape of my feet. It’s not exactly fit for a queen, but for a gunshot victim
aboard a pirate ship, it might be considered luxurious.
“How are you feeling?” Kye asks, and I smirk.
“Were you worried?” When he doesn’t reply, I test my ribs with a deep
sigh. “Fine,” I say.
The bandage is tight around my body, and the dressing feels fresh and
crisp against my clammy skin. It must have been changed recently, I realize,
which means that Kye has been watching over me.
“I expected Madrid,” I tell him. “Of all people, I didn’t think it would be
you.”
“She was here for a while,” he says. “Longer than a while, actually. I had
to send her off to get some sleep before she resorted to stapling her eyes
open.” He looks down at his hands. “She was worried you’d be just another
girl who couldn’t escape.”
“Escape what?”
“Rycroft,” he says, and then shuffles uncomfortably. “I’m glad you’re
awake.”
The comment isn’t as throwaway as he might want it to be. For all the
distrust between us, Kye and the rest of the crew risked their lives to come
back for me, and while I lay bleeding on their ship, they didn’t leave me to
sleep in solitude. They stayed. They came for me and they stayed.
“So you trust me now?” I ask.
“You nearly died trying to save Elian.” Kye clears his throat as though it’s
a struggle to get the words out. “So like I said, I’m glad you’re awake.”
“I’m glad that you didn’t kill me while I was unconscious.”
Kye snorts a smile. “I like the way you say thank you.”
I laugh and then wince. “How long was I asleep?”
“A few days,” he tells me. “We had some strong sedatives and we all
thought it would be a good idea for you to get some rest.” He grabs the rag
from by the sink and passes it uneasily between his hands. “Listen,” he says
gingerly. “I know I’ve given you a hard time, but that’s only because Elian
seems to like putting himself in death’s hands a little too often and it’s my job
to stop that from happening whenever I can.”
“Like a good bodyguard,” I say.
“Like a good friend,” he corrects. “And I think taking a bullet for him has
earned you a break from me being sh*tty.” He sighs and throws the rag onto
my lap. “I guess this officially makes you one of us.”
I take a moment to process that. The idea that I belong with them on a ship
setting sail for everywhere and nowhere. It’s what I wanted, isn’t it? To gain
the crew’s confidence so that they wouldn’t suspect me. And yet, the instant
Kye says it, I don’t think about how I’ve earned trust I plan to break. I think
about how different it feels, to be a new kind of soldier, earning loyalty by
saving lives instead of destroying them. Fighting a war on the other side.
“I didn’t quite hear that apology,” I say. “Could you repeat it?”
Kye glares, but it’s different than before, lighter, nothing hostile grazing
over it. A smile settles on his face. “Guess Elian’s been teaching you his
version of humor,” he says.
At the mention of Elian’s name, I pause.
He promised that he wouldn’t come back for me if something went wrong,
and then he did it anyway. The moment he freed himself from the restraints
and was faced with the opportunity to leave, he didn’t want to.
I squeeze my eyes shut as my head begins to pound. My entire purpose for
being on this ship is to kill him, and when the opportunity came for someone
else to do it, I stopped them.
,I pushed him from the bullet the same way he pulled me from the ocean.
Without thinking or weighing up what it could mean or how it might benefit
me. I did it because it seemed like the only thing to do. The right thing to do.
In my world, Kahlia is the sole remnant of my lost innocence. The only
proof that there’s a tiny part of me I haven’t let my mother get her hands on. I
don’t know why, but Elian has evoked the same feral feeling that used to be
reserved only for her. The desire to allow sparks of loyalty and humanity in
me to take hold. We’re the same, he and I. Just as looking into my cousin’s
eyes feels like looking into a memory of my own childhood, being around
Elian feels like being around an alternate version of myself. Reflections of
each other in a different kingdom and a different life. Broken pieces from the
same mirror. There are worlds between us, but that seems more like
semantics than tangible evidence of how dissimilar we are.
Everything is murkier now. And Elian made it that way in a single second,
with an action as easy as breathing: He smiled. Not because I was suffering
or bowing or making myself malleable to his every whim and decree like I’ve
done with my mother. He smiled because he saw me. Free and alive, and
already making my way back to him.
I’ve been so focused on putting an end to my mother’s reign that I haven’t
thought about how I can put an end to her war. Even if I get my hands on the
eye, I still planned to take Elian’s heart, just as my mother ordered, thinking
it would prove something to my kingdom. But what? That I’m the same as
her, valuing death and savagery over mercy? That I’ll betray anyone, even
those who are loyal to me?
If I find the eye, maybe it’s not just sirens who don’t need to suffer
anymore, but humans, too. Maybe I can stop the age-old grudge that began in
death. Be a new kind of queen, who doesn’t create murderers from daughters.
I think of Crestell, shielding Kahlia from me and laying down her own life
instead.
Become the queen we need you to be.
“I should get the captain,” Kye says, breaking me from my thoughts.
I slide from the bench, letting the pain soak through me and then drift
away. I gather my footing and focus on this newfound urgency. “No,” I tell
him. “Don’t.”
Kye hesitates by the door, his hand already pressing down on the handle.
“You don’t want him to come?” he asks.
I shake my head. “He doesn’t need to,” I say. “I’ll find him.”
31
Elian
PÁGOS DRAWS NEAR, AND with every league the air grows thinner. We feel it
each night, our bones creaking with the ship as she sweeps through water that
will soon turn to sludge and ice. It doesn’t matter how much farther we have,
because Págos is something that is always felt from within. More and more
with each fathom, it looms somewhere deep inside. The final part of our
quest, where the Crystal of Keto waits to be freed.
Rycroft is as much a ghost now as he has ever been, hidden belowdecks
with barely enough gauze and meds to stay alive. The minimum necessary to
make the journey with us. I haven’t been down there, delegating that
responsibility to Torik and other members of the crew who can handle him
well enough and show restraint even better.
Madrid can’t be trusted. Not when it comes to one of her own countrymen.
Her memories tend to taint her morals and I can understand it. Kye, equally
so. There isn’t part of me that trusts him to watch over Rycroft and deliver
food that isn’t laced with poison. And then, more than any of them, there’s
me. The person I trust the least.
Lira may be alive, but that doesn’t put an end to things. The relief has
layered over my anger like a film, masking the rage well enough that it can’t
be seen, though never enough for it to disappear. But whether I go down
there or not, Rycroft can sense the fate that awaits him. Even he can hear the
slow wolf call of Págos. From the depths of the crystal cage, where Lira once
was, and where he will remain until I give him over to the ice kingdom. He
can catch the whistles in the wind, in a room as dark as his soul. And when
we finally arrive, he’ll live with them as he rots in a jail as cold as his heart.
“You’re not drinking.”
Lira hovers on the ladder steps to the forecastle deck. A blanket is wrapped
loosely around her shoulders, and when it slips, she shrugs it higher. I try not
to notice the wince as she moves her arm too quickly, stretching her side and
jarring the wound.
I reach out my hand to pull her up, and the look Lira gives me is nothing
short of poisonous. “Do you want me to chop it off?” she asks.
I keep my hand hovering in the space between us. “Not particularly.”
“Then get it out of my face.”
She pulls herself up the rest of the way and settles next to me. The edges of
her blanket skim my arms. It’s always so cold these nights, enough that
sleeping with my boots on seems to be the only way to keep my toes. But
there’s something about being up here, with the stars and the sound of the
Saad swimming for adventure. It makes me feel warmer than I ever could be
bundled up in my cabin.
“I’m hardly an invalid,” Lira says.
“You are a little.”
I don’t need to face her to see that her eyes are burning through the air
between us. Lira has a way of looking at people – of looking at me – that can
be felt as much as it can be seen. If her eyes weren’t such a surprising shade
of blue, I would swear that they were nothing more than hot coals for the fire
within.
I finger the Págese necklace, which hangs from my neck as Lira’s seashell
hangs from hers. The key to everything. To ending a war that’s lasted
lifetimes.
“If you get shot,” Lira says, “I’m going to treat you like you’re incapable
of doing the simplest tasks.” She cradles her arms around her knees to keep
out the cold. “See how you like it when I hold out my arm to help you walk,
even though you’re not shot in the leg.”
“I’d be flattered,” I say, “that you would look for an excuse just to hold my
hand.”
“Perhaps I’m just looking for an excuse to shoot you.”
I give her a sideways glance and recline on my elbows.
The deck of the Saad is littered with my friends, splashing drink onto her
varnished wood and singing songs that knock against her sails with the gusts.
Seeing them this way – so happy and at ease – I know nothing could ever be
thicker than the ocean that binds us. Not even blood.
“Madrid said that you are going to hand Rycroft over when we get to
Págos.”
“There’s been a price on his head for some time now,” I say. “But the
services of the Xaprár were too valuable for any kingdom to warrant
attacking them. Now that the shadows have been decimated by us, I don’t
doubt he’ll be a wanted man. If nothing else, it’ll be some extra sway to make
sure the Págese king grants us access to their mountain so we can get the
crystal and finish this whole thing.”
Lira leans back so that we’re level. Her hair is more unruly than ever, and
the wind from the approaching storm does nothing to help. It blows into her
eyes and catches across her lips, clinging to the freckles of her pale cheeks. I
clench my hands by my sides, resisting the impulse to reach over and push it
from her face.
“Do you really hate the sirens that much?” she asks.
“They kill our kind.”
“And you kill theirs.”
My eyebrows pinch together. “That’s different,” I say. “We do what we do
to survive. They do it because they want to see us all dead.”
“So it’s revenge, then?”
“It’s retribution.” I sit up a little straighter. “It’s not as though the sirens
can be reasoned with. We can’t just sign a peace treaty like with the other
kingdoms.”
“Why not?”
The distance in Lira’s voice gives me pause. The answer should come
quick and easy: because they’re monsters, because they’re killers, because of
a thousand reasons. But I don’t say any of them. Truthfully, the idea of this
not ending in death never crossed my mind. Of all the outcomes and
possibilities I considered, peace wasn’t one. If I had the opportunity, would I
take it?
Lira doesn’t look at me and I hate that
,life and not worry about an entire kingdom.”
“Oh.” I fold my arms. “She should, but not me.”
“You’re the eldest.”
“Really?” I pretend to ponder this. “But I have such a youthful glow.”
My father opens his mouth to respond, but my mother places a gentle hand
on his shoulder. “Radames,” she says, “I think it’s best Elian gets some sleep.
Tomorrow’s ball will make for a long day, and he really does look tired.”
I press my lips to a tight smile and bow. “Of course,” I say, and excuse
myself.
My father has never understood the importance of what I’m doing, but
each time I return home, I lull myself into thinking that maybe, just once,
he’ll be able to put his love for me above the love for his kingdom. But he
fears for my safety because it would affect the crown. He has already spent
too many years grooming the people into accepting me as their future
sovereign to change things now.
“Elian!” Amara calls after me.
I ignore her, walking in long and quick strides, feeling the anger bubble
under my skin. Knowing that the only way to make my father proud is to give
up everything that I am.
“Elian,” she says, more firmly. “It’s not princess-like to run. Or if it is,
then I’ll make a decree for it not to be if I’m ever queen.”
Reluctantly, I stop and face her. She sighs in relief and leans against the
glyph-carved wall. She has taken her shoes off, and without them she’s even
shorter than I remember. I smile, and when she sees this, she scowls and
smacks my arm. I wince and hold out my hand for hers.
“You antagonize him,” she says, taking my arm.
“He antagonizes me first.”
“You’ll make a fine diplomat with those debate skills.”
I shake my head. “Not if you take the throne.”
“At least then I’d get the bracelet.” She nudges me with her elbow. “How
was your trip? How many sirens did you slaughter like the great pirate that
you are?”
She says this with a smirk, knowing full well that I’ll never tell her about
my time on the Saad. I share many things with my sister, but never how it
feels to be a killer. I like the idea of Amara seeing me as a hero, and killers
are so very often villains.
“Barely any,” I say. “I was too full of rum to think about it.”
“You’re quite the liar,” says Amara. “And by quite, I mean quite awful.”
We come to a stop outside her room. “And you’re quite nosy,” I tell her.
“That’s new.”
Amara ignores this. “Are you going to the banquet hall to see your
friends?” she asks.
I shake my head. The guards will make sure my crew finds good beds for
the night, and I’m far too tired to plaster on another round of smiles.
“I’m going to bed,” I tell her. “Like the queen ordered.”
Amara nods, perches on her tiptoes, and kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you
tomorrow then,” she says. “And I can ask Kye about your exploits. I don’t
imagine a diplomat would lie to a princess.” With a playful grin, she turns to
her room and shuts the door behind her.
I pause for a moment.
I don’t much like the thought of my sister swapping stories with my crew,
but at least I can trust Kye to tell his tales with less death and gore. He’s
fanciful, but not stupid. He knows that I don’t behave the way a prince should
any more than he behaves as a diplomat’s son should. It’s my biggest secret.
People know me as the siren hunter, and those at court utter those words with
amusem*nt and fondness: Oh, Prince Elian, trying to save us all. If they
understood what it took, the awful and sickening screams sirens made. If they
saw the corpses of the women on my deck before they dissolved to sea foam,
then my people wouldn’t look upon me so fondly. I would no longer be a
prince to them, and as much as I might desire such things, I know better.
5
Lira
THE KETO PALACE LIES within the center of the Diávolos Sea and has always
been home to royalty. Though humans have kings and queens in every
crevice of the earth, the ocean has only one ruler. One queen. This is my
mother, and one day it will be me.
One day being soon. It’s not that my mother is too old to rule. Though
sirens live for a hundred years, we never age past a few decades, and soon
daughters look like mothers and mothers look like sisters, and it becomes
hard to tell how old anybody truly is. It’s another reason why we have the
tradition of hearts: so a siren’s age is never determined by her face, but
always by how many lives she has stolen.
This is the first time I’ve broken that tradition, and my mother is furious.
Looking down at me, the Sea Queen is every bit the tyrannical sovereign. To
an outsider, she may even seem infinite, as though her reign could never end.
It doesn’t look like she’ll lose her throne in just a few years.
As is customary, the Sea Queen retires her crown once she has sixty hearts.
I know the exact number my mother has hidden in the safe beneath the palace
gardens. Once, she had announced them each year, proud of her growing
collection. But she stopped making such proclamations when she reached
fifty. She stopped counting, or at least, stopped telling people that she did.
But I never stopped. Each year I counted my mother’s hearts just as
rigorously as I counted my own. So I know that she has three years before the
crown is mine.
“How many is that now, Lira?” asks the Sea Queen, looming down at me.
Reluctantly, I bow my head. Kahlia lingers behind me, and though I can’t
see her, I know she’s shadowing the gesture.
“Eighteen,” I reply.
“Eighteen,” the Sea Queen muses. “How funny you should have eighteen
hearts, when your birthday is not for two weeks.”
“I know, but—”
“Let me tell you what I know.” The queen settles on her carcass throne. “I
know that you were supposed to take your cousin to get her fifteenth, and
somehow that proved too difficult.”
“Not especially,” I say. “I did take her.”
“And you took a little something for yourself, too.”
Her tentacles stretch around my waist and pull me forward. In an instant, I
feel the crack of my ribs beneath her grip.
Every queen begins as a siren, and when the crown passes to her, its magic
steals her fins and leaves in their place mighty tentacles that hold the strength
of armies. She becomes more squid than fish, and with that transformation
comes the magic, unyielding and grand. Enough to shape the seas to her
whim. Sea Queen and Sea Witch both.
I’ve never known my mother as a siren, but I can’t imagine her ever
looking so mundane. She has ancient symbols and runes tattooed over her
stomach in red, stretching even to her gloriously carved cheekbones. Her
tentacles are black and scarlet, fading into one another like blood spilled into
ink, and her eyes have long since turned to rubies. Even her crown is a
magnificent headdress that peaks in horns atop her head and flows out like
limbs down her back.
“I won’t hunt on my birthday as recompense,” I concede breathlessly.
“Oh, but you will.” The queen strokes her black trident. A single ruby, like
her eyes, shines on the middle spear. “Because today never happened.
Because you would never disobey me or undermine me in any way. Would
you, Lira?”
She squeezes my ribs tighter.
“Of course not, Mother.”
“And you?” The queen turns her fixation to Kahlia, and I try to hide any
signs of unease. If my mother were to see concern in my eyes, it would only
be another weakness for her to exploit.
Kahlia swims forward. Her hair is pulled back from her face by a tie of
seaweed, and her fingernails are still crusted with pieces of the Adékarosin
queen. She bows her head in what some might interpret as a show of respect.
But I know better. Kahlia can never look the Sea Queen in the eye, because if
she did, then my mother might know exactly what my cousin thinks of her.
“I only thought she would kill him,” says Kahlia. “I didn’t know she’d take
his heart, too.”
It’s a lie and I’m glad of it.
“Well, how perfectly stupid you are not to know your own cousin.” My
mother eyes her greedily. “I’m not sure I can think of a punishment
unpleasant enough for complete idiocy.”
I clench a hand against the tentacle that grips my waist. “Whatever the
,I can’t figure out the expression on
her face.
“Why are you questioning this?” I ask. “I thought the Sea Queen took
everything from you and you wanted to use the Crystal of Keto to end the
war. You want revenge for your family as much as I do for Cristian.”
“Cristian?” Lira looks at me now, and when she says his name, it freezes in
the air between us.
“He was the prince of Adékaros.”
I run a hand through my hair, feeling suddenly angry and unfocused. For a
man like Cristian to die while a man like Tallis Rycroft gets to live is more
than unjust.
Lira swallows. “You were friends.”
Her voice sounds wretched and it distracts me. I can’t remember her voice
ever sounding anything short of pissed off.
“What was he like?” she asks.
There are countless words I could use to describe Cristian, but a man’s
character is better seen in his actions than the laments of his loved ones.
Cristian was full of proverbs and sentiments I never understood and enjoyed
mocking as much as I enjoyed hearing them. There wasn’t a situation we
found ourselves in that Cristian didn’t think warranted an adage. Love and
madness are two stars in the same sky. You cannot build a roof to keep out
last year’s rain. He always had something ready to settle the rampant parts of
me.
I think of what Cristian would say now if he knew what I was planning.
Any other man would want revenge, but I know he wouldn’t see the crystal
as a weapon. He wouldn’t even want me to find it.
If your only instrument is a sword, then you will always strike at your
problems.
Instead of telling all of this to Lira, I clasp the Págese necklace and say,
“Do you think she’ll feel it?”
“Who?”
“The Princes’ Bane,” I say. “Do you think she’ll feel it when the Sea
Queen dies?”
Lira lets out a sigh that turns to smoke on her lips. The air is thin and
perilous. Wind cuts between us like daggers while a storm rumbles closer. I
can smell the rain before it’s here, and I know within moments the sky will
come weeping down on us. Still, I don’t move. The night flashes and groans,
thick clouds creeping toward one another and merging into an infinite
shadow that blocks the stars. It grows darker with each moment.
“I wonder if she can feel anything at all,” Lira says. She shifts, and when
she turns to me, her eyes are vacant. “I suppose we won’t need to wonder for
long.”
32
Lira
THAT NIGHT I DREAM of death.
Seas run red with blood, and human bodies drift along the foam of my
fallen kin. When the waves finally ladder high enough to stroke the night,
they collapse and the bodies mangle against the seabed.
The sand bursts beneath them, scattering my kingdom in golden flakes.
Amid it all, my mother’s trident liquefies. I call out to her, but I’m not part of
this great ocean anymore, and so she doesn’t hear me. She doesn’t see me.
She doesn’t know that I’m watching her downfall.
She lets the trident wither and melt.
Elian stands beside her, and the newly sunlit water parts for him. He has
eyes like vast pools and a jaw made from shipwrecks and broken coral. Every
movement he makes is as quick and fluid as a tidal wave. He belongs to the
ocean. He is made from it, as much as I am.
Kindred.
Elian stares at the seabed. I want to ask him why he’s so fascinated by
sand, when there is an entire world in this ocean that he can’t begin to
imagine. Why isn’t he seeing it? Why doesn’t he care enough to look? I’ve
seen the world through his eyes; can’t he see it through mine?
The urge to scream rips through me, but I can only remember the words in
Psáriin and I don’t dare speak the language to him.
I watch him turn toward the sand, his face as plainly broken as my
mother’s.
It’s only when I’m certain I might lose my mind from the anguish that I
suddenly remember his language. I sift quickly through the Midasan and find
the words to tell him. I want to explain how full of magic and possibility my
world could be if not for my mother’s rule. I want to comfort him with the
chance for peace, no matter how small. Tell him things could be different if I
were queen. That I wasn’t born a murderer. But I find the words too late. By
the time they become clear in my mind, I see the truth of what Elian sees.
He is not staring at the sand at all, but at the hearts that rupture from it.
Don’t look. Don’t look.
“Did you do it?” Elian’s eyes find mine. “Did you do it?” he asks again in
Psáriin.
The razors of my language are enough to cut through his tongue, and I
wince as blood slips from his mouth.
“I took many hearts,” I confess. “His was last.”
Elian shakes his head, and the laugh that escapes his lips is a perfect echo
of my mother’s. “No,” he tells me. “It wasn’t.”
He stretches his hands out and I stumble backward in horror. I’m no longer
in control when my legs buckle and throw me to the floor. I look at the heart
in Elian’s hands, blood gathering between his fingertips. Not just any heart.
His own.
“Is this what you were after?” he screams.
He takes a step forward and I shake my head, warning him not to come
closer.
“Lira,” Elian whispers. “Isn’t this what you wanted?”
I wake up gasping for air.
My hands clutch the thin white bedsheet, and my hair slavers over my bare
shoulders. The ship rocks slowly to the side, but the motion that I used to find
comforting makes me more nauseated by the second. My heart ticks madly
against my chest, shaking more than beating.
When I unclench my fists from the bedsheet, there are scratch marks on
my palm. Angry red streaks across the lines of my hand. No matter how hard
I try, I can’t seem to catch my breath.
The image of Elian’s heart plays on an unsteady loop. The betrayal in his
eyes. The punishing sound of my mother’s laughter.
I spent my life hiding from the possibility of being different than what my
mother told me I must be. Swallowing the child with a desire to become
something else. I was a siren and so I was a killer. It was never wrong or
right; it just was. But now my memories are cruel dreams, twisting into
merciless visions and accusing me of a past I can’t deny.
The truth of what I am has become a nightmare.
33
Elian
THE WATER IS SLUSH by the time the Saad makes her berth. Cold has a faithful
presence here, and with dusk rapidly approaching, the air seems almost
frozen by the impending absence of sun. Regardless, it’s just as bright as if it
were morning. The mirror of the frozen sky against the white water, flecked
by tufts of ice and snow, makes for a kingdom that is beautifully void of
darkness. Even in the dead of night, the sky turns no darker than a mottled
blue, and the ground itself acts like a light to guide the way. Snow, reflecting
the eternal tinsel of the stars.
Págos.
I feel the beat of the necklace against my heart as we step foot onto the
snow. Finally the crystal is within reach. I have the key and the map to
navigate the route, and all that’s left is for Lira to tell me the secrets of the
ritual.
The air is crisp on my skin, and though my hands are wrapped under thick
gloves, I shove my fists into my pockets anyway. The wind penetrates here
through every layer, including skin. I’m dressed in fur so thick that walking
feels like an exertion. It slows me down more than I would like, and even
though I know there’s no imminent threat of attack, I still don’t like being
unprepared in case one comes. It shakes me more than the cold ever could.
When I turn to Lira, the ends of her hair are white with frost. “Try not to
breathe,” I tell her. “It might get stuck halfway out.”
Lira flicks up her hood. “You should try not to talk then,” she retorts.
“Nobody wants your words being preserved for eternity.”
“They’re pearls of wisdom, actually.”
I can barely see Lira’s eyes under the mass of dark fur from her coat, but
the mirthless curl of her smile is ever-present. It lingers in calculated
amusem*nt as she considers what to say next. Readies to ricochet the next
blow.
Lira pulls a line of ice from her hair, artfully indifferent. “If that is what
pearls are worth these days, I’ll make
,punishment is,” I say, “I’ll take it.”
My mother’s smile twitches, and I know that she’s thinking of all the ways
this makes me unworthy to be her daughter. Still, I can’t help it. In an ocean
of sirens who watch out only for themselves, protecting Kahlia has become
somewhat of a reflex. Ever since that day when we were both forced to watch
her mother die. And throughout the years, as the Sea Queen tried to mold
both Kahlia and I into the perfect descendants of Keto. Carving our edges
into the right shape for her to admire. It’s a mirror to a childhood I’d sooner
forget.
Kahlia is like me. Too much like me, perhaps. And though it’s what makes
the Sea Queen hate her, it’s also the reason I choose to care. I’ve stuck by her
side, shielding her from the parts of my mother that are the most brutal. Now
protecting my cousin isn’t a decision I make. It’s instinct.
“How caring of you,” the Sea Queen says with a scornful smile. “Is it all
those hearts you’ve stolen? Did you take some of their humanity, too?”
“Mother—”
“Such fealty to a creature other than your queen.” She sighs. “I wonder if
this is the way you behave with the humans, too. Tell me, Lira, do you cry for
their broken hearts?”
She drops her grip on me, disgusted. I hate what I become in her presence:
trite and undeserving of the crown I’m to inherit. Through her eyes, I see my
failure. It doesn’t matter how many princes I hunt, because I’ll never be the
kind of killer that she is.
I’m still not quite cold enough for the ocean that birthed me.
“Give it to me so we can get on with it,” the Sea Queen says impatiently.
I frown. “Give it to you,” I repeat.
The queen holds out her hand. “I don’t have all day.”
It takes me a moment to realize that she means the heart of the prince I
killed.
“But . . .” I shake my head. “But it’s mine.”
What an incredible child I’ve become.
The Sea Queen’s lips curl. “You will give it to me,” she says. “Right now.”
Seeing the look on her face, I turn and swim for my bedroom without
another word. There the prince’s heart lies buried alongside seventeen others.
Carefully, I dig through the freshly placed shingle and pull the heart out of
the floor. It’s crusted in sand and blood and still feels warm in my hands. I
don’t stop to think about the pain the loss will bring before I swim back to
my mother and present it to her.
The Sea Queen strikes out a tentacle and snatches the heart from my open
palm. For a while she stares into my eyes, gauging my every reaction.
Savoring the moment. And then she squeezes.
The heart explodes into a gruesome mass of blood and flesh. Tiny particles
float like ocean lint. Some dissolve. Others fall like feathers to the ocean bed.
Shots plunge through my chest, slamming into me like whirlpools as the
heart’s magic is taken from me. The jolts are so strong that my fins catch on a
nearby seashell and rip. My blood gushes alongside the prince’s.
Siren blood is nothing like human blood. Firstly, because it is cold.
Secondly, because it burns. Human blood flows and drips and pools, but siren
blood blisters and bubbles and melts through skin.
I fall to the floor and claw the sand so deeply that my finger stabs a rock
and it cleaves my nail clean off. I am breathless, heaving in great gasps of
water and then choking it back up moments later. I think I might be
drowning, and I almost laugh at the thought.
Once a siren steals a human heart, we become bonded to it. It’s an ancient
kind of magic that cannot be easily broken. By taking the heart, we absorb its
power, stealing whatever youth and life the human had left and binding it to
us. The Adékarosin prince’s heart is being ripped from me, and any power it
held leaks into the ocean before my eyes. Into nothingness.
Shaking, I rise. My limbs feel as heavy as iron and my fins throb. The
glorious red seaweed that covers my breasts is still coiled around me, but the
strands have loosened and hang limply over my stomach. Kahlia turns away,
to keep my mother from seeing the anguish on her face.
“Wonderful,” says the queen. “Time for the punishment.”
Now I do laugh. My throat feels scratchy, and even that action, the sound
of my voice so wrought with magic, takes energy from me. I feel weaker than
I ever have.
“That wasn’t punishment?” I spit. “Ripping the power from me like that?”
“It was the perfect punishment,” says the Sea Queen. “I don’t think I could
have thought of a better lesson to teach you.”
“Then what else is there?”
She smiles with ivory fangs. “Kahlia’s punishment,” she says. “Per your
request.”
I feel the heaviness in my chest again. I recognize the dreadful gleam in
my mother’s eyes, as it’s a look I’ve inherited. One I hate seeing on anyone
else, because I know exactly what it means.
“I’m sure I can think of something fitting.” The queen runs a tongue across
her fangs. “Something to teach you a valuable lesson about the power of
patience.”
I fight the urge to sneer, knowing no good will come of it. “Don’t keep me
in suspense.”
The Sea Queen leers down at me. “You always did enjoy pain,” she says.
This is as much of a compliment as I’m going to get, so I smile in a way
that is sickeningly pleasant and say,“Pain doesn’t always hurt.”
The Sea Queen shoots me a contemptuous look. “Is that so?” Her
eyebrows twitch upward and my arrogance falters somewhat. “If that’s how
you feel, then I have no choice but to decree that for your birthday, you will
have the chance to inflict all of the pain you like when you steal your next
heart.”
I eye her warily. “I don’t understand.”
“Only,” the queen continues, “instead of the princes you are so adept at
trapping, you will add a new kind of trophy to your collection.” Her voice is
as wicked as mine has ever been. “Your eighteenth heart will belong to a
sailor. And at the ceremony of your birth, with our entire kingdom present,
you will present this to them, as you have done with all of your trophies.”
I stare at my mother, biting my tongue so hard that my teeth almost meet.
She doesn’t want to punish me. She wants to humiliate me. Show a
kingdom whose fear and loyalty I’ve earned that I’m no different from them.
That I don’t stand out. That I’m not worthy to take her crown.
I’ve spent my life trying to be just what my mother wanted – the worst of
us all – in an effort to show that I’m worthy of the trident. I became the
Princes’ Bane, a title that defines me throughout the world. For the
kingdom – for my mother – I am ruthless. And that ruthlessness makes each
and every sea creature certain I can reign. Now my mother wants to take that
from me. Not just my name, but the faith of the ocean. If I’m not the Princes’
Bane, then I’m nothing. Just a princess inheriting a crown instead of earning
it.
6
Elian
“I DON’T REMEMBER THE last time I saw you like that.”
“Like what?”
“Put together.”
“Put together,” I repeat, adjusting my collar.
“Handsome,” says Madrid.
I arch an eyebrow. “Am I not normally handsome?”
“You’re not normally clean,” she says. “And your hair isn’t normally so
—”
“Put together?”
Madrid rolls up her shirtsleeves. “Princely.”
I smirk and look in the mirror. My hair is neatly slicked back from my
face, every speck of dirt scrubbed away so that there isn’t an ounce of the
ocean left on me. I’m wearing a white dress shirt with a high-button collar
and a dark gold jacket that feels like silk against my skin. Probably because it
is silk. My family crest sits uncomfortably on my thumb, and of every piece
of gold on me, that seems to shine the brightest.
“You look the same,” I tell Madrid. “Only without the mud smears.”
She punches me in the shoulder and ties her midnight hair away from her
face with a bandana, revealing the Kléftesis tattoo on her cheek. It’s a brand
for children taken by the slave ships and forced to be murderers for hire.
When I found her, Madrid had just bought her freedom with the barrel of a
gun.
By the doorway, Kye and Torik wait. Just as Madrid, they look no
different. Torik with his shorts unraveling at the shin, and Kye with sharp
,cheeks and a smile made for trickery. Their faces are cleaner, but nothing else
has changed. They’re incapable of being anything other than what they are. I
envy that.
“Come with us,” says Kye, threading his fingers through Madrid’s. She
glares at the uncharacteristic display of affection – the two of them are far
better fighters than they are lovers – and breaks away to run a hand through
her hair.
“You like the tavern so much more than this place,” Madrid says.
It’s true. A horde of my crew has already made their way to the Golden
Goose, with enough gold to drink until the sun comes up. All that remains are
my three most trusted.
“It’s a ball thrown in my honor,” I tell them. “It wouldn’t be very
honorable for me not to show up.”
“Maybe they won’t notice.” Madrid’s hair swings wildly behind her as she
speaks.
“That’s not comforting.”
Kye nudges her and she pushes him back twice as hard. “Quit it,” she says.
“Quit making him nervous, then,” he tells her. “Let’s leave the prince to be
a prince for once. Besides, I need a drink, and I feel like I’m messing up this
pristine room just by standing here.”
I nod. “I do feel poorer just looking at you.”
Kye reaches over to the nearby sofa and throws one of the gold-threaded
cushions at me with such poor aim that it lands by my feet. I kick it away and
try to look chastising.
“I hope you throw your knife better than that.”
“Never had a siren complain yet,” he says. “Are you sure you’re okay for
us to go?”
I stare back into the mirror at the prince before me. Immaculate and cold,
barely a glint in my eyes. As though I’m untouchable and I know it. Madrid
was right; I do look princely. Which is to say, that I look like a complete
bastard.
I adjust my collar again. “I’m sure.”
THE BALLROOM SHINES LIKE its own sun. Everywhere glitters and sparkles, so
much so that if I concentrate too much on any specific thing, my head begins
to pound.
“How much longer do you plan to have your feet on land?”
Nadir Pasha, one of our highest dignitaries, swirls a gold glass of brandy.
Unlike the other Pashas I’ve spent the evening in idle conversation with –
either political or military ranking – he’s not nearly as trite. It’s why I always
save him for last when I consult with court. Matters of state are the furthest
thing from his mind, especially on occasions when the brandy glasses are so
large.
“Only a few more days,” I say.
“Such an adventurer!” Nadir takes a swig of his drink. “What a joy to be
young, isn’t it?”
His wife, Halina, smooths down the front of her emerald dress. “Quite.”
“Not that you or I would remember,” remarks the Pasha.
“Not that you would notice.” I lift Halina’s hand to my lips. “You shine
brighter than any tapestry we have.”
The transparency of my compliment is easy to recognize, but Halina
curtsies all the same. “Thank you, My Lord.”
“It’s an astonishment how far you go to do your duties,” Nadir says. “I’ve
even heard rumors of all the languages you’re said to speak. No doubt that’ll
be of help with future negotiations among neighboring kingdoms. How many
is it now?”
“Fifteen,” I recite. “When I was younger, I had it in my mind that I could
learn each language of the hundred kingdoms. I think I’ve failed quite
splendidly.”
“What’s the point of such things anyway?” asks Halina. “There’s barely a
person alive who doesn’t speak Midasan. We’re at the center of the world,
Your Highness. Anyone who can’t be bothered to learn the language simply
isn’t worth knowing.”
“Quite right.” Nadir nods gruffly. “But what I actually meant, Your
Highness, was the language of them. The forbidden language.” He lowers his
voice a little and leans in close, so that his mustache tickles my ear.
“Psáriin.”
The language of the sea.
“Nadir!” Halina smacks her husband’s shoulder, horrified. “You shouldn’t
speak of such things!” She turns to me. “We’re sorry to offend you, My
Liege,” she says. “My husband didn’t mean to imply that you’d sully your
tongue with such a language. He’s had far too much brandy. The glasses are
deeper than they look.”
I nod, unoffended. It’s just a language after all, and though no human can
speak it, no human has ever devoted their lives to hunting sirens, either. It
isn’t a leap to imagine I’ve decided to add the dialect of my prey to my
collection. Even if it’s forbidden in Midas. But in order to do so, I’d need to
keep a siren alive long enough to teach me, and that isn’t something I ever
plan on doing. Of course, I’ve picked up a few words here and there. Arith, I
quickly learned to mean no, but there are so many others. Dolofónos.
Choíron. I can only ever guess at what they mean. Insults, curses, pleas. In
some ways, it’s best I don’t know.
“Don’t worry,” I tell Halina. “It’s not the worst thing someone has accused
me of.”
She looks a little flustered. “Well,” she whispers delicately, “people do
talk.”
“Not just about you,” Nadir clarifies with a loud exhale. “More about your
work. It’s most definitely appreciated, considering recent events. I would
think our king would be proud to have you defending our land and those of
our allies.”
My brow creases at the idea of my father being anywhere close to proud at
having a siren hunter for a son. “Recent events?” I ask.
Halina gasps, though she doesn’t seem at all shocked. “Have you not heard
the stories about Adékaros?”
There’s something dreadful in the air. Just yesterday my father spoke of
Adékaros and how, if I wasn’t careful, Midas would end up the same.
I swallow and try to feign indifference. “It’s hard to keep track of all the
stories I hear.”
“It’s Prince Cristian,” Halina says conspiratorially. “He’s dead. The queen,
too.”
“Murdered,” clarifies Nadir. “Sirens set upon their ship and there was
nothing the crew could do. It was the song, you understand. The kingdom is
in turmoil.”
The room dulls. From the gold, to the music, to the faces of Nadir Pasha
and Halina. It all becomes out of focus and stifled. For a moment I hesitate to
breathe, let alone speak. I never had much dealing with the queen, but
whenever the Saad was close to Adékaros, we docked without hesitation and
Prince Cristian welcomed us with open arms. He made sure the crew was fed,
and joined us in the tavern so that he could listen to our stories. When we left,
he would gift us something. A lot of countries did it – small tokens that we
never had much use for – but it was different for Cristian. He relied solely on
scarce crops and loans from other kingdoms just to survive. Every gift he
gave was a sacrifice.
“I heard it was the Princes’ Bane.” Halina shakes her head in pity.
I clench my fists. “Says who?”
“The crew said her hair was as red as hellfire,” Nadir explains. “Could it
have been any other?”
I want to argue the possibility, but I’d be fooling myself. The Princes’
Bane is the greatest monster I’ve ever known, and the only one who’s
escaped death once I’ve set my sights on her. I’ve hunted the seas tirelessly,
searching for the flaming hair I’ve heard of in so many stories.
I’ve never even seen her.
I had begun to think that she was just a myth. Nothing more than a legend
to scare royals from leaving their lands. But every time I entertain the
thought, another prince turns up dead. It’s yet another reason why I can’t
return to Midas and be the king my father wants me to be. I can never stop.
Not until I’ve killed her.
“Of course, how could they know?” asks Halina. “It isn’t the right month
for it.”
I realize that she’s speaking the truth. The Princes’ Bane only attacks in the
same month each year. And if she murdered Cristian, then she was over a
fortnight early. Does that mean she’s changed her habits? That no prince is
safe on any day?
My lips twitch. “Evil doesn’t follow a calendar,” I say, even though this
particular evil has always seemed to do just that.
Beside me, someone clears their throat. I turn and see my sister. I’m not
sure how long she’s been standing there, but the amicable smile on her face
leads me to assume that she’s heard most of the conversation.
,“Brother.” She takes my arm. “Dance with me, won’t you?”
I nod, welcoming the break from the sort of polite conversation the Pasha
and his wife seem to enjoy. Which makes me want to be anything other than
polite.
“No suitors vying for your attention?” I ask Amara.
“None worth my time,” she says. “And none our charming father would
approve of.”
“Those are the best kind.”
“You try explaining that when the boy’s head is on a chopping block.”
I snort. “Then it would be my pleasure,” I tell her. “If only to save some
poor boy’s life.”
I turn to Nadir and Halina and give a swift bow, then let my sister lead me
onto the floor.
7
Elian
DESPITE ITS NAME, THE Golden Goose is one of the only things in Midas that is
not painted to match the pyramid. The walls are crusted brown and the drinks
follow in the same hue. The clientele is nothing short of brutish, and most
nights, glass crunches underfoot, with blood patching the beer-soaked tables.
It’s one of my favorite places.
The owner is Sakura and she has always just been Sakura. No last name
that anyone knows of. She’s pretty and plump, with white-blond hair cut
above her ears and thin, angled eyes that are the same brown as the walls. She
wears red lipstick dark enough to cover her secrets, and her skin is paler than
anything I’ve ever seen. Most people have guessed that she’s from Págos,
which sees constant snow and little sun. A land so cold that only natives are
able to survive it. It’s rumored, even, that the Págese rarely migrate to other
kingdoms because they find the heat to be suffocating. Yet I can’t remember
a time when Sakura didn’t own the Golden Goose. She seemed to always be
there, or at least, she has been there since I started visiting. And though she’s
beautiful, she’s also cruel enough that not even the thieves and felons try to
get past her.
Luckily, Sakura likes me. Whenever I’m in Midas, it’s common
knowledge that I’ll visit the Golden Goose, and even criminals can’t resist a
chance to meet the famous pirate prince, whether it’s to shake my hand or try
to con me at cards. And so when I visit, Sakura gives me a smile that shows
her straight, milky teeth and lets me drink for free. A thanks for bringing in
more customers. It also means that my crew is allowed to stay long after
closing to discuss sensitive matters in the dead of night with people I don’t
dare bring to the palace.
I suspect half of this is because Sakura enjoys being privy to my secrets.
But that doesn’t bother me. As many secrets as Sakura knows about me, I
know far more about her. Far worse. And while she may choose to sell the
best of mine to the highest bidder, I’ve kept her most valuable mysteries
close. Waiting for just the right price.
Tonight my inner circle sits around the crooked table in the center of the
Golden Goose and watches as the strange man in front of us fiddles with his
cufflinks.
“The stories don’t lie,” he says.
“That’s what a story is,” Madrid says. “A bunch of lies by no-good gossips
with too much time on their hands. Right, Captain?”
I shrug and pull the pocket watch from my jacket to check the time. It’s the
one present from my father that isn’t gold or new or even princely. It’s plain
and black, with no ornate swirls or sparkling stones, and on the inside of the
lid, opposite the clock face, is a compass.
I knew it wasn’t an heirloom when my father gifted it to me – all Midasan
heirlooms are gold that never lose their shine – but when I asked my father
where the watch came from, he simply said that it would help me find my
way. And it does just that. Because the compass doesn’t have four points, but
two, and neither represents the cardinal points. North is for truth and South is
for lies, with a resting place between that indicates either may be possible.
It’s a compass to split the liars from the loyal.
“My information is solid,” the man says.
He’s one of the many who approached me near closing, guaranteeing
information to hunt down the mighty Princes’ Bane. I put the word out after
the ball that I won’t stop until I’ve found her, and any clues leading to that
will be met with a heavy reward. Most of the information was useless.
Descriptions of the siren’s burning hair, talk of her eyes or seas she
apparently frequents. Some even claim to know the location of the
underwater kingdom of Keto, which my compass was quick to see through.
Besides, I already know where the kingdom is: the Diávolos Sea. The only
problem is that I don’t know where the Diávolos Sea is. And neither does
anyone else, apparently.
But this man piqued my interest. Enough so that come midnight, when
Sakura announced she was closing and motioned for everyone to leave, I
gave her a nod and she proceeded to lock the doors with me and my crew –
and this strange man – inside, before heading to the back room, for whatever
it was she did when princes commandeered her bar.
The man turns to me. “I’m telling you, Lord Prince,” he says. “The crystal
is as real as I am.”
I stare at him. He’s different from the usual caliber I see in the Golden
Goose, refined in a way that is forcibly precise. His coat is made of black
velvet and his hair is combed into a tidy ponytail, with his shoes polished to
gleam against the crusty floorboards. But he’s also uncommonly thin – the
lavish coat swallows his pinched shoulders – and his dark skin is quilted red
by the sun, like my crew when they’ve spent too long on the deck after a hard
day’s sail.
When the man taps his fingers on the table impatiently, the ends of his
bitten-down nails catch in the cracks of the wood.
“Tell me more.”
Torik throws his hands up. “You want more rubbish to line your ears
with?”
Kye produces a small knife from his belt. “If it’s really rubbish,” he says,
thumbing the blade, “then he’ll get what’s coming to him.”
I turn to Kye. “Put it away.”
“We want to be safe.”
“Which is why I’m telling you to put it away and not throw it away.”
Kye smirks and places the knife back into his belt.
I tip my glass toward the man. “Tell me more.”
“The Crystal of Keto will bring peace and justice to our world.”
A smile tugs at my lips. “Will it now?”
“It’ll save us all from the fire.”
I lick the liquor from my lips. “How does that work?” I ask. “Do we clutch
it tight and wish upon a star? Or perhaps tuck it under our pillows and
exchange it to the fairies for good luck.”
Kye pours some liquor into a shot glass. “Dip it in wax and light it up to
burn away the flames of war,” he says, sliding the glass over to Madrid.
She laughs and brings the glass to her lips. “Kiss it and maybe it’ll turn
into a prince who doesn’t speak such drivel,” she says.
“Or throw it into the pile of sh*t that it was made from.” This is from
Torik, whose perfectly neutral face only makes me laugh harder, until the
only sounds that can be heard are our snickers and the sharp bangs as my
crew slaps their hands against the tables.
Then, amid it all, a deathly quiet voice: “By killing the Sea Queen.”
I stop laughing.
My gaze snaps back to the man, and I pull my knife from my belt loop,
feeling its thirst for a kill. Slowly, I bring it to the man’s throat. “Say that
again.”
He swallows as the tip of my blade presses against his jugular. He should
be scared. He looks scared; his eyes squint the right way and his hands even
quake as he picks up his glass. But it seems rehearsed, because when he
speaks, his voice is smooth. No sign of fear. It’s as though he’s used to
having a knife at his throat.
“The crystal was crafted to bring justice to our world by destroying the Sea
Queen,” he explains.
“Crafted by who?” I ask.
“By the original families,” he says. “They were the greatest magicians of
the age, and together they agreed the territories of the world, each taking a
corner for themselves so that they could have peace and never be victims of
the old border wars.”
“Yes,” I say, impatient. “We’re all aware of the original families. It’s a
fairy tale every child in the hundred kingdoms knows.” I pocket my knife
with a sigh. “Even
,these racketeers.”
“It is not a fairy tale!” The man slams his fists on the table. “What those
stories never told you is that the original families created peace on land, but
below a battle waged on. A goddess ruled the ocean, spreading her evil
throughout the waters. Soon she bore children who became devils. Monstrous
creatures whose voices brought the death of men.”
“Sirens.”
The man nods. “They could transform, existing on land and under it. Under
the goddess Keto’s rule they terrorized humanity, and so the one hundred
magicians combined their power and declared war on the ocean. After a
decade of death they were finally able to destroy Keto and weaken the
monsters she’d created. From her remains, they conjured a keepsake that
could destroy the sirens forever.”
“If that’s true,” I say, “then why didn’t they use it?”
“Because the sirens fashioned a stone from her remains too. It gave their
new queen the power to control her kind, and she promised to keep them at
bay. She even took away the sirens’ ability to walk on land as a show of good
faith. Without that, they weren’t a large enough threat to warrant the original
families committing genocide. So they took mercy and formed a treaty. The
land belonged to the humans, and the seas belonged to the devils. If either of
them crossed into each other’s territories, then they were fair game. The
crystal was hidden for a day when the hundred kingdoms could no longer
honor the bargain.”
Around me, my crew breaks into mocking laughter, but I can barely hear
them over the sound of my own pulse as I look down at the compass face.
North.
Resolutely, the arrow neither moving nor swaying. I shake it in disbelief
and when it doesn’t tremble, I tap it against the table. The arrow stays where
it is.
North.
Truth.
By now my crew has resumed their jeering, poking holes at the myth and
chastising the stranger for daring to bring fairy tales to their captain.
Something in me, right there on the surface, thinks they’re right. That it’s
nothing but children’s tales and a waste of my time. It tells me to listen to my
crew and ignore the madness. But the compass has never been wrong, and
beneath the surface, right down in my gut, I know it can’t be. This is my
chance to finally slay the beast.
“Where is it?” I ask.
My voice cuts through the laughter of my crew, and they stare at me as
though I’ve finally lost my mind.
The man gulps down a drink and meets my eyes with a smile. “You
mentioned a reward.”
I arch an eyebrow at Kye. Without the need for any convincing, he plunges
his knife into the table. The man flinches, staring in horror at the blade
nestled neatly in the space between his thumb and forefinger. The look of
fear on his face isn’t so practiced now.
“You’ll get your reward,” Kye tells him. “One way or the other.”
“It’s in the only place they were sure the Sea Queen could never reach it,”
the man says quickly. “As far from the ocean as possible. The highest point
in the world.”
My heart sinks. The highest point in the world. Too cold for any to venture
and live to tell the tale.
“The Cloud Mountain of Págos,” the man says.
And with that, hope slips away.
8
Lira
ONE WEEK IS ALL I have. In seven days I’ll turn eighteen and my mother will
force me to steal the heart of a sailor. A better creature would take the
punishment and be glad that it’s all the Sea Queen has decreed.
I’m not a better creature.
It’s foolish to think about disobeying the queen again, but the thought of
being told who I should and shouldn’t kill rattles me. It makes me feel every
bit the rabid dog for my mother to release on whoever she decrees. Of course,
since killing humans itself is an order given by her, I suppose it’s always
been that way. I’ve become so used to being brutal, that I almost forget it
didn’t begin as a choice, but a requirement. Kill the humans. Help finish the
war they started when they killed Keto. Be a true siren.
I think for a moment about whether I would still be such a monster if my
mother and those before her decreed peace in place of war. Let Keto’s death
be the death of our battle and turn hatred to bygones. We’re taught never to
question or to think of ourselves as anything other than what we are, and it’s
smart, perhaps, to ignore the idea. After all, the punishment for refusing to
kill would be beyond imagination.
I braid my hair to one side. I’ve swum to the borders of my sea, as far from
my mother as I can get without leaving the kingdom. I don’t know what my
anger will turn into if I see her now. I can’t think of what reckless thing I
might do.
I lie down on the ocean bed and nudge the jellyfish beside me. Its tentacles
graze my stomach and I feel a wonderful burst of pain. The kind that numbs
and calms and clears my mind. It’s a release like no other, and when the pain
subsides, I do it again. This time, I hold the creature there and let its tentacles
dance across my skin. Lightning courses up my stomach and into my still
heart. It burns and itches, and I let my mind go foggy with agony.
There’s nothing in the world but pain and the rare moments that exist in
between.
“Pretty princess, so alone,” comes a whisper of Psáriin. “Wanting pain,
wanting bone.”
“Not bone, but heart,” says another. “See inside, see the spark.”
I push the jellyfish away and sit up to look at the two creatures hovering
nearby. They are both dark navy with slick fins and the bodies of eels. Their
arms are covered in black gills like razors up to their elbows, and their
stomachs form large, rigid muscles that press against skeletal breasts. As they
speak, their loose jaws go as slack as fishes’.
Mermaids.
“Pretty princess,” says the first of the two. Her body is covered in rusted
metal, no doubt scavenged from pirate ships or given as tribute when she
saved a wounded human. She has stabbed them through her flesh. Brooches
and daggers and coins with threaded wire, all piercing through her like
jewelry.
“Wants to be free,” her companion says.
“Free from the queen.”
“Free her heart.”
“Take a heart.”
“Take the queen’s.”
I wrinkle my nose at them. “Go and follow a human ship to the end of the
earth until you all fall off it.”
The one with the rusted metal swishes her tentacle hair, and a glob of slime
trails down to her eel tail. “Fall from the earth,” she tells me.
“Fall from grace.”
“Can’t fall from it if you never had it.”
They laugh in hisses. “Go now then,” they chorus. “Go find the heart.”
“What are you talking about?” I ask impatiently. “What heart?”
“Win the queen’s heart.”
“A heart to win the queen’s.”
“For your birthday.”
“A heart worthy for eighteen.”
Their tediousness grates. Mermaids are ghastly things with minds that
work in mysteries and lips made from riddles. Wearily, I say, “The Sea
Queen has decreed I steal a sailor’s heart for my eighteenth. Which I’m sure
you know.”
They tilt their heads in what I imagine is their way of nodding. Mermaids
are spies, through and through, their ears pressed to every corner of the
ocean. It’s what makes them dangerous. They devour secrets as easily as they
could loosen their jaws and devour ships.
“Go,” I tell them. “You don’t belong here.”
“This is the edge.”
“The edge is where we belong.”
“You should think less of the edge and more of your heart.”
“A heart of gold is worth its weight to the queen.”
The one with the metal rips a brooch from the base of her fin and throws it
to me. It’s the one thing from the mermaid that hasn’t rusted.
“The queen,” I say slowly, twisting the brooch in my hands, “does not care
for gold.”
“She would care for the heart of its land.”
“The heart of a prince.”
“A prince of gold.”
“Bright as the sun.”
“Though not as fun.”
“Not for our kind.”
“Not for anyone.”
I’m about to lose all patience when I grasp the weight of their words. My
lips part in realization and I sink back to the sand. The brooch is from Midas,
the land of gold ruled by a king whose blood flows with it. A king to be
succeeded by a pirate prince. A wanderer. A siren killer.
I stare at the
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