To Kill a Kingdom

by Alexandra Christo

  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, 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 shits 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 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.