“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. En
ough 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 shit 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 imagina
tion.
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.”
To Kill a Kingdom Page 4