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 cock 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.
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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.
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