To Kill a Kingdom

by Alexandra Christo

  “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 whore 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 shit-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 bullshit 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 shit 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.”