But Vordan will have none of that. He shakes his head in displeasure. Theris
drags his sword against Riden’s skin again. This time near his calf.
“Do not let the water build up on the ground,” Vordan says. “Take it all in.”
He’s worried I’ll preserve the water until there’s enough for me to do something truly dangerous with it. So long as Vordan and his cronies have wax
in their ears, it doesn’t matter how much water I have at my disposal.
But I don’t point this out. I haven’t any time to waste if I’m to avoid causing
Riden any more pain. So when Niffon allows more water to drop, I catch it all
and absorb it instantly. Nothing escapes me, and my hands dry immediately.
The change is instant. The soothing water becomes part of me. It fills the emptiness that I’ve felt for the last couple of weeks, replenishing my song, strengthening my confidence, easing my fear. I want to feel that comfort everywhere at once. I want to jump into the ocean and swim for the deepest, blackest space so the comfort will never leave me.
For a moment, all I can think about is the ocean. I have no cares except to return to her. Nothing else matters.
“Alosa.” It’s Riden’s voice cutting through my longing thoughts. I try to rein
in the desires of the siren. This is why I cannot replenish my song unless I can
take the time to get my bearings. For using the ocean to nourish me opens me to
a siren’s instinct. And a siren’s instinct is not to care about anything except herself, her sisters, and the ocean.
This man is nothing to me. What do I care if they kill him? He does not matter. I matter.
“Alosa,” Riden repeats.
I narrow my gaze in his direction, attempting to focus my thoughts. Don’t become some soulless creature. You are a woman. Think of your crew, your friends, your family. Remember the time you stole a ship and made it yours.
Remember how it feels to be a captain, to have earned the respect and gratitude
of your crew. Think of the pride in your father’s eyes when you please him.
Think of Riden. Remember when you had fun fighting him, sword against
sword? Remember the taunts and jabs. Remember the dagger. Remember his
kisses. Think of Riden, who doesn’t deserve to die all because you can’t control
yourself!
That does it. I return my gaze to Vordan, awaiting instructions.
“Sing to him, Alosa. Impress me.”
Vordan no doubt wants to see Riden dance and perform other ridiculous
stunts. Under other circumstances, I think it would be funny to make Riden humiliate himself. But not now. Not to satisfy a man who has put me in a cage.
Riden is no monkey, and I am no slave.
I look at Riden. He doesn’t look afraid exactly, just uneasy. “Go ahead,” he
finally says. Since Riden faces me and the men have wax in their ears, they can’t tell he’s speaking to me. “We’ll get out of this eventually. Do what you need to
in the meantime.”
Vordan watches me carefully, so I don’t risk nodding at Riden. Instead, I begin. I start with something simple and undetectable. My lips open ever so slightly as I sing a soothing, slow melody. The notes do not matter. It is the intention behind them that gives the song power. It’s what makes Riden do what
I want. And what I want right now is to take away his pain.
Instantly, his tense arm and leg relax, no longer feeling the cruel slices or the deep gash near his wrist. Then I tear a strip of cloth from the bottom of my blouse and throw it at Riden.
Vordan’s men stand, prepared to intervene should I be attempting to make Riden flee or free me. I should be flattered that they think I can manage something with naught but a strip of cloth.
But it is for Riden’s arm. I weave a few more notes into the song, making Riden tie up his severest wound to stanch the bleeding. I wish I could heal it for him, but my abilities are limited. I can only alter the mind, where I’ve discovered pain truly comes from. I can ease Riden’s suffering temporarily, but
nothing more.
I have only a few notes left, so I try to give Vordan what he wants. Riden stands up straight. His eyes don’t glaze over or anything. He looks perfectly normal, as though his actions are his own. But they’re not. He does nothing more
or less than what I tell him through song. Riden moves through a couple of
combat moves. I make him kick and punch at invisible foes. He jumps through the air, dodging and striking his opponents. Finally, he sheathes an imaginary sword.
I release him from my spell once my powers are drained. Then I sit on the floor of the cage.