“Only a few more days,” I say.
“Such an adventurer!” Nadir takes a swig of his drink. “What a joy to be young, isn’t it?”
His wife, Halina, smooths down the front of her emerald dress. “Quite.”
“Not that you or I would remember,” remarks the Pasha.
“Not that you would notice.” I lift Halina’s hand to my lips. “You shine brighter than any tapestry we have.”
The transparency of my compliment is easy to recognize, but Halina curtsies all the same. “Thank you, My Lord.”
“It’s an astonishment how far you go to do your duties,” Nadir says. “I’ve even heard rumors of all the languages you’re said to speak. No doubt that’ll be of help with future negotiations among neighboring kingdoms. How many is it now?”
“Fifteen,” I recite. “When I was younger, I had it in my mind that I could learn each language of the hundred kingdoms. I think I’ve failed quite splendidly.”
“What’s the point of such things anyway?” asks Halina. “There’s barely a person alive who doesn’t speak Midasan. We’re at the center of the world, Your Highness. Anyone who can’t be bothered to learn the language simply isn’t worth knowing.”
“Quite right.” Nadir nods gruffly. “But what I actually meant, Your Highness, was the language of them. The forbidden language.” He lowers his voice a little and leans in close, so that his mustache tickles my ear. “Psáriin.”
The language of the sea.
“Nadir!” Halina smacks her husband’s shoulder, horrified. “You shouldn’t speak of such things!” She turns to me. “We’re sorry to offend you, My Liege,” she says. “My husband didn’t mean to imply that you’d sully your tongue with such a language. He’s had far too much brandy. The glasses are deeper than they look.”
I nod, unoffended. It’s just a language after all, and though no human can speak it, no human has ever devoted their lives to hunting sirens, either. It isn’t a leap to imagine I’ve decided to add the dialect of my prey to my collection. Even if it’s forbidden in Midas. But in order to do so, I’d need to keep a siren alive long enough to teach me, and that isn’t something I ever plan on doing. Of course, I’ve picked up a few words here and there. Arith, I quickly learned to mean no, but there are so many others. Dolofónos. Choíron. I can only ever guess at what they mean. Insults, curses, pleas. In some ways, it’s best I don’t know.
“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.