I glare at them both, unamused by the double act, or the sudden doubt in their voices. This is the first time they’ve questioned me, and the feeling isn’t something I plan to get used to.
“That’s the gist of it,” I say.
There’s a pause, and I try my best not to move or do anything but look unyielding. Like I can be trusted. Like I have any kind of a damn clue what I’m doing. Like I probably won’t get them all killed.
“Well.” Madrid turns to Kye. “I think it sounds like fun.”
“I guess you’re right,” he says, as though following me is an inconvenience he never considered before. He turns to me. “Count us in then.”
“I suppose I can spare some time too, since you asked so nicely!” another voice shouts.
“Can hardly say no to such a temptin’ offer, Cap!”
“Go on then, if everyone else is so keen.”
So many of them yell and nod, pledging their lives to me with a smile. Like it’s all just a game to them. With every new hand that shoots up comes a whooping holler from those who have already agreed. They howl at the possibility of death and how much company they’re going to have in it. They’re insane and wonderful.
I’m no stranger to devotion. When people at court look at me, I see the mindless loyalty that comes with not knowing any better. Something that is natural to those who have never questioned the bizarre order of things. But when my crew looks at me now, I see the kind of loyalty that I’ve earned. Like I deserve the right to lead them to whatever fate I see fit.
Now there’s just one thing left for me to do before we set sail for the land of ice.
12
Elian
THE GOLDEN GOOSE IS the only constant in Midas. Every inch of land seems to grow and change when I’m gone, with small evolutions that never seem gradual to me, but the Golden Goose is as it has always been. It didn’t plant the golden flowers outside its doors that all of the houses once did, as was fashion, with remnants of them still seen in the depths of the wildflowers that now swallow them. Nor did it erect sandy pillars or hang wind chimes or remodel its roof to point like the pyramids. It is in untouched timelessness, so whenever I return and something about my home is different, I can be sure it’s never the Golden Goose. Never Sakura.
It’s early and the sun is still a milky orange. I thought it best to visit the dregs of the Golden Goose when the rest of Midas was still sleeping. It didn’t seem wise to ask a favor from its ice-born landlord, with swells of patrons drunkenly eavesdropping. I knock on the redwood door, and a splinter slides into my knuckle. I withdraw it just as the door swings open. Sakura looks unsurprised on the other side.
“I knew it would be you.” She peers behind me. “Isn’t the tattooed one with you?”
“Madrid is preparing the ship,” I tell her. “We set sail today.”
“Shame.” Sakura slings a dishrag over her shoulder. “You’re not nearly as pretty.”
I don’t argue. “Can I come in?”
“A prince can ask for favors on a doorstep, like everyone else.”
“Your doorstep doesn’t have whiskey.”
Sakura smiles, her dark red lips curling to one side. She spreads her arms out, gesturing for me to come inside. “I hope you have full pockets.”
I enter, keeping my eyes trained on her. It’s not like I think she might try something untoward – kill me, perhaps, right here in the Golden Goose – not when our relationship is so profitable to her. But there is something about Sakura that has always unnerved me, and I’m not the only one. There aren’t many who can manage a bar like the Golden Goose, with patrons who collect sin like precious jewels. Brawls and fights are constant, and most nights spill more blood than whiskey. Yet when Sakura tells them enough, the men and women cease. Adjust their respective collars, spit onto the grimy floor, and continue on with their drinks as though nothing happened at all. Arguably, she is the most fearsome woman in Midas. And I don’t make a habit of turning my back on fearsome women.
Sakura steps behind the bar and pours a slosh of amber liquid into a glass. As I sit opposite, she brings the glass to her lips and takes a quick sip. A print of murky red lipstick stains the rim, and I note the fortuitous timing.
Sakura slides the glass over to me. “Satisfied?” she asks.
She means because it isn’t poisoned. I may scan the seas looking for monsters that could literally rip my heart out, but that doesn’t mean I’m careless. There isn’t a single thing I eat or drink when we’re docked that hasn’t been tasted by someone else first. Usually, this duty falls to Torik, who volunteered the moment I took him aboard and insists that he’s not putting his life at risk because even the greatest of poisons couldn’t kill him. Taking into account his sheer size alone, I’m inclined to agree.