The Psáriin she spoke lingers in the air. A language forbidden in most kingdoms, including my own. I want to know how she learned it, when she got close enough, why she kept one of their necklaces noosed like a trophy around her neck. I want to know everything.
“Will you kill her?” Lira asks.
There’s no more sweet pretense as she tries to speak my language. I’m not sure where she’s from, but whatever kingdom it is clearly has no love for mine.
“Yes.”
“Will it be quick?”
“Yes.”
She scoffs. “Shame.”
The siren whimpers again and repeats a slew of Psáriin. It’s so quick and guttural that I barely make out the words. Still, one of them sticks in my mind, clearer than the others. Prinkípissa. Whatever it means, she says it with fear and reverence. A combination I’m rarely used to seeing. In my kingdom, those who revere me don’t know me well enough to fear me. And those who fear me know me far too well to do something as unwise as adore me.
“Your knife,” Lira says.
My hand forms a fist around the handle. My wound drips, and I feel the blade quickly soak it up. No blood gone to waste.
“It has a strange magic.”
I look at her pointedly. “I don’t think you’re in a position to say what’s strange.”
Lira doesn’t reply, and in her silence Kye steps forward. “Cap,” he says. “Be careful. She can’t be trusted.”
At first I think he’s talking about the monster on our deck, and I’m about to tell him that I’m not an idiot when I realize the siren isn’t the one Kye’s looking at. Lira is in his sights.
If there’s one thing in the world Kye has never had, it’s tact. But Lira doesn’t pay attention to the accusation. She doesn’t even glance in his direction, like the allegation is nothing more than ocean water dripping off her.
“I’ll deal with her,” I tell Kye. “When I’m ready.”
“Maybe you should be ready now.”
I tap the tip of my knife against my finger and step forward, but Kye grabs my arm. I look down at his hands, gripping the fabric of my shirt. Kye’s greatest strength is that he’s as suspicious as I am reckless. He doesn’t like surprises and takes every possible threat as a threat on my life. Every warning as a promise. But with him to do it for me, there’s no need for me to waste time worrying. Besides, spending my life on the ocean has taught me to see what others can’t and to expect what they won’t. I know better than to trust a stranger on a pirate ship, but relying on instinct is far better than relying on doubt.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” he asks.
Carefully, I take Kye’s hand from my arm. “I can assure you, there’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”
“Just your common sense, then,” Lira says.
I watch her swipe the hair from her face. “How’s that?” I ask.
“If you had any, then you would have killed her by now.” Lira points to the siren. “Her heart could be cold in your hands.”
Kye arches an eyebrow. “Damn,” he says. “What sort of ship did she get thrown off of?”
Beside him, Madrid adjusts her stance, weapon never wavering as her feet shift. She’s anxious, and I can feel it as much as I can see it. Madrid never wants to kill, whether it’s monsters or men. In Kléftes she killed enough to last a lifetime, and in some reverse twist of fate it instilled her with more morals and scruples than before. Neither of which have a place on the Saad. But she is the best marksman I have, and if I ignore her principles, then it makes her one of my best chances at not dying.
“It’s the sirens who take the hearts,” Madrid tells Lira. “Not us.”
The knife gleams in my hand. “I’ve taken plenty of hearts.”
I watch the siren, getting as close as I can without slicing my boots on the net. I think of Cristian drowning in the ocean, the lie of a kiss on his mouth. For all I know, this could be the siren who did it. There was another one with the Princes’ Bane; I’ve gathered that much from the tales that spread throughout my kingdom. Cristian’s murderer could be on my ship.
The siren says something to Lira, and I wonder if she’s begging again. If Cristian begged, or if he was so far under the siren’s spell that he died willingly.
“Hold her down,” I say.
A spear shoots from Madrid’s gun, piercing through the center of the siren’s fin. Pinning her to my ship. I resist the urge to look at Madrid, knowing the grim look of resignation she’ll be wearing. As good a shot as she is, Madrid is an even better person.