Most of the blood blisters onto her skin, but the remnants that threaten to spill onto my deck are quickly drunk up by my knife. The siren screams.
As Kye pulls me to my feet, I catch a discreet breath, not daring to show that I was surprised. Even if it’s obvious. It’s my job to expect the unexpected, and I was stupid enough to turn my back on a killer.
“Are you all right?” Kye asks, searching for wounds. He glares at the blood on my arm. “I should’ve been faster.”
The look on his face rips through me as much as the siren did, and so I roll my shoulder, careful not to wince as the pain in my ribs intensifies with each moment. “All in a day’s work,” I say, and turn to Madrid. “Your gun jammed again?”
Madrid picks up her discarded weapon and studies the spear mechanism. “I don’t get it,” she says. “I’ll have to bring it belowdecks for another service.”
She starts to walk to the other side of the deck and then abruptly stops when she notices the siren’s body blocking the doorway. Madrid swallows and waits patiently. They all do. Perfectly silent until the moment the siren begins to fade. The sight is never anything less than a wonder to them, even after all this time. But I don’t look at the lifeless creature turning to foam on my deck. I’ve seen a hundred monsters die. Instead I turn to the strange girl I pulled from the ocean.
Lira isn’t smiling anymore.
18
Lira
MAEVE DISSOLVES INTO NOTHING.
Killing a siren is not like killing a mermaid. Their rotting corpses stain the ocean floor and skeleton among the coral, while we dissolve into the very thing that made us. Into ocean and foam and the salt in our veins. When we’re gone, there’s nothing left to remember.
I thought I’d be glad when Maeve died, but the battle between our species wages on and I’ve just helped the humans in their bid to slaughter us. At the very least, the prince didn’t cut out her heart before he killed her. I’ve never paid mind to legends, unless I’m the legend of discussion, but even I know the stories. Ones that warn of any human who holds a siren’s heart being granted immunity to our song. It’s said that’s why we turn to sea foam when we die, that it’s not a curse to erase us from the world but a blessing from Keto to ensure a human can never take our hearts.
After Maeve disappears, I’m taken belowdecks to a windowless room that smells of aniseed and rust. The walls are not walls but thick drapes that hang from a varnished ceiling. Their damp edges catch the floor, and as the ship pierces on, they sway and reveal endless lines. Of books, weapons, and gold. Each curtain has its own secret. In the center is a large cube made from black glass. It’s as thick as I am long, with hinges and bolts that are heavy gold. The same kind that the eel-mermaid’s brooch was made from. It’s a prison of sorts and doesn’t appear to be designed for humans. Or, if it is, it’s designed for the worst kind.
In the kingdom of Keto, we don’t keep prisoners. Betraying the Sea Queen means giving up your life, and so we have no choice but to be what my mother says we are. Deciding differently offers no second chances; my punishment is proof of that.
I turn to Elian. “Why am I down here?”
With each passing moment, he takes on more of the ocean. A brown leather tunic is slung over his shirt, frayed black string fastening it at the neck. His legs are half trouser and half long brown boots that catch at the knees. A strap crosses from his shoulder to his waist, and from it a large cutlass dangles. His knife is hidden behind, away from strange eyes. I can still smell Maeve’s blood on it.
“You seem worldly,” Elian says. “Can’t you figure it out?”
Behind him, Kye and Madrid are resolute guardians. Less than a day on this ship and I already know who his most trusted are. Which means I already know his greatest weakness.
“I thought princes liked saving young women in need.”
Elian laughs, teeth flashing white against his handsome face. “You’re a damsel now?” he asks. “It’s funny, because you didn’t seem like one when you were trying to claw your way past me to attack a siren.”
“I thought killing sirens was what people on this ship did.”
“Usually not with their bare hands.”
“Not everyone needs magical knives to do their dirty work for them.”
“Not everyone can speak Psáriin,” he says.
I keep a coy smile on my lips, playing my role well. “I have a talent for languages.”
“Your Midasan says differently.”