I walk toward the throne and hold out a piece of parchment.
This time, I’m too anxious to play pretend. Galina’s reluctance to remarry tells me all I need to know and, in a fortuitous turn of fate, presents a rather interesting solution to one of my many problems. So rarely does karma grant me such favors.
Galina takes the parchment from me and her eyes scan over the paper, first with a confused frown and then with an intrigued smirk. It’s exactly the sort of reaction I was hoping for.
“Prince Elian,” she says. “How did you get your hands on something like this?”
I take a step forward, as close as I can get without risking my sanity. “From the same place you can get everything you’ve ever wanted.”
THINGS WERE GOING SMOOTHLY. Or rather, they had screwed themselves into a great mess, and I was getting closer to pressing out the wrinkles. Galina played coy, but there was undeniable thirst in her eyes that gave me hope. Mutually beneficial, she mused, quoting my words back to me.
Her support would mean one less thing to think about on this impossible mission. And with Lira finally off my ship, I’ve also got one less person to worry about trusting. All in a day’s work.
I struggle to get Lira’s face out of my mind as I walk through the sparse Eidyllion streets. When I returned the seashell, there had been an odd look in her eyes. Like I was idiotic and wonderful at the same time. Like I was a fool and she was glad for it.
I take in a long breath and press my palms to my eyes, trying to blot out the sleep. When she told me that the Sea Queen had taken revenge on her family, it seemed sincere enough, and the compass, though unsteady, had pointed north just the same. Still, I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that something isn’t right. That no matter what truths she may give, there are lies hidden within.
I stroll across the abandoned market street, which is thick with pastry crumbs. The night is warm and sweet, even with the moon blanketing the sky. The stars here are clearer than in most kingdoms, and it’s a struggle for me to keep walking. Not to stand and marvel at them. Lie on the cobblestone and think about their stories, the way I do aboard the Saad.
I head toward the Serendipity. We stay there each time we dock in Eidyllio, because it’s an inn and a tavern, and there are few things that can’t be solved with both sleep and rum. As I make my way there, a symphony of footsteps trails behind my own. I slow my pace and slip into a nearby alley marked by abandoned trader stools. It’s thin, and a line of stars hangs overhead like streetlamps.
I push myself against the wall, feeling warm brick against my back. The footsteps become uncertain, searching. There’s a small moment of trepidation, when the world goes quiet and all I hear is a low gasp of wind. Then the footsteps follow me into the alley.
I don’t wait for my attacker to strike. I step out of the darkness, hand poised over my knife. Ready to gut whoever would be stupid enough to try to jump the captain of the Saad.
A girl stands, half in the shadows, dark red hair clinging to her cheeks. When she sees me, she hooks her hands over her hips, exasperated. Her eyes flood through me like poison.
“Why are you hiding?” Lira asks. “I was trying to follow you.”
I let out a long breath and sheathe my knife. “I’m pretty sure I got rid of you already.”
Lira shrugs, unoffended, and I consider what it would take to get under her skin. She waves off each and every comment like they’re barely an annoyance. As though she has far better things to do than worry about what me or any of my crew thinks.
Lira studies me. “Why do you look like a prince all of a sudden?” she asks.
“I am a prince,” I say, and move to pass her.
Lira walks in stride with me. “Not usually.”
“What would you know about being usual?”
Lira’s face remains blank, and once again I fail to have any sort of impact. Then she rolls her eyes, as if in compromise. Here, I’ll act irritated. Just to please you, Your Highness.
“You’re right,” Lira tells me.
She pulls on the fabric of her dress. It’s an old raggedy thing that Madrid found shoved into a trunk belowdecks. A stowaway from a ransack of a pirate ship. I’m almost sure it was pretty once, just as I’m almost sure we’ve been using it to clean Madrid’s speargun for the past year. It was the best that I could do on short notice, unless Lira wanted to be clothed like a pirate, which I doubted.
Still, looking at her now, the decent man in me feels a little ashamed.
Lira stops walking to clutch the ends of her dress in both hands and then lower to the ground in a sardonic curtsy. I, too, stop, shooting her a scathing look, and she scoffs, which is the closest thing to a laugh I’ve heard from her.