When Kye shifts a row of red coins into the center table, I watch Lira. She quirks her lips a little to the right, and even though she can’t see his cards – there’s no possible way she could – she knows his hand. And she knows he’s bluffing.
Lira catches my eye and when she sees me staring, her smile fades. I’m angry at myself for that. I never seem quick enough when it comes to watching these moments for long enough to pick them apart and see how she works. Why she works. What angle she’s working.
I push my coins into the center of the table.
“It’s too quiet in here,” Madrid says.
She grabs the wine decanter from the table and fills her glass a little higher, until red sloshes over the brim. If Madrid is a good shooter, she’s an even better drinker. In all our years together, I’ve never so much as seen her lose balance after a night of heavy liquor.
Madrid sips the wine carefully, savoring the vintage in a way none of us have ever thought to. It reminds me of the wine-tasting lessons my father forced me to attend as part of my royal training. Because nothing says King of Midas like knowing a fine wine from something distilled in a back-alley tavern.
“Sing ‘Shore of Tides,’ ” Torik suggests dryly. “Maybe it’ll drown out the sunlight.”
“If we’re voting,‘Little Rum Ditty’ will do. Really, anything with rum.”
“You don’t get a vote,” Madrid tells Kye, then quirks an eyebrow at me. “Cap?”
I shrug. “Sing whatever you want. Nothing will drown out the sound of me winning.”
Madrid pokes her tongue out. “Lira?” she asks. “What do they sing where you’re from?”
For some reason, Lira finds this amusing. “Nothing you would appreciate.”
Madrid nods, as though it’s more a fact than an insult. “ ‘Siren Down Below,’ ” she says, looking at Kye with a reluctant smile. “It’s got rum in it.”
“Suits me then.”
Madrid throws herself back onto her chair. Her voice comes out in a loud refrain, words twisting and falling in her native Kléftesis. There’s something whimsical to the way she sings, and whether it’s the tune or the endearing grin drawn on Kye’s face as she bellows the melody, I can’t help but tap my fingers against my knee in rhythm to her voice.
Around the table, the crew follows on. They hum and murmur the parts they can’t remember, roaring out each mention of rum. Their voices dance into one another, colliding clumsily through verses. Each of them sings in the language of their kingdom. It brings a piece of their home to this misshapen crew, reminding me of a time, so long ago, when we weren’t together. When we were more strangers than family, belonging nowhere we traveled and never having the means to go somewhere we might.
When they’ve sung through three choruses, I almost expect Lira to join in with a rendition from Polemistés, but she remains tight-lipped and curious. She eyes them with a tiny knot in her brow, as though she can’t quite understand the ritual.
I lean toward her and keep my voice to a whisper. “When are you going to sing something?”
She pushes me away. “Don’t get too close,” she says. “You absolutely stink.”
“Of what?”
“Anglers,” she says. “That oil they put on their hands and those stupid sweets they chew.”
“Licorice,” I tell her with a smirk. “And you didn’t answer my question. Are you ever going to grace us with your voice?”
“Believe me, I’d like nothing more.”
I settle back in my chair and open my arms. “Whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready for you to tell me everything you know about the Crystal of Keto.”
It always comes back to that. We’ve been in Eidyllio for two days, and Lira has been relentless in her questions. Always wanting answers without ever revealing any herself. Someone, of course, has to go first. And I’ll admit that I’ve grown bored waiting for it to be her.
“All I know is that it’s in Págos,” I tell her, wary of the glares Kye is sending my way. If it were up to him, the only way Lira would come aboard the Saad is if she were back in the cage.
“It’s at the top of the Cloud Mountain,” I explain. “In a sacred ice palace.”
“You have a great ability to disguise knowing a lot as knowing a little.”
“And you have a great ability to disguise knowing nothing as knowing everything,” I tell her. “You still haven’t told me about the ritual.”