I dare another look at Elian. His hat shields his eyes from the midday sun, but I can still feel them on me, watching. Waiting. For me to slip up and reveal my true intentions or, just maybe, for me to do something to earn his loyalty. Let him watch. If Madrid has her way, the next time he sees me, I’ll be as much of a pirate as he is.
23
Elian
I DON’T REALIZE HOW restless I am until Lira emerges from below the forecastle deck, dressed in everything but a peg leg.
The crew is humming something soft and off-kilter, while Kye speaks animatedly with Torik about old debts dying hard. Yet there’s silence when we see her.
Lira’s hair is pulled to one side in sweeping strands, with braided string running through odd sections. Large gold hoops hang from her ears, stretching her lobes. Even from the quarterdeck, I can see the dried blood around the loops. She’s dressed in a pair of dark teal trousers with an ornate jacket to match, ridged by oval button twists. Her shoulders are a flourish of gold tassels, and the ends of a white dress shirt poke out from her wrists. There are patches on her elbows, hastily stitched together with black string.
Lira places a hand on her hip and tries to pretend she doesn’t feel self-conscious, but it’s the first true thing I’ve seen on her face since we met. She may look like a pirate, but she’s got a way to go before she can pass for one.
“You’ve got to me kidding me,” Kye says. “I told Madrid to give her a shower, not dress her up like a pirate princess.”
“It’s sweet that you think she looks like a princess,” I say. “I’ll be sure to tell her that later.”
“I’m serious,” Kye tells me, like I couldn’t have worked that one out for myself. “First she weasels her way onto this ship and now she’s even trying to look like one of us? It’s like she wants us to forget that’s she’s an outsider so we’ll turn our backs on her.”
“You’re getting an awful lot of conspiracy from a dress shirt and a new pair of boots.”
“Don’t be na?ve,” Kye says. “You know better than to trust strangers.”
I half-smile, grinding my teeth together. Advising me to be cautious is one thing, but lecturing me on the deck of my own ship like I’m a child is another altogether. Na?ve. The word is too familiar not to get under my skin.
“You sound like my father,” I say. “If I want a lecture, I’ll ask for one.”
“I’m trying to give you some advice.”
“You’re trying to second-guess me and it’s getting old fast.” I sigh, feeling the tiredness creep back in – the one usually reserved for my trips to Midas. “I’m not some novice setting sail for the first time,” I tell him. “I’m the captain of this ship and I’d appreciate it if you stopped treating me like an inexperienced little prince who needs to be advised.”
Kye’s shoulders go rigid, but I’m too frustrated to care about the way his face blankets over in practiced calm. On this ship, I’m not supposed to be a Midasan royal with a legion of bodyguards and counsels. I’m supposed to be a damn pirate.
It’s times like this I’m reminded of the bargain my father offered him: to stay by my side as a guardian rather than a friend, protecting me from the world I’m eager to explore. Even if Kye denies that’s why he’s here, having him doubt my decisions and question my moves just makes me think of my father and his court. It reminds me that Kye’s a diplomat’s son, used to handling royals. And I’m just another prince, getting adventure out of my system before I become king.
I slide down the ladder and onto the main deck. Lira has a gun holster attached to her thigh, above the folds of her knee-length boots. From the red fabric belt that clinches her waist, there’s also a golden cuff just big enough to pull a sword through. Thankfully, Madrid didn’t give her the weapons to match.
“You almost blend in,” I say.
Lira’s nose crinkles. “That’s not a compliment.”
I pull off my hat and step toward my sword, which rests against the ladder. It’s a saber that begins in strong gold and fades to ashen black. The handle is an elaborate cuff with a map of Midas swirled into the metal, and the blade itself curves up ever so slightly at the tip, for the most deadly strike.
I point the weapon at Madrid and say,“Lend Lira something.”
I ask Madrid, because she’s more attached to her speargun than anything else. And because I know the rest of the crew would be hesitant to oblige. Trying to separate a pirate from his sword doesn’t bear thinking about.