I pull myself up from my knees and stare hard at the floor, to give the appearance of bowing. The longer I glare at the wood grain, the more my skin heats, sweat pasting through my clothes as the anger boils beneath. I can hardly bear the thought of looking at her. After everything she’s done, for her to show up here – on Elian’s ship, of all places – is the worst kind of insult.
A terse silence gathers between us, and for a moment I wonder what the next sound will be. The Flesh-Eater’s roar; my mother’s laughter; the erratic pounding of my furious heart.
Instead I hear my song.
The deadly lullaby from before grows louder, and I snap my head up in sudden recognition, stumbling backward. It crawls across the deck, reaching out with delicate hands to sway the Saad. The melody is as opiate as ever, and even I’m barely able to keep my footing as it grows. Hearing it feels like being lost in a memory, or a dream that’s impossible to wake from. It feels like being born into a world imagined.
With the lie of my song, there’s no chance any of the crew will wake from their sleep.
My mother presses a long webbed finger to her chest, and her seashell flickers against my voice. When my eyes begin to fog, her mouth tugs up. “It’s only a keepsake,” she says. “I’ll return it if you succeed.”
I try desperately to blink the sorrow from my eyes. “Have you come to taunt me?” I ask.
“Not at all,” the Sea Queen says. “I’ve come to see how the Princes’ Bane is faring.” She arches her neck. “Do you have the prince’s heart hidden somewhere in those unsightly rags?”
It doesn’t surprise me that she’s come to check if I’m sticking to her plan. Being punished and pushed in the exact direction she’s plotted, like Elian’s ship following his course even while the captain sleeps. I am my mother’s vessel. Or so she thinks.
“It’s not that simple,” I say.
“Oh, Lira.” She swipes a string of seaweed from her trident. “Queens do not make excuses. I suppose this is just further proof of why you can’t become one.”
“I deserve to be queen,” I say. “I’m strong enough to lead our kind.”
“You’re weak,” she accuses. “You’ve always been weak. Look at you now, dressed in your human clothes, with your human emotions. Do you know what I see in your eyes, Lira? It’s not death or darkness or even anger. It’s tears.”
I swallow. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about the look on your face,” she says. “Your human grief.”
I want to argue, but even I can’t deny the sadness pricking the backs of my eyes. I felt anger as a siren, but never sorrow. Not since I took Crestell’s heart with my mother’s hand steady on my shoulder. But hearing my song cleave through Elian’s ship, knowing that at this very moment my mother is still able to use me as a weapon without my consent, feels like being speared. And the way she looks at me, not at all concerned, so entirely contrasted by the worry I felt when I saw Kahlia’s wounds. Or that Kye had when Maeve attacked Elian. Or even the look on the prince’s face when he pulled me from the ocean my mother left me to drown in. How can the Sea Queen see it as a weakness when it’s the very thing that binds the humans together, ensuring their strength as a unit? A family.
The Flesh-Eater snarls and my mother reaches out to run a talon over his face. She slices a line across his cheek slowly, soothingly, and the Flesh-Eater growls in satisfaction.
“Your time is running out, Lira,” she says, bringing her finger to her lips. “And if you don’t bring me the prince’s heart soon, then I’m going to take yours.”
25
Lira
WHEN I LOOK IN the mirror, a stranger stares back. She takes in my newfound piracy and my newfound humanity – the face the Flesh-Eater still claimed for his own – and frowns in a way that marks her innocent features with a curious dent, deep in the center of her brows. Her lips thin and she roughly irons the wrinkle out with the palm of her hand.
My skin is flushed red from sun and my hair is stiff with the saltwater breeze. I step forward and touch the glass with spiny fingers, blinking rapidly as I take in this version of myself. Legs and feet. Eyes, each the same color. A human heart beating somewhere underneath it all, ready for my mother to take.
In the reflection, I see Elian. He stands behind me with an amused expression, leaning against the doorway, his arms tangled over his chest. He doesn’t say anything, and we continue to watch each other through the pathway of glass until an odd feeling washes over me, worse than dread.