Niridia grimaces.
My father’s cruelty really knows no bounds.
“I want to know the second the island comes into view,” I say.
“Aye.”
*
The singing comes and goes as we sail, but we dare not allow the men to uncover their ears. Not for an instant.
It’s a full week before the Isla de Canta comes into view. A full week without talking to our men. A full week without being able to talk to Riden.
I observe the isle now through my telescope. Trees cover the place, making it impossible to see anything else. Another jungle like the island we passed by in our search for water.
On a piece of parchment, I write, See if you can find somewhere out of sight to drop anchor.
Kearan reads it and nods.
Riden stands by my side on the aftercastle. He doesn’t speak; he couldn’t hear my response if he tried. But his presence is a comfort. The closer we approach the island, the louder the singing becomes.
The singing that interrupted me and Riden.
I suppose I could have pulled him back to bed with me when he came to. He certainly doesn’t need his ears for it, but I don’t want to take that step with him when he doesn’t have use of all of his senses. Not for the first time.
I go warm just thinking about it, and I quickly turn my thoughts back to the island ahead.
But that only heightens my anxiety.
Is my mother nearby? I equally dread and relish the idea of speaking to her again. I want to ask her—no, demand of her why she left me. I want to know what’s become of her. Is she still fragile and weak? Does she remember our meeting at the keep at all? Or is she now a senseless monster with nothing but a need to kill men?
No one dares to speak as we sail. Several of the girls lean over the ship’s edge, peering into the water, looking for sightings of sirens.
Despite the fact that they must know we’re here, they’re staying out of sight.
Kearan finds the perfect spot to drop anchor.
The beach curves, making a little nook blocked by trees and other greenery. It’s far enough from the main shore for comfort’s sake and gives us some shelter from anyone heading this way. It also blocks our view of the sea, but I’m not worried now. My trick with the rudder should have had the fleet stopped for hours. Maybe even a full day.
“Shall I give the order to go ashore?” Niridia asks.
“No. We’re not going ashore. Not yet, anyway.” Not when the last island we stopped at housed such horrors. “I want to take a look below the surface first.”
She raises a brow. “You’re going into the sea alone?”
“If this legendary treasure has been hoarded by sirens, it’s probably better accessed by the sea. Besides, we need to know what we’re up against. It’s better that I go alone. I’m less likely to be noticed.” Not to mention it’s impossible for anyone else to follow.
“Keep a sharp eye out,” I say. “One on the sea and one on the island. Under no circumstances is anyone to go ashore.”
I lighten my load, removing my boots and corset. I don’t want to be weighed down, and I have no use for them where I’m going. I strap a knife to my ankle, but otherwise, I’m going unarmed. A sword and pistol have no use below water.
I grab Riden’s hand and pull him over to the ship’s edge with me. I jerk my neck toward the ocean, indicating what I want.
He shakes his head fiercely. He knows that this is what we’ve been practicing for, but he also knows there are sirens in the water right now.
I understand his hesitation, but I gesture around the ship. I need to do this to keep everyone safe.
His eyes are still hard, but he steps over the railing with me, giving in.
Trusting me.
He wraps his arms around me, and the two of us jump.
I hit the water; all that power rushes in, and—
I’m still me.
I can do anything right now.
I could sing forever. My limbs are strengthened. I can move faster underwater than I can on land. I was already the perfect killing device as a pirate.
But now—
It’s hard to remind myself I’m not invincible when I feel the opposite.
I search the ocean’s depths: no sirens in sight, though their singing has become even louder now that I’m underwater.
I swim with Riden up to the ocean’s surface. A rope is thrown down. He gives me a parting glance as he grabs it and mouths two words.
Be safe.
I watch him until he disappears back over the ship’s edge. I won’t be able to go on until I know he’s safe. Then I dive back down.
The water has never been more beautiful. So clear and clean, untouched by humans. The light filters through the water, spots dancing on the sandy bottom. A school of fish with bright blue and red stripes swims by. A turtle sets its fins on a large rock resting on the ocean’s bottom. A young shark barely bigger than my arm meanders around.
I swim farther out to sea, then follow the shoreline around the island, following the singing. More and more critters surface. Crabs skitter sideways across the sand. A jellyfish flows with the waves moving toward the shore. Shells, both broken and whole, turn over the sand as they’re pushed toward the island.
But no sirens, not yet.
At first I’m perplexed by the lack of sentries, of people on lookout. Wouldn’t they wish to be alerted to any threats?
But then I realize, there is no threat to them when they’re under the water’s surface. Nothing can harm them. No man can survive under the water. What need have sirens to watch for approaching ships?
But my thoughts fall away as I focus on the singing.
Voices intertwine in melodies so complex, no mortal could write them down on paper. They pull me in as the tide does the water. Like calling to like. I have sung alone all my life. And always with a purpose. Singing was never something I did for enjoyment alone, especially when those around me feared I was enchanting them. Not my crew, of course, but my father’s men.
I follow the sound, savoring every note. But there is a chord missing. A place in the melody that needs to be filled. Before I consciously make the decision, my voice is filling the gap, throwing out a line of notes that fit perfectly with the voices of the others.
My muscles hum at the synchronization. The music grows louder as I approach, rounding a coral reef.
And there they are. Hundreds of them, but I can hardly process it until my throat lets out the last note, holding it, letting it fill the space around me.
Like a flame doused in water, the music cuts off. Heads turn in my direction, long, luscious hair swirling at the movement. Creamy brown. Sun-darted yellow. Inky black.
And then, in the center, one rises above the rest with hair the color of flame.
At last, you’ve come home, Mother says.
*