“I understand many things.”
I push him away and he gestures for his crew to let me approach their prisoner.
“Parakaló,” Maeve screams as I near. “Parakaló!”
“What’s she saying?” asks Madrid.
She points her weapon at Maeve, as all of the crew does. Swords and bullets to hide behind, because humans don’t possess the innate strength to defend themselves. Only unlike the others, Madrid’s gun is not so much a gun at all. Somewhere along the way, she discarded the crossbow in place of something far more deadly. Gold-polished metal gleams in the shape of a rifle, but a long black spear rests below the site, the tip dipped in the purest silver. Yet despite having such an elaborate weapon, Madrid doesn’t look eager to attack. She looks as though she would rather keep her hands clean of murder.
I turn back to Maeve and watch the fear settle into her eyes. There’s never been anything close to tolerance between us, but it was only recently we began to consider ourselves enemies. Or rather, Maeve began to consider me an enemy and I enjoyed the compliment.
I take in her muddled eye, rippled by blood and shadowed by scars. I blinded her, not so long ago, with the blunt end of a coral piece. Now, whenever she blinks, her right eye stays open. Thinking back, I can’t remember why I did it. Maeve said something, perhaps. Did something that I disliked enough to punish her. Really, she could have done anything and it wouldn’t have mattered, because most of all I just wanted to hurt her. For whatever reason and no reason. I wanted to hear her scream.
It is like that in the sea. Brutal and unrelenting. Filled with endless cruelty that has no recompense. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to kill Maeve but feared my mother’s wrath too much to act. Now the opportunity is here. Perhaps not to do it myself, but to watch as someone else does. The enemy of my enemy.
“Tell us what she’s saying,” Kye demands.
“She’s not saying anything.” I stare at Maeve. “She’s begging.”
“Begging.”
Elian is beside me, an unreadable expression on his face as he repeats my words. He clasps the knife in his wounded hand, and when his blood drips down the blade, it disappears. Metal drinking metal. I can feel the sorcery roll from it like thunder. The whispers of a weapon begging him to spill more blood so it can get its fill. It’s soaked in enough magic to sing like one of my melodies, but Elian doesn’t succumb to its refrain. His expression is hesitant and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen such a thing in the eyes of a killer. Yet Elian stares down at Maeve as though the thought of her pleading makes the whole thing wrong. Dirty.
“She’s begging,” he says. “Are you sure?”
“Parakaló,” I repeat. “It means ‘please.’ ”
17
Elian
I’VE NEVER KILLED A begging thing.
As the siren cowers on my deck, I’m perfectly aware that she is a monster. She’s whimpering, but even the sound is wicked. A mix of hisses and throaty laments. I’m not sure why she’s so scared when moments ago a net made of glass and spikes barely made her wince. Part of me wants to feel proud that my reputation has finally preceded me. The other part, perhaps the smarter part, is sure that I have nothing to be proud of.
I gaze over at Lira. Her graveyard-dirt hair clings to her shoulders as she sways with the motion of my ship. There’s something about her slight frame that makes her look menacing, as though every angle is a weapon. She barely blinks at the siren, who is now disfigured with gashes. As I stare at her, I see nothing of the wraith-like girl I pulled from the ocean. Whatever spell had threatened to transfix me when I saved her is broken now, and I can see quite clearly that she’s no helpless damsel. She’s something more, and it makes me too curious for my own good.
The Psáriin she spoke lingers in the air. A language forbidden in most kingdoms, including my own. I want to know how she learned it, when she got close enough, why she kept one of their necklaces noosed like a trophy around her neck. I want to know everything.
“Will you kill her?” Lira asks.
There’s no more sweet pretense as she tries to speak my language. I’m not sure where she’s from, but whatever kingdom it is clearly has no love for mine.
“Yes.”
“Will it be quick?”
“Yes.”
She scoffs. “Shame.”
The siren whimpers again and repeats a slew of Psáriin. It’s so quick and guttural that I barely make out the words. Still, one of them sticks in my mind, clearer than the others. Prinkípissa. Whatever it means, she says it with fear and reverence. A combination I’m rarely used to seeing. In my kingdom, those who revere me don’t know me well enough to fear me. And those who fear me know me far too well to do something as unwise as adore me.
“Your knife,” Lira says.
My hand forms a fist around the handle. My wound drips, and I feel the blade quickly soak it up. No blood gone to waste.
“It has a strange magic.”
I look at her pointedly. “I don’t think you’re in a position to say what’s strange.”
Lira doesn’t reply, and in her silence Kye steps forward. “Cap,” he says. “Be careful. She can’t be trusted.”
At first I think he’s talking about the monster on our deck, and I’m about to tell him that I’m not an idiot when I realize the siren isn’t the one Kye’s looking at. Lira is in his sights.
If there’s one thing in the world Kye has never had, it’s tact. But Lira doesn’t pay attention to the accusation. She doesn’t even glance in his direction, like the allegation is nothing more than ocean water dripping off her.
“I’ll deal with her,” I tell Kye. “When I’m ready.”
“Maybe you should be ready now.”
I tap the tip of my knife against my finger and step forward, but Kye grabs my arm. I look down at his hands, gripping the fabric of my shirt. Kye’s greatest strength is that he’s as suspicious as I am reckless. He doesn’t like surprises and takes every possible threat as a threat on my life. Every warning as a promise. But with him to do it for me, there’s no need for me to waste time worrying. Besides, spending my life on the ocean has taught me to see what others can’t and to expect what they won’t. I know better than to trust a stranger on a pirate ship, but relying on instinct is far better than relying on doubt.
“Didn’t you hear what I just said?” he asks.
Carefully, I take Kye’s hand from my arm. “I can assure you, there’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”
“Just your common sense, then,” Lira says.
I watch her swipe the hair from her face. “How’s that?” I ask.
“If you had any, then you would have killed her by now.” Lira points to the siren. “Her heart could be cold in your hands.”