Kye arches an eyebrow. “Damn,” he says. “What sort of ship did she get thrown off of?”
Beside him, Madrid adjusts her stance, weapon never wavering as her feet shift. She’s anxious, and I can feel it as much as I can see it. Madrid never wants to kill, whether it’s monsters or men. In Kléftes she killed enough to last a lifetime, and in some reverse twist of fate it instilled her with more morals and scruples than before. Neither of which have a place on the Saad. But she is the best marksman I have, and if I ignore her principles, then it makes her one of my best chances at not dying.
“It’s the sirens who take the hearts,” Madrid tells Lira. “Not us.”
The knife gleams in my hand. “I’ve taken plenty of hearts.”
I watch the siren, getting as close as I can without slicing my boots on the net. I think of Cristian drowning in the ocean, the lie of a kiss on his mouth. For all I know, this could be the siren who did it. There was another one with the Princes’ Bane; I’ve gathered that much from the tales that spread throughout my kingdom. Cristian’s murderer could be on my ship.
The siren says something to Lira, and I wonder if she’s begging again. If Cristian begged, or if he was so far under the siren’s spell that he died willingly.
“Hold her down,” I say.
A spear shoots from Madrid’s gun, piercing through the center of the siren’s fin. Pinning her to my ship. I resist the urge to look at Madrid, knowing the grim look of resignation she’ll be wearing. As good a shot as she is, Madrid is an even better person.
I kick pieces of netting away and crouch down beside the imprisoned creature. This part always makes me feel less human, as though the way I kill draws a moral boundary.
“I want you to tell me something,” I say. “And I’d appreciate your doing it in my language.”
“Poté den tha.”
The siren writhes beneath the spear that staples her to the Saad. It’s dipped in silver thinite, which is deadly to their kind. Its slow poison coagulates at the entry point, stopping the wound from seeping onto my ship and, given enough time, stopping what scraps of a heart she might have.
“That’s not Midasan,” I tell her. I clasp my compass, eyeing the steady points of the face. “What do you know about the Crystal of Keto?”
The siren’s lips part and she looks at Lira, shaking her head. “Egó den tha sas prodósei.”
“Lira,” I say. “I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to translate?”
“I’ve never been accused of kindness before.”
Her voice is closer than I would like, and I shift when I see her shadow hovering next to mine. She’s as quick as she is quiet, capable of sneaking up on even me. The thought is unsettling, but I push it to the back of my mind before I consider it too much. It’s a dangerous thing to be distracted with a monster so close.
Lira crouches beside me. For a moment she’s quiet. Her storm-blue eyes narrow at the spear in the center of the siren’s fin. She’s trying to decide something. It could be whether she’s disgusted by our violence and if she should hide it, but I can’t see any sign of repulsion. Then again, a mask is the easiest thing to slip on. There’s nothing in my own eyes, despite the sick feeling creeping up in my stomach with the siren’s screams. I push it away, as I do everything. A captain doesn’t have the luxury of guilt.
Lira stands and she’s newly steady as she looks down at the dying creature. “Maybe it would be helpful,” she says, “if you take out her other eye.”
I flinch and a smile presses to the corner of Lira’s pale lips. I don’t know if it’s because the siren is so scared, or if Lira is simply pleased by the look on my face. If she said it just to see how I’d react.
“I’d be depriving her of your winning smile,” I say.
Lira cocks an eyebrow. “She’s your enemy. Don’t you want her in pain?”
She looks at me as though I’ve lost all sense. My crew tends to look at me the same way, though not usually on the days when I refuse to torture. There are many things the world can say about the siren hunters of the Saad, but one thing that could never be true is that we enjoy this life. The ocean, yes, but never the death. It’s a necessary evil to keep the world safe, and as dishonorable as killing is, it has purpose. If I start to like it, then I become the very thing I’m trying to protect the world from.
“Soldiers don’t enjoy war,” I say.
Lira purses her lips, but just as she opens her mouth to say something, I’m thrown onto my back. My head cracks against the floor, and pain explodes in my temples.
The siren is on top of me.
She scratches and bites, making an ungodly howl. I dodge her attacks as she tries desperately to take a chunk out of me. Her fin is a mess of clotted blood, ripped straight down the middle. She must have torn herself free.
“I can’t get a clear shot!” someone says. “I’m gonna hit him.”
“Me either!”
“Madrid!” Kye yells. “Madrid, shoot it now!”
“I can’t.” I hear the sound of a gun being thrown to the floor. “Damn thing is wedged again.”
I struggle beneath the venomous creature. Her face is fangs and hate and nothing else. She is hungry for part of me. Heart or not, she’ll take whatever piece she can.
The weight of her presses down, crushing my ribs. There’s a crack, and then I can barely breathe through the pain. Around me, my crew shouts so loudly that it’s almost incomprehensible. As their voices turn to noise, my arms burn with aching. The siren is too strong. Stronger than me, by far.
Then, just as suddenly as it came, the heaviness disappears. My breath rushes back.
Kye grips her devil shoulders and rips the siren from me. She skitters and slides across the deck before colliding furiously with the cabin wall. My crew jumps out of the way to let her body skim past them. The sound of her impact shakes the Saad.
The siren digs her fingernails into the deck, shoulders arched. She hisses and lurches forward. Quickly, I grab my knife. I ignore the furious pain in my ribs as I let the featherlight blade take aim in my hand and then hurl it through the air. It glides into what is left of her heart.
Most of the blood blisters onto her skin, but the remnants that threaten to spill onto my deck are quickly drunk up by my knife. The siren screams.
As Kye pulls me to my feet, I catch a discreet breath, not daring to show that I was surprised. Even if it’s obvious. It’s my job to expect the unexpected, and I was stupid enough to turn my back on a killer.
“Are you all right?” Kye asks, searching for wounds. He glares at the blood on my arm. “I should’ve been faster.”
The look on his face rips through me as much as the siren did, and so I roll my shoulder, careful not to wince as the pain in my ribs intensifies with each moment. “All in a day’s work,” I say, and turn to Madrid. “Your gun jammed again?”