“If I married you?” I stand to tower above him, pushing away the unraveling thing inside me. “I suppose it would be my mind.”
I turn, and the ricochets of his laughter follow me out of the room. But even with that infectious melody, I can’t shake the look that crossed his face when I mentioned marriage. It makes me more curious than I ought to be.
I think sinister thoughts, but I know the most likely of them is an arranged marriage, ordered by the Midasan king to bind their kingdom to another. Maybe the weight Elian carries is born from the shackles of a royal life and a kingdom that is unwanted but needed all the same. It’s something I can understand. Another similarity between us that I’d be blind not to note. In the pits of our souls – if I amuse myself with the notion that I have a soul – Elian and I aren’t so different. Two kingdoms that come with responsibilities we each have trouble bearing. Him, the shackles of being pinned to one land and one life. Me, trapped in the confines of my mother’s murderous legacy. And the ocean, calling out to us both. A song of freedom and longing.
26
Elian
STEALING IS SOMETHING I first mastered when I was sixteen and spent the better part of the year in the northern isle of Kléftes. Everything was new and it was all I could do not to beg everyone I met for a piece of their history. A skill or a story only they knew. I wanted it all.
My crew was barely a crew and I was barely a man, let alone a pirate. After Kye, Torik was one of the first men I recruited, and with his addition, my father insisted on a ship capable of the task I set myself, while I insisted on something that was more weapon than boat.
I gained Torik’s unyielding loyalty in his home country of ánthrakas, where the mines run deep and coal travels through the wind in a song. But though he was great with a pistol and even greater with a sword, even he didn’t have the stomach for the brute force that was needed to kill a siren. And as the days went on, I found I was the same. I needed to be more agile.
Kléftes breeds thieves, but more than that it breeds ghosts. Men and women traded like cattle, reared to be demons and killers and whatever else their masters demand. Subject to the whims of slavers who would sooner sell their own people than lose a trinket. They are trained to be as invisible as they are deadly, able to sweep in through the night unnoticed and carry out deeds that never could be done in the true light of day.
I wanted to learn from them, and one day, when the mantle of king was forced upon me, inflict the same suffering on them that they inflicted on the world. Sirens weren’t the only enemy. Humans could be just as demonic, and it was a wonder to me that my father and the other kingdoms hadn’t banded together to wage war on Kléftes. What good was a global peace treaty if the kingdoms were savaging themselves?
Of course, Madrid changed that. When I strode into Kléftes and saw her – tattooed and bleeding from so many wounds, it was hard to make out her face beneath it all – I realized that some things couldn’t be fixed. In a world that bred killers as easily as ours, the best I could hope for was to make them mine. Killers couldn’t undo death, but they could find new prey. They could find a different kind of pain to inflict.
I stare at the Xaprár as they prepare their ship for sail. They’re Kléftesis snatchers known for sleuthing into kingdoms and leaving with the most precious jewels. Masters of disguise who have stolen heirlooms from too many royals to count. They would be legends if they weren’t so reviled by the ruling families. It would be easy enough to declare a bounty on their heads, but nobody would be brave enough to try their hand at it. Going after one of the Xaprár would be like going after a member of the Saad. Which means that it would be suicide. Not to mention that the Xaprár are good at stealing from royalty but even better at stealing for royalty. Thieves for hire who most of the families don’t dare think of crossing, for fear they may need their services one day.
Luckily, I don’t have that fear.
I watch Tallis Rycroft lounge at the base of the mighty dock steps. He counts his loot brazenly, fingers slick with the kind of speed that comes only from years of earning nothing and taking everything.
I’m not one to listen to the stories that filter through our world like grains of salt through open hands, but there’s something about Rycroft that has always set me on edge. He owns a slave ship in the northern isle. I can’t be sure which, and I know it’s unlikely to be the same vessel Madrid had to murder her way out of, but there isn’t a member of my crew who doesn’t bristle at his name. Politics prevail, though, and declaring a feud with the Xaprár wouldn’t be worth it.
I look to Madrid and Kye, who tuck themselves behind the shrubs beside me. While Kye turns to me with a questioning stare, Madrid’s eyes stay focused on Rycroft, unblinking. She won’t risk letting him out of her sight; she doesn’t risk anything when it comes to her countrymen. It’s why Kye insisted he be in her squad, if for nothing else than to hold her back if the time comes.
Torik has taken flank across the way with more of the crew, weapons poised for whatever could go wrong. To approach Rycroft with my crew, in any place outside of a tavern, would arouse suspicion. I have to be cautious and clever, which is lucky because I like to think I’m always both of those things at any given time.
I turn to Lira. She looks like a portrait, with deep copper hair pulled from her star-freckled face, only confirming the fact that she isn’t capable of lying low. Not saying whatever crosses her damned mind. Lira can keep secrets but she can’t, by any stretch of the imagination, keep peace. While I have ample practice in pretend, there’s too much fire in Lira’s eyes for such things. Some people burn so brightly, it’s impossible to put the flames out. Thankfully, that’s just what I need.
The captain of the Saad approaching another pirate ship with his league of siren killers would only end in death, but Elian Midas, prince and arrogant son of a bitch, strolling through the docks with a new woman on his arm, too brazen to be a sleuth or a spy . . . that just might work. Rycroft might just let enough of his guard down to let us aboard his ship. And once we’re on board, all I need is for Lira to confirm he has what we’re looking for.
“If you’re ready,” I say to Lira,“I give you permission to risk your life for me.”
She lifts her chin. There’s something about the way she carries herself that reminds me of the women at court. She has the air of someone with a lifetime of never knowing anything but her own way. I know because I have an identical look. Though I try to hide it, I know it’s still there. The entitlement. The stubbornness that can never truly be lost.