To Kill a Kingdom(16)
I know I should tell him that it’s the land that steals away who I am and the sea that brings me back. But to say that to my father would do nothing but hurt us both.
“I have a job to do,” I say. “When it’s done, I’ll come home.”
The lie tastes awful in my mouth. My father, King of Midas and so King of Lies, seems to know this and smiles with such sadness that I’d buckle over if I weren’t already sitting.
“A prince may be the subject of myth and legend,” he explains, “but he can’t live in them. He should live in the real world, where he can create them.” He looks solemn. “You should pay less mind to fairy tales, Elian, or that’s all you’ll become.”
When he leaves, I think about whether that would be awful, or beautiful. Could it really be such a bad thing, to become a story whispered to children in the dead of night? A song they sing to one another while they play. Another part of the Midasan legends: golden blood and a prince who once upon a time sailed the world in search of the beast who threatened to destroy it.
And then it comes to me.
I sit up a little straighter. My father told me to stop living inside fairy tales, but maybe that’s exactly what I need to do. Because what that man told me in the Golden Goose isn’t a fact that can be pressed between the pages of textbooks and biographies. It’s a story.
Quickly, I pull myself from the chair and head for the children’s section.
10
Lira
THERE’S GLITTER AND TREASURE on every speck of every street. Houses with roofs thatched by gold thread and fanciful lanterns with casings brighter than their light. Even the surface of the water has turned milky yellow, and the air is balmy with the afternoon sun.
It is all too much. Too bright. Too hot. Too opulent.
I clutch the seashell around my neck to steady myself. It reminds me of home. My kind aren’t afraid of their murderous prince; they just can’t bear the light. The heat that cuts through the ocean’s chill and makes everything warmer.
This is not a place for sirens. It’s a place for mermaids.
I wait beside the prince’s ship. I wasn’t certain it would be here – killing took the prince to as many kingdoms as it did me – and if it was, I wasn’t certain I would know it. I only have the frightful echoes of stories to go from. Things I’ve heard in passing from the rare few who have seen the prince’s ship and managed to escape. But as soon as I saw it in the Midasan docks, I knew.
It’s not quite like the stories, but it has the same dark ambiance that each of the tales had. The other ships on the dock are like spheres instead of boats, but this one is headed by a long stabbing point and is larger by far than any other, with a body like the night sky and a deck as dark as my soul. It’s a vessel worthy of murder.
I’m still admiring it from the depths of the water when a shadow appears. The man steps onto the ledge of the ship and looks out at the sea. I should have been able to hear his footsteps, even from deep beneath the water. Yet he’s suddenly here, one hand clutching the ropes for support, breathing slow and deep. I squint, but under the sheen of gold it’s hard to see much. I know it’s dangerous to come out from the water when the sun is still so high, but I have to get a closer look. Slowly, I rise to the surface and rest my back against the damp body of the ship.
I spot the shine of the Midasan royal insignia on his thumb and lick my lips.
The Prince of Midas wears the clothes of royalty in a way that seems neglectful. His shirtsleeves are rolled up to the elbows and the buttons of his collar are undone so the wind can reach his heart. He doesn’t look much older than I do, yet his eyes are hard and weathered. They’re eyes of lost innocence, greener than seaweed and constantly searching. Even the empty ocean is prey to him, and he regards it with a mix of suspicion and wonder.
“I’ve missed you,” he says to his ship. “I bet you missed me too. We’ll find it together, won’t we? And when we do, we’ll kill every damn monster in this ocean.”
I scrape my fangs across my lips. What does he think could possibly have the power to destroy me? It’s a fanciful notion of slaughter, and I find myself smiling. How wicked this one is, stripped of the innocence I’ve seen in all the others. This is not a prince of inexperience and anxious potential, but one of war and savagery. His heart will be a wonder to behold. I lick my lips and part them to give way to my song, but I barely have the chance to suck in a breath before I’m wrenched beneath the water.
A mermaid hovers in front of me. She is a splash of color, pinks and greens and yellows, like paint splatters on her skin. Her fin snakes and curls, the bony armor of seahorse scales protruding from her stomach and arms.
“Mine!” she says in Psáriin.
Her jaw stretches out like a snout, and when she snarls, it bends at a painful angle. She points to the prince above the water and thumps her chest.
“You have no claim here,” I tell her.
The mermaid shakes her head. She has no hair, but the skin on her scalp is a kaleidoscope, and when she moves, the colors ripple from her like light. “Treasure,” she says.
If I ever had patience, it just dissipated. “What are you talking about?”
“Midas is ours,” the mermaid screeches. “We watch and collect and take treasure when it falls, and he is treasure and gold and not yours.”