To Kill a Kingdom(33)

“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.”

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.