To Kill a Kingdom(61)

Sunlight threatens to spill through the tiny round window above us, buried in the arch of the ceiling. The candles have died down to withering embers, and their faint afterglow casts blurry shadows around us. The smell of dawn smokes through the air, and with it the grayness seeps in from the outside world.

“I still don’t understand how you know that these pirates have the necklace,” I say.

“The Xaprár are infamous for stealing from royalty,” Elian explains, palming a licorice stick. “If there’s a precious heirloom missing anywhere in the world, you better believe that Tallis Rycroft and his band of pirate thieves have it in hand.”

“Even if that’s true, wouldn’t they have sold it by now? What use would it be to keep something like that?”

“You’re assuming that Rycroft needs to steal to survive,” Elian says. “Maybe he did once, but now he steals just to prove that he can. A necklace like that carries prestige. It would be more of a trophy to him than a treasure. Just another artifact to prove how good he is.”

“If he’s that good,” I say,“how are you going to steal it from him? I think he might notice your hand running through his pockets.”

“Misdirection.” Elian takes a bite out of the licorice stick. “They look over here” – he waves a hand theatrically – “while I’m pilfering over here.” He wags his other hand at me, looking all too satisfied. “As long as you can manage to look innocent and above suspicion.”

“And if that doesn’t work?”

“I have a backup plan.” Elian produces a small vial from his pocket with a flourish. “It’s less wily, but equally duplicitous.”

“Poison?” I muse. “Were you keeping that around for your future wife?”

“It’s not lethal,” Elian says. For a killer, he seems oddly offended at the idea. “And no.” He pauses, then turns to me with a half-smile. “Unless you were my wife.”

“If I were your wife, then I’d take it.”

“Ha!” He throws his head back and pockets the vial once more. “Thankfully that’s not something we have to worry about.”

“Because you’re betrothed?”

He hesitates. “Why would you say that?”

“You’re royal,” I tell him. “That’s what royalty does. They marry for power.”

I think back to the Flesh-Eater and the way my mother’s voice turned into a song when she told me she had chosen her finest warrior to continue our line. The orange rusted blood in the corners of his lips as he regarded me with a mix of hunger and regimented disinterest. And on the Saad, just nights before, when he claimed me even in my human body. An uneasiness creeps through me at the memory.

“I don’t want it to be that way,” Elian says. “When I marry, it won’t be about power.”

“What will it be, then?”

“Sacrifice.”

His voice is crisp. There’s a certainty to it, as though he’s resigned to the fact rather than proud of it. He swallows, just loud enough to catch me off guard, and the action makes me shift, his discomfort snaking through the air toward me.

Elian’s eyes drop to the floor, and I feel as though I’ve exposed him or he’s laid himself bare and suddenly regrets it. Either way, I’m not sure what I’m supposed to say, and something about the moment seems so personal – too personal – that I find myself searching for anything to fill the quiet.

“You’re right,” I tell him, trying to shake the melancholy from my voice. “Spending a lifetime with you would be a sacrifice.”

“Oh?” A glow returns to Elian’s eyes and he smiles as though the last few seconds didn’t happen. Erasing whatever parts of his past he doesn’t want to remember.

“What would you be losing?” he asks.

“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.