To Kill a Kingdom(7)

“You’re the eldest.”

“Really?” I pretend to ponder this. “But I have such a youthful glow.”

My father opens his mouth to respond, but my mother places a gentle hand on his shoulder. “Radames,” she says, “I think it’s best Elian gets some sleep. Tomorrow’s ball will make for a long day, and he really does look tired.”

I press my lips to a tight smile and bow. “Of course,” I say, and excuse myself.

My father has never understood the importance of what I’m doing, but each time I return home, I lull myself into thinking that maybe, just once, he’ll be able to put his love for me above the love for his kingdom. But he fears for my safety because it would affect the crown. He has already spent too many years grooming the people into accepting me as their future sovereign to change things now.

“Elian!” Amara calls after me.

I ignore her, walking in long and quick strides, feeling the anger bubble under my skin. Knowing that the only way to make my father proud is to give up everything that I am.

“Elian,” she says, more firmly. “It’s not princess-like to run. Or if it is, then I’ll make a decree for it not to be if I’m ever queen.”

Reluctantly, I stop and face her. She sighs in relief and leans against the glyph-carved wall. She has taken her shoes off, and without them she’s even shorter than I remember. I smile, and when she sees this, she scowls and smacks my arm. I wince and hold out my hand for hers.

“You antagonize him,” she says, taking my arm.

“He antagonizes me first.”

“You’ll make a fine diplomat with those debate skills.”

I shake my head. “Not if you take the throne.”

“At least then I’d get the bracelet.” She nudges me with her elbow. “How was your trip? How many sirens did you slaughter like the great pirate that you are?”

She says this with a smirk, knowing full well that I’ll never tell her about my time on the Saad. I share many things with my sister, but never how it feels to be a killer. I like the idea of Amara seeing me as a hero, and killers are so very often villains.

“Barely any,” I say. “I was too full of rum to think about it.”

“You’re quite the liar,” says Amara. “And by quite, I mean quite awful.”

We come to a stop outside her room. “And you’re quite nosy,” I tell her. “That’s new.”

Amara ignores this. “Are you going to the banquet hall to see your friends?” she asks.

I shake my head. The guards will make sure my crew finds good beds for the night, and I’m far too tired to plaster on another round of smiles.

“I’m going to bed,” I tell her. “Like the queen ordered.”

Amara nods, perches on her tiptoes, and kisses my cheek. “I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she says. “And I can ask Kye about your exploits. I don’t imagine a diplomat would lie to a princess.” With a playful grin, she turns to her room and shuts the door behind her.

I pause for a moment.

I don’t much like the thought of my sister swapping stories with my crew, but at least I can trust Kye to tell his tales with less death and gore. He’s fanciful, but not stupid. He knows that I don’t behave the way a prince should any more than he behaves as a diplomat’s son should. It’s my biggest secret. People know me as the siren hunter, and those at court utter those words with amusement and fondness: Oh, Prince Elian, trying to save us all. If they understood what it took, the awful and sickening screams sirens made. If they saw the corpses of the women on my deck before they dissolved to sea foam, then my people wouldn’t look upon me so fondly. I would no longer be a prince to them, and as much as I might desire such things, I know better.





5


Lira


THE KETO PALACE LIES within the center of the Diávolos Sea and has always been home to royalty. Though humans have kings and queens in every crevice of the earth, the ocean has only one ruler. One queen. This is my mother, and one day it will be me.

One day being soon. It’s not that my mother is too old to rule. Though sirens live for a hundred years, we never age past a few decades, and soon daughters look like mothers and mothers look like sisters, and it becomes hard to tell how old anybody truly is. It’s another reason why we have the tradition of hearts: so a siren’s age is never determined by her face, but always by how many lives she has stolen.

This is the first time I’ve broken that tradition, and my mother is furious. Looking down at me, the Sea Queen is every bit the tyrannical sovereign. To an outsider, she may even seem infinite, as though her reign could never end. It doesn’t look like she’ll lose her throne in just a few years.

As is customary, the Sea Queen retires her crown once she has sixty hearts. I know the exact number my mother has hidden in the safe beneath the palace gardens. Once, she had announced them each year, proud of her growing collection. But she stopped making such proclamations when she reached fifty. She stopped counting, or at least, stopped telling people that she did. But I never stopped. Each year I counted my mother’s hearts just as rigorously as I counted my own. So I know that she has three years before the crown is mine.

“How many is that now, Lira?” asks the Sea Queen, looming down at me.