WHEN THE LIGHT BREAKS across the shore of Eidýllio, there’s a flash of pink that shatters the sky. The sun gleams against the horizon, encircled by a miraculous hue of diminished red, like melted coral. I’m pulled from the depths of my cage and into the light, where there’s an explosion of warmth and color, like nothing I have ever witnessed. There’s light in every corner of the earth, but in Eidýllio it seems closer to magic. The kind that’s crafted into Elian’s blade and my mother’s ashen trident. Dreams shaped into something more powerful than reality.
Across the docks, the grass is the color of neon gobies. A meadow floating on the water. Stems of juniper sprout like fireworks, rain beads clinging to their tips in indestructible droplets. They are orbs of light guiding the way back to land.
I realize that I’m warm. It’s a new sensation, far from the tickle of ice I loved as a siren and the sharp frost I felt in my human toes aboard the Saad. I’ve shed Elian’s damp shirt, which clung and dried against me like a second skin. Now I have a ragged white dress, pinched at the waist by a belt as thick as either of my legs, and large black boots that threaten to swallow my new feet whole.
Madrid takes a step beside me. “Freedom’s in your grasp,” she says.
I throw her a disparaging look. “Freedom?”
“The cap planned to cut you loose once we arrived here, didn’t he?
No burn, no breach.”
I recognize the saying. It is a Kléftesis phrase from the kingdom of thieves – no harm, no problem – used by pirates who pillage passing ships and any land they dock on. If nobody is killed, the Kléftesis don’t believe a crime has been committed. Their pirates are true to their nature and pay no mind to noble missions and declarations of peace. They sail for gold and pleasure and the pain they cause when taking it. If Madrid is from Kléftes, then Elian chose his crew well. The worst of the worst to be his best.
“How trusting you are of your prince,” I say.
“He’s not my prince,” Madrid says. “He’s not any sort of prince on this ship.”
“That I can believe,” I tell her. “He wasn’t even civil when I offered help.”
“Let’s be straight,” Madrid says. “You’re only looking to help yourself.”
“Is there anyone alive who isn’t?”
“The captain.” Her voice holds a spark of admiration. “He wants to help the world.”
I laugh. The prince wants to help a doomed world. As long as my mother’s alive, war is all we will ever know. The best thing Elian can do for his safety is kill me and anyone else he can’t afford to trust. Instead he kept me prisoner. Suspicious enough to lock me away, but not brutal enough to take my life. He showed mercy, and whether it’s weakness or strength, it’s jarring all the same.
I watch Elian descending the ship, paying no mind to the shipwrecked girl he could easily abandon. He takes off in a run and jumps the last of the way, so that when his feet touch the tufts of grass, small droplets explode into the air like rainfall. He pulls his hat off and takes a sweeping bow at the land. Then he reaches up a tanned hand, ruffles the wisps of his raven hair, and slips the hat back onto his head in a flourish. He takes a moment, surveying the canvas, his hands hitched on his hips.
I can hear the exhale of his breath even from high on the deck of the Saad. His joy is like a gust of unfamiliar wind sweeping up to us. The crew smiles as they watch him stare into an ocean of grass and juniper and, in the distance, a wall made of light. A castle peeks out from the city lines like a mirage.
“He always does this,” Kolton Torik says.
His presence casts a shadow beside me, but for all the foreboding Elian’s first mate could bring, he’s nothing of the dire pirate he could be. His face is gentle and relaxed, hands shoved into the pockets of frayed shorts. When he speaks, his voice is deep but soft, like the echo after an explosion.
“Eidýllio is one of his favorites,” Torik explains.
I find it hard to believe the prince is a romantic. He seems as though he might find the notion as ridiculous as I do. I would know in an instant that Midas isn’t his favorite kingdom; men don’t make homes if they have them already. But my guess would have been Ágrios, a nation of fearlessness. Or the warrior kingdom of Polemistés that I chose for my origin. Lands for soldiers on the precipice of war. Fighters and killers who see no use in pretending to be anything else.
I would not have guessed that the infamous siren hunter had humanity in him.
“It’s one of my favorites too,” Madrid says, inhaling the air. “They have streets of bakeries, with chocolate hearts oozing toffee on every corner. Even their cards smell sweet.”
“Why is it his favorite?” I point to Elian.
Kye arches an eyebrow. “Take a wild guess.”
“What else do you need in life when you have love?” Madrid asks.
Kye snorts. “Is that what the kids are calling it nowadays?”
Madrid swipes at him and when Kye sidesteps her blow, she narrows her eyes. “This is supposed to be the land of romance,” she tells him.
“Romance is for royals,” Kye says just as Torik throws an empty bag in the middle of their makeshift circle.
He has shed his shirt, and I see that his bare arms are covered in tattoo mosaics, not a single piece of skin spared from the patchwork quilt of color. On his shoulder a snake stares down. Yellow, teeth bared, hissing as his biceps flex.
“And what’s the captain, then?” he asks.
“A pirate.” Kye throws his sword into the bag. “And we all know why pirates come to Eidýllio.”
Madrid shoots him a withering look.
I dare another glance at the prince. The warm wind bellows the tails of his coat, and as it pulls back, the point of his knife catches my eye. It splinters the sun’s growing hue, and then a small vein of black crawls up the metal and snatches the light. Drinks it until there isn’t a glimmer left on the blade. I bite down on the corner of my lip and imagine holding something that powerful.
A knife that absorbs life and light.
Elian’s stance goes rigid. His knuckles whiten on his hips, and his head tilts ever so slightly back toward the ship. To me. As though he can sense my thoughts. When he turns, it’s slow and meaningful, and it takes a few moments for his eyes to find mine among his crew. He stares, unblinking, and just when I think he’s going to raise his hand and signal for Madrid to shoot me, or for Kye to throw me back into the crystal cave, he smirks. The left side of his mouth tugs upward, and the action, somehow, feels like a dare.
Then the look is gone and Elian turns to survey the rest of his crew. When he does, his smile becomes real and wide enough to dimple his bronzed cheeks.
“You know the routine,” he tells them, climbing back onto the deck. “Everything sharp or deadly in the bags.” He looks at me. “Think you’ll fit?”
I shoot him a feral look, and his crew reluctantly pulls their swords from their belts. Drags arrowheads from their shoes. Reveals knives in the folds of their trousers. Hoists guns that were tucked into their waistbands. At one point, Kye takes off his boot and throws it in. The inked sun reflects the light from a hidden dagger in the heel before it’s buried beneath a mass of weaponry.
There are pirates unarming in front of me. Layer by layer they throw down their protection, shedding it like a second skin. When they’re done, each of them shuffles, placing awkward hands on their hips or reaching for weapons that are no longer there.
Madrid brings her thumb to her mouth and bites down hard on the nail, while Kye cracks his knuckles. The pops are as rhythmic as waves.
“Why are you doing that?” I ask, eyeing the stash of weapons.
If I can swipe one, then I can use it on the prince if he tries anything, but in this gown, there’s nowhere to hide it. I sigh in frustration, knowing I won’t be able to get close enough with a weapon in plain sight.
“No weapons in Eidýllio,” Madrid explains. She flicks the last two twin blades from either of her sleeves.
“It’s law,” Kye continues. “You can’t touch the ground if you’re carrying, so we pack up our arms and take them to the wall. Then drop the bag with the scouts.”
“Why not just leave them on the ship?”
Madrid looks down to her discarded speargun, horrified. “Don’t worry,” she whispers to the deadly contraption. “She didn’t mean it.”
Kye smirks and kicks one of the bags somewhat fondly. “Can’t risk leaving our best metal on the ship. If another lot docks here, they might decide to have a rummage. Of course,” he says, casting a meaningful look my way, “it’d be really stupid for anyone to try to get on the wrong side of the Saad’s captain.”
Elian claps a hand on Kye’s shoulder. A straw of black sugar is nooked inside his mouth, carrying the familiar aniseed smell. “But you can’t bet your life on people not being stupid,” Elian says. “That’s how you end up with a knife in your gut.”
Torik hoists the weapon-filled bag from the floor and grunts. “Okay then,” he says. “Heads or tails on which of you gits wants to help carry these.”
Kye pulls a gold coin from his pocket. A pyramid is etched onto the front face, and so I immediately know that it’s Midasan. The royal crest is unmistakable.
“Heads you lose, tails I win.” Kye throws the coin into the air but brushes past Torik before it has a chance to land. As soon as the coin hits the deck by Torik’s feet, Kye calls over his shoulder, “Guess it’s my lucky day!”
“I’m keeping that gold, you little shit,” Torik tells him, picking up the coin and polishing it on his shirt before pocketing it.
Elian gestures for Madrid to help Torik with the bag and takes a bite from the tarry sweet. As his arm moves from his side, I see the knife still secured under the billow of his coat.
I gesture to the blade. “You don’t follow your own rules?”
“They’re not my rules,” Elian says. “And besides” – he taps the handle of his knife, the mockery crisp in his voice – “I have diplomatic immunity.”
Kye laughs from the grass below. “Is that what we’re calling Queen Galina now?” he asks. “You might want to tell Her Royal Highness that her title has changed.”
“I think I’d rather not.”
“When are you going to go see her?” Madrid asks, slinging the other arm of the weapons bag over her shoulder. “You just know that as soon as she hears we’ve docked, she’ll send guards to escort you over to the palace.”
“She always wants to make sure we settle in okay,” Elian says.
Madrid snorts. “You mean she always wants to keep an eye on us.”
Elian shrugs noncommittally and presses a hand to the seashell.
I try to be indifferent, but the thought of it being in his grasp makes me dizzy with anger. The sea kingdom of Keto has remained hidden from humans since the dawn of time, lost in a maze of ocean and magic woven by the goddess herself. The secret of its whereabouts is our best line of defense in this ongoing battle, and to have that advantage destroyed by him – because of me – would be unthinkable.
Even if the seashells do not work for humans, Elian isn’t like most humans. There’s no telling how much havoc he would leave in his wake if he captured a siren and forced her to use its power to lead him to our kingdom. I doubt there are any limits to his desire to rid the world of my race. His movements are as unpredictable as his motives, and if there’s anything I’ve learned these past few days, it’s that the prince has a way of getting what he wants. I’m not prepared to let him hold the key to my kingdom for long enough to realize that it is one.
Elian leads me from his ship and onto the floating meadow, the seemingly perpetual smudge of dirt creasing on his forehead. He never seems to be quite perfect. Every glimpse of him is tarnished with an odd dishevelment, noticeable even as he stands among such a makeshift crew. It seems to be a way for him to fit in with the thieves and rogues he has collected, in a similar way that I was fashioned into my mother’s vision of a true siren. And because of this, I know his attempts are fruitless. Royalty cannot be unmade. Birth rights cannot be changed. Hearts are forever scarred by our true nature.
“When we reach the wall, we can discuss your future,” Elian says.
I clench my fists, appalled at his audacity and the fact that I’m being forced to tolerate it. Never the queen, always the minion.
“Discuss it?” I repeat.
“You said you wanted to come with us, and I want to make sure you’re useful. You can’t just be a prisoner taking up space on my deck.”
“I was belowdecks,” I remind him. “In a cage.”
“That was this morning,” he says, as though it’s far enough in the past to be forgotten. “Try not to hold a grudge.”
The grin he gives me is beyond taunting and I sneer, not deigning to reply. Instead I breeze past and make sure to knock my shoulder as hard as I can into his. The sooner I have his heart, the better.
THE WALL IS NOT made of light, but of rose petals. They are pure white and when the sunlight bounces off the delicate leaves, they glisten like stars. At first, it’s hard to tell whether they are part of the wall, or if they are the wall itself. Tiny flower shavings somehow creating a barrier around the border to Eidýllio’s capital. As we approach, I see the solid marble drawbridge begin to fall, parting flowers through the middle.
Once we step inside the city, I’m hit by the smell of sugar bread and peppermint. Market stalls line the curved cobble streets, each stone like a ripple. By the entrance, a trader leans over a barrel of thick chocolate and stirs it with a spoon that’s almost the same height as him. Customers lick warm honey from their fingers and drip milk onto satin dress shirts.
When I open my mouth to sigh, the air caramelizes on my tongue.
I’ve never been inside a human city and I marvel at its abundance. How many people. How many colors and smells and tastes. The way their voices blur into whispers and roars while their feet clap against the cobblestone. So many bodies moving and crashing. There’s an unnerving madness to it. How do they breathe, with so little space? How do they live, with so much mayhem? In spite of myself, I edge closer to Elian. There’s comfort in his presence and how relaxed he disguises himself to be. As though he could belong anywhere if he truly wanted to.
The scouts seem to recognize him. They smile and greet the prince with swift bows before opening the weapons bag Torik slaps onto their station. Though Elian’s knife is covered by his jacket, it’s not completely unnoticeable and he makes no real attempt to hide it.
The scouts approach his crew, albeit warily, and begin to pat the first of them down. They feel their pockets and run their hands over the linings of their clothing, checking for any hidden weaponry. When it comes to Madrid’s turn, she wags her eyebrows mockingly and Kye rolls his eyes.
The scouts continue along the group, passing Elian by. It seems he was right about his so-called immunity. Either Elian’s sway extends far beyond his own Midasan kingdom, or Queen Galina of Eidýllio really does have a weakness for pirates.
A scout approaches me and gestures for me to hold out my arms. He towers over me by at least two heads, with a patchy orange beard that trickles down to his neck. His skin is fish-bone white, a less immaculate version of my own. Or what it once was, before my mother’s curse. I still haven’t seen my new self. I would rather stay blind to how humanity has tarnished a face that once sunk ships.
The scout takes a step closer and I smell stale smoke on his uniform.
“Touch me,” I tell him, “and I will break every one of your fingers.”
His eyes roam over my body, taking note of how the wrinkled white dress clings awkwardly to my sharpened shoulders. He must decide that I don’t pose much of a threat, because he quickly grabs my arms and spreads them out like wings.
I use his disregard to my advantage, confident that even without my strength, I’m still deadly. I may not have my fins, or even my voice, but I am my mother’s daughter. I am the most murderous creature in the hundred kingdoms.
I twist my outstretched arm back underneath the scout’s hands and pull on his wrist, then angle my elbow up and make to crack it across his smug face. When I move, there’s a satisfying thump, but it’s not the sound of bone crunching.
It’s the sound of me being flung to the ground.
The guard has snatched my arm and thrown me with enough force for my elbow to scrape against the gravel. The pain sears across my skin and I feel fury like never before. I could have killed him with one hand if this was the ocean. One song. Yet now I’m cowering as my arm throbs under my weight. How can I expect to take down a trained siren killer when I can’t handle one pitiful guard?
I glare and the scout moves his hand to his hip, half-pulling his sword from his belt. His comrades reach for pistols. I can see the anger in their eyes, as they think about repaying me for trying to attack one of their own. But they don’t draw. Instead they look to the prince.
Elian stares back with an indifferent expression. He’s sitting on the counter of the scout station, one leg hoisted onto the wooden varnish, knee resting in the crook of his elbow. In one hand, he holds an apple the color of rose blossoms.
“So much for a warm welcome,” he says, and hops down from the counter.
The scout wipes his nose with the back of his hand. “She tried to hit me,” he snarls.
Elian takes a bite from the apple. “She also threatened to break your fingers,” he says. “You should grab her again and find out if she was bluffing.”
“I was just trying to search for weapons. We need to check everyone coming into the kingdom. It’s law.”
“Not everyone.” As Elian moves his hand back to his waist, there’s a flash of the knife he never seems to let out of his sight. If the guards didn’t notice it before, they have now. And it’s obvious that’s exactly what Elian wants.
The scout wavers. “She could be hiding a weapon,” he argues, but there’s less conviction in his voice.
“Right.” Elian nods. “So many places she could have stashed it.” He turns to me and holds out his hand. “Give up that crossbow you’ve got under your skirt and they’ll let you off with a slap on the wrist.”
His voice is deadpan and when I only glare in response, Elian turns back to the scout and throws his arms up, like I’m being difficult.
“You’ll just have to throw her in the dungeons,” Kye says, appearing by Elian’s side. I’m not entirely sure if he’s joking. “She’s clearly part of some elite smuggling ring.”
Elian turns to him and gasps, placing a hand to his heart. “Gods,” he says, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “What if she’s a pirate?”
Kye snorts, and after a moment I realize that I’m smiling too.
I can’t remember the last time I truly laughed. I’ve been so set on pleasing my mother that finding any joy of my own seemed unreasonable. Not that it mattered; I could be the perfect monster and it wouldn’t change a thing. If I disappoint her, I’m a failure. But if I excel, I prove my worth as a ruler and that’s a far greater sin.
I think of what look she’ll have when I present the Second Eye of Keto to her and throw it down like a gauntlet.
The scouts let us pass and when they move aside, the city opens its arms. Nobody takes a second look at me. I blend into the stone, merging with every other face in the market. I’m utterly insignificant for the first time. It’s both freeing and maddening.
“Take a good look,” Elian says. “This could be your new home.”
His hat hangs at his side, hooked onto the handle of his knife. Concealing the weapon and drawing attention to it all the same. He wants to be noticed. He’s incapable of being forgettable.
I cross my arms over my chest. “You’d really just leave me here if you don’t think I’m useful enough?”
“I prefer abandon,” he says. “Desert. Dump. Push heartlessly to the wayside.” He sweeps a lock of thick black hair out of his eyes. “You have to admit that Eidýllio is better than the plank,” he says. “Or a cage.”
At this moment I think I’d prefer either of them. The feel of land under my feet is strange, and its steadiness tugs my stomach in too many directions. I long for water gushing against my fins or even the rock and sway of the Saad. Everything on land is too still. Too permanent.
“Don’t you miss it?”
I don’t know why I’m asking, as though Elian and I have anything in common. I should leave while I can. I should kill him while I can. Forget waiting until he leads me to the eye. Forget trying to overthrow my mother, and just take his heart like she demanded, securing my place as her heir again. If I come back with enough human weapons, surely I can take him on.
Instead I simply say, “The ocean,” and Elian’s eyes crinkle.
“It’s still out there,” he says.
“So far. We’ve walked for three hours.”
“It’s never too far. You’re forgetting that this whole place is a river delta.”
There are limits to my Midasan and when I stare blankly at the mention of a river delta, Kye releases a loud sigh from a nearby market stall.
“Oh, come on.” He licks chocolate from his finger. “Don’t tell me you’re not up on centuplicate geography.”
“It’s how Kardián was made,” Madrid explains. Her hair is in two high ponytails now, and when she speaks, she reaches up to tug them tighter. “A river delta formed from Eidýllio, and cousins of the royal family decided they deserved a nation of their own. So they took it and named themselves king and queen.”
“My kind of people.” Kye raises his fist in the air like a toast.
“Your kind of people aren’t anyone’s kind of people,” Madrid says. “You’re uniquely idiotic.”
“You had me at unique,” Kye says, and then turns to me. “All that separates Kardián and Eidýllio are rivers and estuaries. They’re everywhere you look in this place.”
I remember Torik’s comment on the Saad, about how Eidýllio was Elian’s favorite kingdom. At the time I couldn’t fathom why – the rogue prince enamored with a land of love seemed odd at best and ridiculous at worst – but now, understanding dawns.
“That’s why you like it here,” I say to Elian. “Because the ocean is never too far away.”
He smiles, but just as he is about to respond, Torik places a hand on his shoulder. “We got to get movin’, Captain. The Serendipity only holds our rooms for two hours after sunrise.”
“You go,” Elian tells him. “I’m right behind you.”
Torik gives a swift nod and when he turns to leave, the rest of the crew follows his lead. Except for Kye, who lingers on the edge of the crowd with an unfathomable expression. He squeezes Madrid’s hand – just once – and then watches until she disappears. When she’s no longer in sight, he turns back to Elian and me, his face adopting a sudden severity.
It seems the prince is so rarely left unguarded.
“I owe you something,” Elian says. “Or, technically, you owe me, since I saved you from drowning. But I’m not one for holding life debts.” There is a flicker of a smile on his lips as he unloops my seashell from his neck. Something like hope takes ahold of me. My fingers twitch by my side. “Here,” he says, and throws it to me.
As soon as the scarlet shell touches my hand, power floods through me. My knees almost give way as I feel an ungodly strength return. My bones harden, my skin crystallizing. For a moment my heart withers back to what it was. Then there’s a whisper that slowly turns to a hum. I can hear the call of the Diávolos Sea and the kingdom of Keto. I can hear my home.
And then it’s gone. Just like my powers.
The rush disappears as quickly as it came. My body slackens and my skin turns warm and soft. Bones so easily broken. Heart red and pounding once more.
The ocean is silent.
“Lira.”
I snap my eyes up to meet Elian’s. I still can’t get used to the sound of my name in his accent. Like one of the songs I used to sing. A melody as sweet as it is deadly.
“If you miss the ocean,” he says, “then Reoma Putoder is the closest water you’ll find. On the holy day, locals throw stones in the waterfall to wish for their lost love. Access is forbidden the rest of the week, but I don’t doubt you’ll be able to find a way around that.”
He makes to move by me and I sidestep. “Wait,” I say. “I thought you said you wanted me to prove myself worthy of going with you. I told you that I have information on the crystal you’re looking for and now suddenly you won’t even consider a deal?”
“I’ve made enough deals lately,” Elian says. “And the last thing I need is a straggler on this mission. Especially one I can’t trust. Besides, you can’t offer me anything I don’t already know.” Elian settles his hat back onto his head with a graceful twirl and tips it forward in my direction. “If you go to the Reoma Putoder,” he says, “try not to drown this time.”
He doesn’t look at me again before he turns to weave his way through the market and toward Kye. I catch a brief glimpse of them standing together and then, just like that, they disappear into the crowd.
IT TAKES ME THE better part of an hour to find the Reoma Putoder. I don’t ask for help, partly because my pride can’t take another human rescuing me. Mostly, because my patience can’t take another human talking to me. I’ve already been stopped over a dozen times by locals offering me food and warmer clothing, as though I need it in this sweltering heat. There’s something about a girl wandering alone in a wrinkled dress and old pirate boots that unnerves them.
I bet ripping out their hearts would be more unnerving.
The Reoma Putoder is a waterfall with a pure white lagoon that, somewhere far in the distance, leaks into the ocean. I heard it before I saw it, lost in the endless bakery alleyways, the smell of pastries clinging to my skin like perfume. It sounded like thunder and there were a few hesitant seconds when I thought for sure that was what it was. But the closer I got, the more recognizable the sound was. Water so powerful that it sent shudders through me.
I sit quietly at the base of the waterfall, my legs hanging over the edge of the lagoon. It’s so warm that every now and again I have to take my feet out and let them rest against the dewy grass. At the bottom of the water, sitting on sand that looks akin to snow, there are thousands of red metal coins. They peek out from the shingle like tiny droplets of blood.
I thumb the seashell. Pressing it to my ear brings nothing but unbearable silence. I’ve been trying ever since Elian left me in the marketplace. On the walk to the waterfall, I held it against me desperately, hoping that with time it would speak to me again. There were a few moments when I almost tricked myself into thinking that I could hear the echo of a wave. The rumble of a sea storm. My mother’s bubbling laughter. Really, the only sound was the ringing of my ears. All of that power, gone. A tease of my own self dangled in front of me just long enough for the thirst to return. I wonder if it’s another one of my mother’s tricks. Let me keep the shell so she can taunt me with the echoes of my destroyed legacy.
I grip it tighter. I want to feel it splinter into my skin. Crack and crumble to nothing. But when I open my hand, it’s intact, undamaged, and all that remains is an indent in my palm. With a scream, I raise my arm high above my head and throw the shell into the water. It lands with an anticlimactic plop and then sinks leisurely to the bottom. I can see every moment of its slow descent until it finally settles against the water bed.
Then there is a glow. Faint at first, but it soon scatters into orbs and embers. I inch back. In all the time I’ve used the seashells to communicate with sirens, or even as a compass to my kingdom, I’ve rarely seen this. It calls out as though it can sense my desperation, reaching into the waters to search for another of my kind. Instead of a map, it’s acting as a beacon.
And then, in almost no time at all, Kahlia appears. My cousin’s blond hair is swiped across the water, falling into her face so that her eyes fail to meet mine.
I jump to my feet. “Kahlia,” I say with astonishment. “You’re here.”
She nods and holds out her hand. Resting against her long, spiny fingers is my seashell. She throws it onto the grass by my feet. “I heard your call,” she says quietly. “Do you have the prince’s heart yet?”
I frown as her head stays bowed. “What’s the matter?” I ask. “Can’t you look at me now?”
When Kahlia does nothing but shake her head, I feel a pang. She once admired me so venomously that it drove my mother to hate her. My entire life Kahlia remained the only one in our kingdom who I thought to care about and now she can’t even look me in the eye.
“It’s not that,” Kahlia says, like she senses my thoughts.
She lifts her head and there’s a tenuous smile on her thin pink lips as she fiddles uncharacteristically with the seaweed bodice around her chest. She takes in my human form and rather than look scared or disgusted, she only looks curious. She cocks her head. Her milk-yellow eye is wide and glistening. But her other eye, the one that matches my own so perfectly, is shut and bruised black.
I grit my teeth, grinding bone on bone. “What happened?”
“There had to be a punishment,” she says.
“For what?”
“For helping you kill the Adékarosin prince.”
I take an outraged step forward, feet teetering on the edge of the lagoon. “I took that punishment.”
“The brunt of it,” Kahlia says. “Which is why I’m still alive.”
A chill runs through me. I should have known my mother couldn’t be satiated with punishing one siren when she could have two. Why make me suffer alone? It’s a lesson she’s taught me so often before. First with Crestell and now with her daughter.
“The Sea Queen is entirely too merciful,” I say.
Kahlia offers me a meek smile. “Does the prince still have his heart?” she asks. “If you bring it back, this will be over. You can come home.”
The desperate hope in her voice makes me flinch. She’s scared to return to the Diávolos Sea without me, because if I’m not there, then nobody will protect her from my mother.
“When we first met, I was too weak from almost drowning to kill him.”
Kahlia grins. “What is he like?” she asks. “Compared to the others?”
I consider telling her about Elian’s truth-discerning compass and the knife he carries that’s as sharp as his gaze, drinking whatever blood it draws. How he smells of anglers and ocean salt. Instead I say something else altogether. Something she will find far more entertaining.
“He locked me in a cage.”
Kahlia splutters a laugh. “That doesn’t sound too princely,” she says. “Aren’t human royals supposed to be accommodating?”
“He has more important things to worry about, I suppose.”
“Like what?” Her voice is eager as she swipes a string of seaweed from her arm.
“Hunting legends,” I explain.
Kahlia shoots me a teasing look. “Weren’t you one of those?”
I raise my eyebrows at the jab, pleased to see some of the spark return to her face. “He’s looking for the Second Eye of Keto,” I say.
Kahlia swims forward, throwing her arms on the damp grass by my feet. “Lira,” she says. “You’re planning something wicked, aren’t you? Do I have to guess?”
“That depends entirely on how much you enjoy playing minion to your beloved aunt.”
“The Sea Queen can’t expect devotion if she preaches the opposite,” Kahlia says, and I know she’s thinking of Crestell. The mother who laid down her life for her in an act of devotion my own mother could only scoff at.
It doesn’t surprise me that Kahlia would be eager to turn against the Sea Queen. The only thing that has ever surprised me is her continued allegiance to me. Even after what I did. What I was made to do. Somehow Crestell’s death bonded us rather than tearing us apart as my mother had hoped it would. I can’t help but feel smug at the look of cunning in Kahlia’s eyes. Expected or not, the display of loyalty is all too satisfying.
“If the prince leads me to the eye, then the power it holds would make me a match for the Sea Queen.” I hold my cousin’s gaze. “I can stop her from ever daring to touch either of us again.”
“And if you fail?” Kahlia asks. “What becomes of us then?”
“I won’t fail,” I tell her. “All I need to do is share enough of our secrets to get the prince to trust me and he’ll welcome me on board.”
Kahlia looks doubtful. “You’re weak now,” she says. “If the prince finds out who you are, then he could kill you like he killed Maeve.”
“You know about that?” I ask, though I shouldn’t be shocked. The Sea Queen can feel the death of every siren, and now that she’s keeping Kahlia so close to her side in my absence, no doubt my cousin would have been there when she felt it.
Kahlia nods. “The Sea Queen waved it off as though it were nothing.”
The hypocrisy of that strikes me. My mother showed more emotion when I killed a lowly mermaid than when one of our own kind was gutted on the deck of a pirate ship. Our deaths are nothing but a minor annoyance to her. I wonder if the real reason she wants to kill the humans is not so much for the good of our kind, but so she can stop experiencing the inconvenience of our deaths. We’re expendable in this war. Every last one of us so easily replaced. Even me.
Perhaps, especially me.
“That will change soon,” I say. I reach over and place a hand on Kahlia’s arm, my palm an odd blanket of warmth over the frost of her skin. “I’ll take the eye and the Sea Queen’s throne along with it.”