I DON’T REALIZE HOW restless I am until Lira emerges from below the forecastle deck, dressed in everything but a peg leg.
The crew is humming something soft and off-kilter, while Kye speaks animatedly with Torik about old debts dying hard. Yet there’s silence when we see her.
Lira’s hair is pulled to one side in sweeping strands, with braided string running through odd sections. Large gold hoops hang from her ears, stretching her lobes. Even from the quarterdeck, I can see the dried blood around the loops. She’s dressed in a pair of dark teal trousers with an ornate jacket to match, ridged by oval button twists. Her shoulders are a flourish of gold tassels, and the ends of a white dress shirt poke out from her wrists. There are patches on her elbows, hastily stitched together with black string.
Lira places a hand on her hip and tries to pretend she doesn’t feel self-conscious, but it’s the first true thing I’ve seen on her face since we met. She may look like a pirate, but she’s got a way to go before she can pass for one.
“You’ve got to me kidding me,” Kye says. “I told Madrid to give her a shower, not dress her up like a pirate princess.”
“It’s sweet that you think she looks like a princess,” I say. “I’ll be sure to tell her that later.”
“I’m serious,” Kye tells me, like I couldn’t have worked that one out for myself. “First she weasels her way onto this ship and now she’s even trying to look like one of us? It’s like she wants us to forget that’s she’s an outsider so we’ll turn our backs on her.”
“You’re getting an awful lot of conspiracy from a dress shirt and a new pair of boots.”
“Don’t be naïve,” Kye says. “You know better than to trust strangers.”
I half-smile, grinding my teeth together. Advising me to be cautious is one thing, but lecturing me on the deck of my own ship like I’m a child is another altogether. Na•ve. The word is too familiar not to get under my skin.
“You sound like my father,” I say. “If I want a lecture, I’ll ask for one.”
“I’m trying to give you some advice.”
“You’re trying to second-guess me and it’s getting old fast.” I sigh, feeling the tiredness creep back in – the one usually reserved for my trips to Midas. “I’m not some novice setting sail for the first time,” I tell him. “I’m the captain of this ship and I’d appreciate it if you stopped treating me like an inexperienced little prince who needs to be advised.”
Kye’s shoulders go rigid, but I’m too frustrated to care about the way his face blankets over in practiced calm. On this ship, I’m not supposed to be a Midasan royal with a legion of bodyguards and counsels. I’m supposed to be a damn pirate.
It’s times like this I’m reminded of the bargain my father offered him: to stay by my side as a guardian rather than a friend, protecting me from the world I’m eager to explore. Even if Kye denies that’s why he’s here, having him doubt my decisions and question my moves just makes me think of my father and his court. It reminds me that Kye’s a diplomat’s son, used to handling royals. And I’m just another prince, getting adventure out of my system before I become king.
I slide down the ladder and onto the main deck. Lira has a gun holster attached to her thigh, above the folds of her knee-length boots. From the red fabric belt that clinches her waist, there’s also a golden cuff just big enough to pull a sword through. Thankfully, Madrid didn’t give her the weapons to match.
“You almost blend in,” I say.
Lira’s nose crinkles. “That’s not a compliment.”
I pull off my hat and step toward my sword, which rests against the ladder. It’s a saber that begins in strong gold and fades to ashen black. The handle is an elaborate cuff with a map of Midas swirled into the metal, and the blade itself curves up ever so slightly at the tip, for the most deadly strike.
I point the weapon at Madrid and say,“Lend Lira something.”
I ask Madrid, because she’s more attached to her speargun than anything else. And because I know the rest of the crew would be hesitant to oblige. Trying to separate a pirate from his sword doesn’t bear thinking about.
“Elian.”
Kye’s voice gives me pause. It’s a warning not to do anything stupid or reckless, especially if it’s only to prove a point.
“Madrid,” I say, gesturing to her cutlass.
She hands it over without pause, deliberately avoiding a glance in Kye’s direction. She’s eager to see what will happen, just as the rest of my crew is. I can feel their eyes circling us, hear the quiet as their voices drift off and they stop singing to take in the sight.
“I didn’t realize you could smile,” I say as Lira studies her new blade.
“You’re going to teach me how to fight.”
It isn’t a question, any more than it’s a request. She’s demanding it, as though I haven’t so much as offered and it’s her feminine charm that’s spurred this whole thing on.
As though she has any sort of charm.
I don’t make a habit of teaching strangers my tricks, but if Lira’s going to survive among my crew, then she’s going to need to know how to carry a blade. Watching her grapple with the guard in Eidýllio was embarrassing enough, and I need her if I’m going to be able to take down the Sea Queen. Lira isn’t going to offer any of her secrets – not the intimate details of the ritual or any other nuances – until we reach the mountain peak. Which means I need her alive and able to defend herself if I’m not there. Especially when we arrive at our next destination. If Lira thinks my crew is rough around the edges, then she’s going to be in for a shock when she meets the Xaprár.
“I’m going to teach you how to survive,” I correct. “First lesson being: Don’t stand like that.”
I gesture to her feet, which are pressed closely together, knees as straight as nails. If Lira really was telling the truth about her family, then I’d expect her to know better. Warriors from Polemistés are nothing if not natural mercenaries. But then, she said her family died when she was just a child, and that could mean she was too young to be properly coached.
I adjust my position and Lira widens her stance to match. She’s like a mirror, even raising her arm to mimic the bend in my elbow.
“If I beat you, what do I win?” she asks.
“The ability to defend yourself.”
Her smile is lethal. “And if I kill you?”
“False confidence is nobody’s friend,” I school in a faultless echo of my father’s voice.
And then I attack.
Lira swoops her sword up in a high arc, blocking my first blow. She’s quick, but uncertain. Her feet are clumsy and when she sidesteps, her knees knock against each other. She doesn’t seem used to walking, let alone have the right footwork for a duel. I swing again, slower and softer than before. Our swords clink together.
I twist away and bring my sword above my head, giving Lira an opening to attack. She doesn’t hesitate. Her blade comes down on mine, hard. If she’s not going to win by skill, she’s going to do it with brute force. Never mind that I’m actually trying to teach her something. All she wants to learn is how to win.
I crouch down and sweep my foot under hers, but she jumps at the last minute and I miss. “That’s good,” I say. “How did you know I was going to do that?”
“You’re highly predictable.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop retreating, then. When I attack, it’s your job to get me on the defensive. Always switch your position so your opponent needs to be the one to get away.”
“Wars aren’t won by running,” she says.
“You can’t win a war,” I tell her. “Someone else just loses.”
Lira’s sword wavers and a look of confusion passes over her severe features. Like she expected another kind of reply from the siren-slaying prince. When she doesn’t speak, I point my sword at her, uneasy with the lingering silence. “Attack me,” I say.
She lurches forward with enough power that our blades smash against each other. The noise ricochets on long after I step away. Lira strikes again, repeatedly, and with no real purpose other than to do any kind of harm. It’s the same misguided mistake that all novices make. Attacking with no goal but death.
“Have a purpose,” I tell her, blocking another attempt.
Lira’s breath is quick and heavy. “What does that mean?”
“You have to decide what you want. What’s going to cause the most harm and how you can achieve it. You have to think before you attack.”
I press forward and Lira withdraws, then steps toward me. Her feet jabbing and dancing across the deck. It’s not exactly graceful, but it’s better. At the very least, she’s a fast learner.
I bring my arm down on hers, harder this time. A little more force with each blow, until I can see her arms begin to falter. Just when I think her sword is going to drop, she twists to the side and brings her left elbow up. I block it just in time, inches before my nose is shattered. She’s adapting, using whatever she has to win. It would be admirable if it wasn’t so shrewd.
I push Lira away and she falls to the floor with a grunt. She flips onto her back, elbows digging into the wood of the deck, and lets out a long breath.
“Gallantry is not your strong point,” she says.
“I’ll remember that the next time you’re drowning.”
“I wasn’t drowning.” Lira heaves herself off the floor. “I can’t drown.”
“No,” I say. “You can’t swim.”
She glowers and then raises her sword, gesturing for me to do the same. I’m more than happy to oblige. It seems I can get under her skin after all.
Lira pierces the blade forward, aiming for my heart. I jump out of the way and slam the handle of my sword into her stomach. She stutters back, but her teeth are ground together. There’s no scream or sign of pain aside from the devilish flicker in her eyes. I think about stopping, but I don’t have the chance before she’s surging toward me once more.
She throws her weight into the next blow and I struggle to bring my sword up fast enough. It’s unexpected, and I take a moment too long to process it, giving Lira the perfect opening.
Her fist cracks against my cheek.
The pain is intense but fleeting, and Lira blinks, surprised at herself. I’m less shocked at her for taking the opening than I am at myself for giving it. I kick my leg up, sending Lira’s sword flying across the deck. She tries to copy the gesture, aligning her foot directly with my heart. But she can’t keep her balance, and as soon as her ankle is in the air, I grab it and twist. She whirls over and crashes onto her hip.
I take a step toward her. Her palms are flat on the deck, but when she sees me nearing, her head whips up and she curls her leg out. I feel my feet being swept out from under me, but catch myself before I slam beside her.
I step back and Lira pounces to her feet again. We eye each other like hunter and prey, and I cock an eyebrow, daring her to move toward me. Lira smiles impishly in return and picks up her fallen weapon.
We continue on that way, swords arcing through the air, our breath ragged. Soon there’s sun in the distance, or perhaps even moonlight. Everything is muted and as Lira swoops her blade down on mine once more, I let it all fall away. My mission, my kingdom. The world. They exist somewhere other than in this moment, and now there is only this. Me, my ship, and a girl with oceans in her eyes.