Daughter of the Siren Queen

by Tricia Levenseller

  “Riden!” I shout, remembering something. He looks up again. “Go below and shave. You look haggard.”

  He raises a brow, but doesn’t dare to disobey the first order I give him after our deal. He treads belowdecks. Lotiya and Deshel try to follow.

  “Get back to your posts,” I shout at them. They sigh in resignation and scatter.

  “Haggard?” Niridia asks. She’s at the helm. Kearan, it would seem, hasn’t arrived yet. I join her. “That man is handsome as hell.”

  “Troublesome as hell is more like it,” I say. “I don’t know what I’m going to do with him.”

  “I could tell you what I’d like to do with him.”

  “Niridia,” I warn.

  “A jest, Captain.”

  I know. Niridia hasn’t been able to stomach the touch of a man after what she went through before I found her, but that doesn’t keep her from teasing. As my best friend, it’s her job. She’s able to jump back and forth between the roles of friend and first mate effortlessly, knowing when each is appropriate. I love her for it.

  “We’re keeping him, then?” she asks.

  “Yes.”

  “Hmm” is all she says. She’s the overly cautious type, the most responsible out of everyone on the ship. She always has something to say.

  “What?”

  “Just remember he’s Jeskor’s son. Your families are rivals. Have you wondered if being on this ship is exactly where he wants to be?”

  “Just like when I was a ‘prisoner’ on his ship?” I intended to get captured—all because I had a map to find on Riden’s brother’s ship.

  “Exactly.”

  “Riden’s not like that. He doesn’t have his own ambitions. The only thing that drives him is his brother.”

  Niridia blows a golden wisp of hair out of her blue eyes. “I wouldn’t say it’s the only thing, Captain.” She looks at me pointedly.

  To change the subject, I ask, “Where is Kearan?”

  Niridia waves toward the bow, and I’m surprised now that I didn’t spot him sooner. Kearan is massive. His bulk is tucked into his usual dark coat, a jacket full of pockets where he houses all his flasks. The man drinks like a parched fish.

  But now it looks as though he’s had a few too many. He’s pressed against the starboard side, the contents of his stomach depositing into the sea below.

  I’m trying to think of a suitable punishment for him when Niridia and I spot Sorinda materializing out of the shadows near the foremast. Her raven-colored hair is just a shade darker than her skin. It’s held up with a band, the ends reaching just past her shoulders. Sorinda never bothers with a tricorne. She spends most of her time in the dark and has no need to keep the sun out of her eyes. Instead of a cutlass, she carries a rapier at her side, favoring speed to strength.

  Right now, however, she holds the end of a rope.

  “What is she doing?” Niridia asks.

  I’d tasked Sorinda with keeping an eye on Kearan when he first joined the ship. She hated it, though her job turned out to be easy since Kearan couldn’t take his eyes off her. She’s threatened to cut out his eyes multiple times, but I’ve expressly forbidden it. He can’t navigate my ship without them.

  Now that we’re back from our mission, it looks like Sorinda has picked up right where she left off. Tolerating Kearan.

  She ties the end of the rope she’s holding around Kearan’s waist. He doesn’t even notice, merely fidgets with another wave of sickness. Since he’s already halfway over the edge, it takes Sorinda very little effort to push him the rest of the way. There’s a quick shriek followed by a loud splash.

  And Sorinda—my dark, quiet assassin—smiles. It’s a beautiful thing, but so fleeting. She composes herself before peering over the edge, the only outward sign of her preening over her victory.

  Coughing and swearing ensues on Kearan’s end, but Sorinda molds back into shadow without another word.

  Sometimes it’s so easy to forget Kearan is only a few years older than Sorinda and I are. Carrying on like a drunk will age a man considerably.

  “See to it that someone helps him out of there, will you?” I ask Niridia. “He and the rest of the men need their ears covered. I’m going to stock up.”

  “Now?” she asks carefully. She knows exactly how much I hate this particular part of being half siren.

  “It needs to be now. I haven’t any song left after the fight on Charden, and I’ll need it if I’m to properly interrogate Vordan.” I smile then, thinking of the fun the two of us will have.

  My methods of interrogation have been known to make men lose their minds.

  Chapter 3

  ONLY ONE CELL IN the brig has cushions: my cell.

  Fluffy red plush covers the floor and props against the wooden wall. I remove my boots and leave them far out of reach of the bars. Then I unlace my corset and set it atop my boots. I step inside the cell, wearing naught but leggings and a simple long-sleeved blouse. I can’t wear buttons or laces or hairpins. Not in here.

  I shut myself in and lock the door. With the tightest grip I can make, I yank at the bars. I know they haven’t grown any less sturdy, but I always fear I might break out. I have to check each time, just to reassure myself the metal won’t bend under my fingers.

  Mandsy comes down with a bucket of water. She places it just on the other side of the cell, so I can reach it through the bars. Then she collects my boots and corset. I hand her the key.

  “All the men have their ears covered, Captain,” she says. “They know the drill.”

  “What about the new recruits?”

  “Well, Kearan is probably too drunk to be roused even by your abilities, but Sorinda made sure his ears were properly covered anyway. Enwen took enough wax for three men’s ears, saying you could never be too careful.” She laughs. “I like that one especially. He’s a funny sort of fellow.”

  “And Riden?”

  “He took it calmly, no questions asked.”

  “You explained to him what I was doing?”

  “Yes, Captain.”

  I want to ask more. What expression did he have on his face? Did he seem disgusted?

  He made a point of telling me I was never to use my abilities on him. Is he sickened by what I am? But then I remember I shouldn’t care. I don’t care.

  My fingers tingle as my gaze flits to the bucket of water. Though I dread what it does to my mind, my body revels in being so close. Without another thought, I plunge my fingers into the bucket and pull the water into me.

  Everything becomes heightened instantly. The creaking of the wood, the sloshing water outside the ship, a woman’s whistling from up top, boots on the deck, coughing, laughing. I can sense the breaths of all the people around me—puppets for me to play with.

  Like plucking a string on an instrument, my voice tugs at the string of a human’s consciousness. Come to me.

  The human before me smiles. “Won’t be following that order, Captain. I’ll just take this stuff up top, then.”

  A human girl. I hiss at her. She’s incapable of joining in the fun. Her back turns to me, and my blood boils inside me. How dare she dismiss me! I lunge at the bars, banging and tugging, but they will not move. They’ve trapped me. The disgusting humans. I can sense them moving above. I sing out to one after another, trying to find an ear to free me, but none answer my call.

  Some of the power leaves me. My body itches with need. I look around quickly, and my eyes land on a bucket of water. My fingers sink in, gathering it to me, and I sigh from the pleasure of it. Far below me, I can sense the sea life. Water rushes across gills, curls over tentacles, bubbles up from the sandy bottom. A startled fish changes direction at the approach of the ship. A dolphin prepares to breach the surface. A whale hums far in the distance.

  And I am queen over them all.

  This cage will not hold me long, and when I’m free, I will have the men on this ship dance for me until their feet bleed.

  There’s a quiet groaning of hinges,
a whisper of feet. A face peeks around the corner.

  It’s one of the men. I smile at him coyly, showing just a hint of teeth. Not enough to show him the predator I am. With one curled finger, I beckon him forward. He listens, but takes no more than a couple of steps, distancing us by several feet.

  He’s a handsome fellow with silky-looking brown hair. I can picture perfectly how it would look submerged underwater, the strands being brushed by the waves as his corpse bumps onto the shore.

  There is a spark of fear in those rich brown eyes. They’re dotted with gold. Fascinating. If I could just reach one with the tip of my nail, I could pluck it out and …

  Those eyes firm up with determination. Is he resolved to be unafraid? Well, let me help the poor fool. I round out my mouth and let a few low notes drop from my lips. It’s a slow, sensual rhythm that should bring him to me faster than he can blink.

  But the man doesn’t move. He points to his ears. Ah, yes. The humans think they’re safe if they cannot hear me. Doesn’t he know I can do more than sing?

  Very carefully, I roll my sleeves up past my elbows, showing off more skin. I run my fingers slowly through my hair, letting the strands fall around my shoulders. The man is riveted, watching my every move.

  At last I lean back on the cushions, arching my breasts upward, and stroke the cushions next to me lovingly in invitation.

  He turns right around and walks away from me, never giving me a second look. I half scream, half sing at him to return, but of course he cannot hear a thing. All it does is force me to take in more of the water.

  * * *

  I stretch and yawn after waking the next morning. Niridia is waiting for me outside the cell with breakfast and boots.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Like the dead.”

  Satisfied that I’m my usual self, she opens the cell and thrusts the tray of food at me. While I busy myself with bread and eggs, Niridia reaches for the bucket.

  “Had a rough night, did we?”

  “What do you mean?” I ask, wiping crumbs from my face.

  “There’s not a drop left.”

  The siren in me will eventually give up calling on my crew with her song. There’s usually plenty of water left in the bucket. But last night was different.

  It comes back to me quickly.

  “Riden,” I growl.

  “What?”

  “The fool came down here last night.” I stuff the rest of my breakfast in my mouth and shove my feet into the boots as I walk.

  “Stars help him,” Niridia mutters from behind me.

  I’m up top in an instant, scanning the faces around me. I spot Mandsy in a corner, folding some clothing she’s likely just finished mending.

  “Where is he?” I snap.

  Riden was her charge until he finished healing. She knows exactly who I mean by he.

  She points near the stowed rowboats, where Lotiya and Deshel have cornered Riden. That only makes my temper flare further.

  “Allemos!” I shout. I don’t think I’ve ever called him by his surname before, but I’m so furious I can’t stand to let his first name come out of my mouth.

  He looks up from the sisters, relief spreading across his features. Until he sees my face.

  “Get your arse over here now!”

  The girls giggle as he passes, staring at that arse as he moves.

  When he finally reaches me, it’s impossible to keep my voice calm. “Draxen may have been lenient with you not following orders, but I do not tolerate it.”

  He doesn’t look worried as he stands there. The wind blows across his hair, pressing the strands against his neck. I’m far too furious to become distracted by the slope of his neck.

  “Have I done something?” he asks. The rest of the crew pretend to be focused on their chores, but I can tell they’re all listening.

  “You were told to stay above deck last night, yet you deliberately disobeyed and ventured to the brig.”

  He looks around at the others. “And just who claims to have seen me disobeying orders?”

  “I saw you.” Idiot.

  His eyes widen momentarily. “I didn’t realize you remembered things from when you’re all … different.”

  “Whether you thought you’d be caught or not is irrelevant. You’re my prisoner. Disobeying orders isn’t an option for you. Need I remind you that your brother’s head does not need to remain attached to his neck?”

  His nostrils flare, but he reins in his own temper and steps closer, speaking low so only I can hear. “I was only curious. I wanted to see you when you’re all wild. I didn’t take the wax out. I was careful.”

  I speak just as loudly as before so everyone can hear. “I don’t care. You put everyone on this ship at risk with your curiosity.”

  “Everyone was perfectly safe.”

  I think of the lewd way in which I held myself, how I tried to beckon him closer by using my body as an incentive. I hate the siren.

  “Do you know what would have happened if you had taken just three more steps? Let me tell you, since you excel at underestimating me. I would have been able to reach you through the bars. I’d have pulled your arm through. I’d have snapped it clean out of its socket. Then I’d have whittled at your finger bones until I’d fashioned them into lockpicks. Do you want to know what would have happened to you once I was out of the cell?”

  His face has frozen. He manages a single shake of his head.

  “I cannot control the siren. She is a monster, which is why we take precautions.”

  “I didn’t realize—” He cuts off, and his voice turns firm, as if he can salvage this. “I wouldn’t have gone any closer. Your siren self does not interest me.”

  “Niridia,” I practically shout, “lock him down in the brig. Riden needs some time to think. Have the lads put Vordan down there as well. Separate cells.” Riden hates Vordan as much as I do. He might try something.

  “Aye, Captain,” she says.

  I turn from them both and head for my quarters. I need to change.

  * * *

  When I reemerge, I’m no less furious with Riden. This ship is too small, I decide. I could have ordered him put back in the infirmary, but that’s less of a punishment. It’s only comfy living quarters. No, it’s the brig for the cocky bastard.

  I am making a beeline for the hatch leading belowdecks, when I have to pause to let Enwen exit first. He’s so tall, he has some difficulty angling himself out of the hatch. With small eyes, hollow cheeks, and a perfect nose, he resembles a tree trunk.

  “Enwen, where have you been?”

  “Helping Teniri in the treasury, Captain. There was a lot of gold to count through.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “Turn out your pockets.”

  “No need. Teniri already searched me before I left. You can ask her yourself. I wouldn’t steal from my new crew. Unlike back on Draxen’s ship, I actually enjoy living on the Ava-lee.”

  “Then why did you stay with Draxen?”

  “Who else is going to keep an eye on Kearan?”

  “Some job you’re doing. Why don’t you keep him out of my cellar? I’m sick of seeing him throwing up over the side of my ship.”

  “I was meaning his emotional well-being, Captain.”

  “You can’t be serious. Kearan has the emotional depth of a clam.”

  “Well, a man can try, can’t he? I wouldn’t be doing my job as his friend if I didn’t try.”

  “How many times do I have to tell you?” Kearan shouts from the other end of the ship. “We are not friends!”

  “Yes, we are!” Enwen shouts back.

  “Stop yelling,” I tell Enwen. “Sort it out yourselves. I have work to do.”

  “Captain, wait!” A different voice this time. Little Roslyn’s. She intercepts me before I get a foot through the hatch. “I need to talk to you about having a celebration.”

  “A celebration?”

  “For getting the map and stealing the pirate lord’s treasure! Nirid
ia said we couldn’t last night because you had to lock yourself in the brig for the night to let the siren out.”

  “That’s true. And right now I have a prisoner to interrogate. How about tonight?”

  “That works for me,” she says. As though she might have had an important appointment scheduled. “Can I help with the prisoner?”

  “No.”

  She crosses her arms, ready to argue.

  “Have you practiced your letters today?”

  She throws her head back and sighs angrily.

  “No interrogating prisoners when you haven’t performed your own chores.” Not that I’d let her help anyway. She doesn’t need to witness me torturing a man. “And no celebrating if you haven’t practiced.”

  “Oh, all right,” she says, stomping off.

  Wallov and Deros are playing cards in the brig when I get down there. Vordan has finally been let out of the cage, only to be placed into one of the brig cells instead. He’s unbound and ungagged, his back to us. Riden is two cells over, seated on the floor with his arms atop his knees. He doesn’t look at me.

  Good.

  “Your daughter is getting awfully cheeky, Wallov,” I say.

  “Can’t imagine where she gets it from, Captain,” he says.

  “I hope you’re not suggesting she’s getting it from me.”

  “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says. But his tone is too light to be sincere. I smile at him.

  “You two are relieved for now,” I say. “I’ll keep an eye on the brig rats.”

  They both scoot out of their chairs, starting for the stairs. “And see to it, Wallov, that Roslyn is actually practicing her writing and not threatening people with that dagger.”

  “Isn’t it a beautiful piece of work, Captain? Won it off Deros in one of our games.”

  Deros folds his massive arms. “I lost on purpose so the lass would have a way to protect herself.”

  “Take it up top, lads,” I say.

  I wait a few beats until the hatch slams closed behind them.

  Vordan has risen, standing on one leg—the one that didn’t break during his fall at the inn—and turned to face me already. He jerks his head toward the cell on the opposite side of the brig from him and Riden, the one filled with plush cushions. “I’d have preferred that one, but I take it that one is yours.” He smiles at his own cleverness. “What is it like having to be locked up on your own ship?” he continues. “I can’t imagine it—”