Daughter of the Siren Queen

by Tricia Levenseller

  I shouldn’t let him goad me, but I often can’t help responding when I’ve been issued a challenge. And I do love dancing. My mother is a siren, after all. Music is in my blood.

  I feel the music waft over my skin and move to help it along. I caress it with my hands, sashay around it with my hips, tread lightly over it with my feet. I make Riden follow me and my steps, but occasionally he forgets himself, stopping completely and watching me, caught up in my movements. He catches himself and starts to dance again. He’s not bad at all. He stomps his feet in time. His twists and turns are sure and even graceful. Each time we come into contact—our hands, our arms, the brush of our knees—the dance grows more exciting, more electric. I am charged like storm clouds—it’s ten times stronger than what I feel when I use my siren abilities. And different. Something decidedly human.

  I see the way Riden behaves around me: the focus and heat in his eyes, the way his hands linger, the way he positions his body next to mine. Normally, I would know exactly what it means. But then I remember yet again that he is my prisoner. He will say and do anything if he thinks it will help his cause.

  The song finishes. Haeli starts up another, but I take my leave. “Go on, then!” I shout to the crew. “Continue into the night, but I’m off to bed.” I smile at the happy faces. They’re reddened with the joy that comes from a successful plunder.

  I head for the stairs, certain I won’t actually be able to sleep with all the weight burdening me, but needing to get away nonetheless. I remind myself as I go, Riden is my captive, Riden is my captive, Riden is my captive.

  Someone grabs my hand and pulls me under the companionway. Out of sight and into shadow.

  An equal surge of excitement and dread hits me before I even see his face.

  “Alosa,” Riden says as he takes my hands in his and presses me gently against the wall.

  He leans in, and I ask, “What?” As though he were about to ask me a question instead of saying my name aloud simply for the pleasure of hearing it roll off his tongue.

  “You dance beautifully,” he says, and I feel his nose sidle up next to mine. My eyes have already closed.

  Damn, but he smells good. Like the coconut soap we have on the ship mixed with an earthy musk that belongs solely to him.

  It would be easy to let him kiss me. Maddeningly easy.

  But he wants his brother freed. He wants his own freedom. Any intimacy between us is deliberate on Riden’s part.

  It has to be.

  “Good night, Riden,” I say, dropping his hands. But as I pass him by, I kiss his cheek.

  Once I get to my room, I chide myself for such a childish move.

  But what scares me most is that I almost could not help it.

  Chapter 4

  FROM THE OUTSIDE, there is nothing remarkable about the keep. It looks like any other small island in the groupings located far northeast of Lycon’s Peak.

  But the king’s pirates recognize it for what it is.

  The island has many lips and jutting trenches, a maze built of water and land. One must steer a careful course so as not to beach one’s ship. The sea flows right into a series of caves that house the separate ships of the fleet. Their numbers range to about fifty now.

  Niridia directs us up to the dock. Haeli and the other riggers tie down the sails while Lotiya, Deshel, and Athella secure the docking lines. The gangplank is lowered.

  “Send Wallov and Deros to bring up Vordan,” I tell Niridia. “And have Mandsy tail Riden like a shark on a blood trail.”

  “Of all the women on this ship, I wouldn’t say Mandsy most resembles a shark,” a voice says from behind me.

  For the last few days of the journey, Riden was required to stay belowdecks so he wouldn’t learn the exact location of the keep. I hadn’t expected Mandsy to let him back up top so quickly.

  “And I suppose I would have that happy privilege?” I ask him.

  “No, it’s those vicious sisters. I can’t say which one is worse. Deshel thinks my lap is a chair, and Lotiya has her fingers in my hair as if it were a glove for her to don.”

  It pleases me beyond words to know he’s frustrated by their advances. I say, “I thought you enjoyed female companionship. Living on a ship full of women should be a dream come true for you.”

  He stares at me as though his gaze should hold some deeper meaning, but I don’t see it. And he’s forbidden me to use my abilities on him.

  “I’m not a mind reader, Riden. So spit out whatever it is you want to say.”

  Eventually, he says, “Their attention is unwanted.”

  “Then tell them that.”

  “You don’t think I’ve tried!”

  “If you’re looking for sympathy, go find Mandsy.”

  He glares at me. “Sympathy is not what I want from you, Alosa.”

  Before I can even begin to guess what he means by that, he storms off. Niridia shows up with Mandsy in tow. I just point in Riden’s direction.

  Mandsy, her brown hair in two braids over her shoulders, follows him.

  “Careful,” I shout after her. “He’s in a mood.”

  “I’ve just the thing for that,” Mandsy says.

  “And what would that be?”

  “Sewing. Nothing like working with your hands to relax your mind.”

  Mandsy is a godsend. She heals, she sews, and she fights. Knowing where every major organ is located on a person makes her a most efficient fighter. She’s patched me and the crew up time and time again. Many of them owe her their lives. I wish I had ten more of her. I’d even take the excessive optimism that comes with her.

  “I wouldn’t give that one something so pointy as a needle,” I say.

  “I’ll take my chances.”

  Wallov and Deros both come up top, each gripping one of Vordan’s arms firmly. He’s wriggling in their grasp, but no single man is a match for their joined strength. Vordan shouldn’t even bother, injured as he is.

  “You’re handing me over to Kalligan?” Vordan asks.

  “You’re to stay in the keep’s dungeon for safekeeping until I decide what to do with you.”

  “Have you forgotten our little chat already? You need me. I—”

  “You can go to the dungeons standing or we can get out the cage again. Your choice.”

  Wisely, he shuts his mouth.

  I dart my eyes to the men on either side of him. “Take him through a side entrance. I don’t want to see him again.”

  “I’m heading out,” I tell Niridia. “See to it that everyone cleans up and gets well rested. I want the Ava-lee stocked up for sailing again. I doubt it will be long before we’re back on the sea. The king will want to move the fleet to the Isla de Canta as soon as possible.”

  I leap off the side of my ship. Most would prefer to use the gangplank, but the distance doesn’t bother me. It takes just a second to reaccustom myself with solid, unmoving ground after weeks at sea.

  Several ships float along the separate docks in this particular cave. It’s the closest one to the keep’s main entrance, so only those in my father’s inner circle are permitted to anchor here. Among them are Hell’s Breath, which belongs to Captain Timoth; Black Rage, which belongs to Captain Rasell; and the Deadman’s Blade, which is captained by Adderan. My face contorts in disgust when I spot Death’s Secret. If Tylon and his ship weren’t so important to my father, I’d whittle holes into the latter when no one was watching—maybe the former, too.

  The docks lead to a path down through the cave, which eventually opens up onto the island. From there is a well-trodden trail obscured from the beach by large fir and spruce trees. It’s incredible that their roots are strong enough to breach the island’s hard surface. The keep is a composition of hollowed-out rock with wooden embellishments.

  Several islands over is a long-at-rest volcano. The little island the pirate king uses as his keep is a series of tunnels, once carved out of rock by steaming lava, a deadly natural force.

  Now it houses the deadliest
men alive.

  I kick a pebble out of my path as I reach the largest tunnel opening, which serves as the keep’s main entrance. Dead men dangle by ropes from the top of the tunnel, giving it the appearance of a gaping mouth with scraggly teeth. The ropes are tied to large hooks at the end, hooks that have been inserted into the mouths of traitors. They are hung up like captured fish for all to see what happens to those who meet my father’s wrath.

  The tunnel forks into multiple paths, which also veer into their own countless directions. The keep is an endless maze to all except those who serve the pirate king.

  I’m following a tunnel deeper and deeper into the keep, in search of my father, or at least someone who can tell me his location, when I pause in front of a door.

  The door.

  He found something on that island where he met your mother. A weapon.

  After weeks of distance from Vordan and his lies, I’d begun to relax. But just like that, doubt creeps back in. Unbidden and unwelcome.

  The entrance to my father’s chambers is just one door over. There’s another door inside adjoining the secret study to my father’s bedchamber. As one of the select few allowed to visit my father in his private rooms, I see this door regularly.

  It’s my study, Alosa. Surely you know what a study looks like? he said after I asked him what it looked like inside when I was little. Out of embarrassment, I never asked again.

  My thoughts are my own. I am not being controlled. I can’t listen to Vordan. I won’t.

  And yet, I press an ear to the door, listening carefully.

  I don’t know what I expected. To hear ticking? Feel the pulse of anti-siren magic?

  Sighing, I move down the hall. I raise my fist and rap on the door to my father’s rooms, remembering why I came here in the first place.

  No answer.

  I’ll have to look for him elsewhere. I turn—

  My breath leaves me. I’m being shoved backward, and wood slams against my spine. Brilliant blue eyes glare at me.

  “Alosa.”

  I strain at the hands that hold me, but Tylon has me boxed in pretty good. The weight of his body has me firmly planted against the door. Every ligament of his is lined up with mine, our faces far too close for comfort.

  If I hadn’t been so distracted by my father’s secrets, he never would have gotten the drop on me. I should know better than to let down my guard at the keep.

  I let out a sound between a growl and a frustrated sigh. “Let. Me. Go.”

  “It seems the only way to have a conversation alone with you is to ambush you in the halls.”

  “Most men would take that as a hint and back the hell off.”

  He manages to get even closer to me. “Why? Why are you avoiding me? Ever since you returned from the Night Farer, you’ve been distant. You’ve been different.”

  I turn my head to the side to get as far away from him as I possibly can. “Different? I can’t think of a time when I didn’t hate you, and I can assure you that hasn’t changed.”

  A low sound gurgles up from his throat. “You’ll come around. It’s only a matter of time.”

  “Yes, how can I not when you attack me in tunnels?”

  “I wouldn’t have to if you’d let me see you on your ship.”

  Niridia has explicit orders to dump Tylon into the sea on sight. I’m told he’d been swimming several times before we left to hunt down Vordan.

  Using my song on Tylon would be a waste. I finally break an arm free of his hold and use it to push at his chest, sending him staggering backward. I place a solid kick to his stomach.

  It lands him on the floor, gasping for breath.

  “I know you’re not the brightest pirate,” I say as I lean over his body, “so I’ll say this slowly. You and your advances are unwanted. The next time you touch me, you’ll find an iron ball in your stomach instead of my foot.”

  * * *

  Buttered fish and salted pork leave a mouthwatering scent on the air. I promise myself there will be time for a hot meal later.

  Many of the men are taking lunch in the mess hall. Tables upon tables are heaped with all the best foods. From sliced fruits to warm breads to freshly caught seafood and well-aged rum. Only the best is served in the pirate king’s keep. We can afford regular shipments of perishable foods. At the rate my father’s going, he could soon buy all of Maneria. Money pours into the keep from all the merchants and land nobles purchasing safety for their ships. Some of the pirates under my father’s control never even need to leave the keep. Nor would they want to; anything a man could want can be found here. A floating brothel anchors in one of the caves. Endless food and rum are supplied for all.

  I’m used to the stares, glares, or looks of desire that come my way at the keep. Only the ship captains know what I am. I’m a mystery to most. Why would the pirate king bother with claiming a female as his child? Why does he hold me in such high regard? Why am I given the most dangerous and important missions? Some are jealous; some are curious and baffled. Others wish I weren’t so capable of defending myself.

  I scan the room carefully, looking for my father, but he isn’t here. I stop one of the cooks bringing out a tray of rounded breads to add to the tables.

  “Has the king been in for his lunch yet, Yalden?”

  “No, Captain,” he responds. “I’ve heard he shut himself in the treasury for most of the morning. Must not be out yet.”

  “Thank—”

  Wood smacks against rock as the far doors are split open wide. The room instantly quiets. Everyone reads Kalligan’s mood. Even without his fleet, my father is an imposing figure. He’s a giant among men, at well over six feet and built like an ox.

  Men step away from his path as he stomps to the center of the mess hall, the tables practically trembling from the force of his footsteps. He searches faces as he goes. Stars help whoever he’s looking for.

  “Praxer!” he finally yells, as he spots a man in spectacles with more shine on his head than hair.

  “My king?” Praxer abandons his meal and rises, though he has to be about to wet his breeches.

  “I told you there was something wrong with the shipment from Calpoon, did I not?”

  “You did, and I went through the inventory twice more. I found the missing chest of coins and added it to the rest of the treasury.”

  “And did you update the books?” My father’s voice turns eerily calm.

  The blood flees from Praxer’s face.

  My father gets nose-to-nose with the man, not bothering to check his voice this time. “Two ships were dispatched last week to punish Lord Farrek for shorting me on money! It’ll be a miracle if the frigate reaches them in time to recant the order. What kind of message do you think it sends the land nobles if I start punishing them for paying me?”

  “It won’t happen again.”

  “You’re right-handed, are you not?”

  The balding man stutters before finding his voice. “Yes, my king, why—”

  “Hold him down.”

  The two men who had been sitting nearest Praxer leap to their feet and restrain him. They’re likely his friends, but friendship means nothing when an order is issued by the king.

  Kalligan litters the floor with plates of food as he clears the table with one swipe. Those seated nearby freeze for fear of drawing his attention.

  With one hand on his head and the other at his back, the first of Praxer’s friends shoves him face first against the table. The second extends Praxer’s left arm and pins it against the wood.

  “No, my king. Please—”

  Praxer screams as red sprays the nearby men and tables.

  “Fail me again and you’ll lose your other hand as well. Look at me!”

  Praxer has sunk to the floor. He muffles his screams long enough to meet my father’s eyes.

  “I have no use for a man without hands. Do you understand?”

  “Y-y-yes,” he breathes.

  Kalligan dries his cutlass on Praxer’s s
hirtsleeve as he surveys the crowd. His eyes land on me. In the beat of a second his right brow lifts slightly. I nod.

  “We leave for the Isla de Canta in one month’s time,” he says to the room. “Let’s hope you fools can keep your limbs in the meantime. No more mistakes.”

  Praxer whines as he rocks back and forth, holding his wrist just above where his left hand was moments earlier.

  Kalligan steps over him on his way back toward the door.

  * * *

  “Hello, Father,” I say when I’ve caught up to him. ’Tis no easy feat since his legs outdistance mine considerably. It’s a shame I couldn’t have inherited a bit more of his height. He towers over me by more than a foot. There isn’t a single man I know who doesn’t stand in his shadow.

  “Your voyage was successful.” He says it as fact, not as a question.

  “Aye, sir. The sack of filth, Vordan, has been transported to the dungeons.”

  “And the map?”

  I cease walking, and he does the same, facing me. With a tightened fist, I pull the map necklace from my pocket.

  His foul mood dispels instantly as he takes it in his hands. “You are the only one I can trust to do things right.” One large hand slaps me on the back, and I warm at the sign of affection. It is a big one from him and so rare. “We’ll celebrate later tonight. Have one of the cooks send up a 1656, Wenoa stock.” Ah, that’s a good year. “Have you questioned Vordan yet?”

  A pause.

  I can’t tell him what Vordan’s told me. Even if I don’t believe it. Which of course I don’t. There’s no reason to even mention it.

  Careful to keep my voice normal, I say, “I have. He sang like a bird. I have a list of names of all the men in our ranks who secretly work for Vordan.”

  Father watches me carefully. “What’s wrong?” he asks.

  He is not controlling you, I tell myself. Why do I even need to reassure myself?

  I hurry to think of something believable to say. “Do you think we’ll find my mother? When we reach the Isla de Canta?” After I get the words out, I realize there is genuine curiosity behind them.

  Still, I worry at his reaction. What if he assumes that I think he’s not good enough? That I need more than just him? But is it wrong for a girl to want to meet her mother?