To Kill a Kingdom

by Alexandra Christo

  “She can try to be smarter, but she’ll never be quicker.”

  I scoff at his arrogance and turn to the creature he has caught in his web. I’m almost eager to see the siren stupid enough to fall for such a trap, but at the sight of her face, an unfamiliar feeling settles into my stomach.

  I know her.

  A sleek charcoal fin that smudges across the deck. Cold black hair stringing over her cheeks and nails carved to shanks. She snarls, baring her fangs and slapping her fin violently against the wire. In the background the whistle hums, and whenever I think she might sing, she whimpers instead. I take a step closer and she narrows her eyes. One brown, the other a mix of blue and blood. Curdled by a scar that stretches to her lip.

  Maeve.

  “Be careful,” Elian says, his hand hovering by my arm. “They’re deadly.”

  I turn to him, but he’s looking at the siren, seaweed eyes sharper than her nails.

  “Aidiastikó gouroúni,” Maeve growls.

  Disgusting pig.

  Her words are a mirror of the ones I spoke when Elian saved me from drowning.

  “Be calm,” I tell her, then grimace when I realize I’m still speaking Midasan.

  When the siren’s eyes meet mine, they’re full of the same hatred we’ve always shared for each other. It almost makes me laugh to think that even as strangers, our animosity can be so ripe, stretching beyond the bounds of knowing.

  Maeve spits on the deck. “Filthy human whore,” she says in Psáriin.

  Instinctively, I lurch forward, but Elian yanks me back by the waist. I kick violently against him, desperate to get at the defiant girl in front of me. Siren or not, I won’t let the insult stand.

  “Stop.” Elian’s voice is muffled by my hair. “If you want to get yourself killed, one of us can do the job a lot tidier.”

  “Let her go.” Kye laughs. “I want to see how that ends.”

  I writhe against Elian, scratching at his arms like the animal I am. “After what she just called me,” I say, “it’s going to end with her heart on the floor.”

  Maeve cackles and uses haw a Psáriin circle on her palm. When my eyes widen at the insult, she only laughs more. It’s a symbol reserved for the lowest beings. For mermaids that lie dying as their fins are stapled into the sand in punishment. For humans unworthy of a siren’s presence. To make that gesture to the royal bloodline is punishable by death.

  “Kill her,” I seethe. “Áschimi lígo skýla.”

  “Human scum!” Maeve screeches in return.

  Elian’s breath is hot on my neck as he struggles to keep ahold of me. “What did you say?”

  “Filthy little bitch,” I translate in Midasan. “Tha sas skotóso ton eaftó mou.”

  I’ll kill you myself.

  I’m about to break free, but the second Elian releases his grip on my waist, his hands clamp down on my shoulders. He twists me around and I’m thrown against the door of the lower deck. When he leans over me, the scent of black sweets is fragrant on his breath.

  I dismiss him and make to move past, but he’s too quick, even for me, and blocks my path, pushing me back against the varnished wood. Slowly, he brings a hand to the paneling beside my head, closing me in.

  “You speak Psáriin.”

  His voice is throaty, his eyes as dark as the blood that seeps from his hand. Behind him, the crew keeps a watchful eye on Maeve, but every moment or so they shoot surreptitious glances our way. In my madness, I forgot myself. Or perhaps I remembered myself. I spat my language like it was the most natural thing in the world. Which, to a human, it would never be.

  Elian is close enough that if I listened, I’d be able to hear his heartbeat. If I stilled, I’d be able to feel the thumps pulsing through the air between us. I look down to his chest, where the strings of his shirt have loosened to reveal a circle of nails. My parting gift.

  “Lira,” he says. “You better have a damn good explanation.”

  I try to think of an answer, but out of the corner of my eye I see Maeve still at the mention of my name. Suddenly she’s squinting at me, leaning forward so the net pierces through her arms.

  I hiss and Maeve scrambles back.

  “Prinkípissa!” she says.

  Princess.

  She shakes her head. She was ready to die at the hands of pirates, but now that she stares into the eyes of her princess, fear finally dawns on her face.

  “You understand her,” says Elian.

  “I understand many things.”

  I push him away and he gestures for his crew to let me approach their prisoner.

  “Parakaló,” Maeve screams as I near. “Parakaló!”

  “What’s she saying?” asks Madrid.

  She points her weapon at Maeve, as all of the crew does. Swords and bullets to hide behind, because humans don’t possess the innate strength to defend themselves. Only unlike the others, Madrid’s gun is not so much a gun at all. Somewhere along the way, she discarded the crossbow in place of something far more deadly. Gold-polished metal gleams in the shape of a rifle, but a long black spear rests below the site, the tip dipped in the purest silver. Yet despite having such an elaborate weapon, Madrid doesn’t look eager to attack. She looks as though she would rather keep her hands clean of murder.

  I turn back to Maeve and watch the fear settle into her eyes. There’s never been anything close to tolerance between us, but it was only recently we began to consider ourselves enemies. Or rather, Maeve began to consider me an enemy and I enjoyed the compliment.

  I take in her muddled eye, rippled by blood and shadowed by scars. I blinded her, not so long ago, with the blunt end of a coral piece. Now, whenever she blinks, her right eye stays open. Thinking back, I can’t remember why I did it. Maeve said something, perhaps. Did something that I disliked enough to punish her. Really, she could have done anything and it wouldn’t have mattered, because most of all I just wanted to hurt her. For whatever reason and no reason. I wanted to hear her scream.

  It is like that in the sea. Brutal and unrelenting. Filled with endless cruelty that has no recompense. There was a time when I wanted nothing more than to kill Maeve but feared my mother’s wrath too much to act. Now the opportunity is here. Perhaps not to do it myself, but to watch as someone else does. The enemy of my enemy.

  “Tell us what she’s saying,” Kye demands.

  “She’s not saying anything.” I stare at Maeve. “She’s begging.”

  “Begging.”

  Elian is beside me, an unreadable expression on his face as he repeats my words. He clasps the knife in his wounded hand, and when his blood drips down the blade, it disappears. Metal drinking metal. I can feel the sorcery roll from it like thunder. The whispers of a weapon begging him to spill more blood so it can get its fill. It’s soaked in enough magic to sing like one of my melodies, but Elian doesn’t succumb to its refrain. His expression is hesitant and it’s been a long time since I’ve seen such a thing in the eyes of a killer. Yet Elian stares down at Maeve as though the thought of her pleading makes the whole thing wrong. Dirty.

  “She’s begging,” he says. “Are you sure?”

  “Parakaló,” I repeat. “It means ‘please.’ ”

  17

  Elian

  I’VE NEVER KILLED A begging thing.

  As the siren cowers on my deck, I’m perfectly aware that she is a monster. She’s whimpering, but even the sound is wicked. A mix of hisses and throaty laments. I’m not sure why she’s so scared when moments ago a net made of glass and spikes barely made her wince. Part of me wants to feel proud that my reputation has finally preceded me. The other part, perhaps the smarter part, is sure that I have nothing to be proud of.

  I gaze over at Lira. Her graveyard-dirt hair clings to her shoulders as she sways with the motion of my ship. There’s something about her slight frame that makes her look menacing, as though every angle is a weapon. She barely blinks at the siren, who is now disfigured with gashes. As I stare at her, I see nothing of the wrait
h-like girl I pulled from the ocean. Whatever spell had threatened to transfix me when I saved her is broken now, and I can see quite clearly that she’s no helpless damsel. She’s something more, and it makes me too curious for my own good.

  The Psáriin she spoke lingers in the air. A language forbidden in most kingdoms, including my own. I want to know how she learned it, when she got close enough, why she kept one of their necklaces noosed like a trophy around her neck. I want to know everything.

  “Will you kill her?” Lira asks.

  There’s no more sweet pretense as she tries to speak my language. I’m not sure where she’s from, but whatever kingdom it is clearly has no love for mine.

  “Yes.”

  “Will it be quick?”

  “Yes.”

  She scoffs. “Shame.”

  The siren whimpers again and repeats a slew of Psáriin. It’s so quick and guttural that I barely make out the words. Still, one of them sticks in my mind, clearer than the others. Prinkípissa. Whatever it means, she says it with fear and reverence. A combination I’m rarely used to seeing. In my kingdom, those who revere me don’t know me well enough to fear me. And those who fear me know me far too well to do something as unwise as adore me.

  “Your knife,” Lira says.

  My hand forms a fist around the handle. My wound drips, and I feel the blade quickly soak it up. No blood gone to waste.

  “It has a strange magic.”

  I look at her pointedly. “I don’t think you’re in a position to say what’s strange.”

  Lira doesn’t reply, and in her silence Kye steps forward. “Cap,” he says. “Be careful. She can’t be trusted.”

  At first I think he’s talking about the monster on our deck, and I’m about to tell him that I’m not an idiot when I realize the siren isn’t the one Kye’s looking at. Lira is in his sights.

  If there’s one thing in the world Kye has never had, it’s tact. But Lira doesn’t pay attention to the accusation. She doesn’t even glance in his direction, like the allegation is nothing more than ocean water dripping off her.

  “I’ll deal with her,” I tell Kye. “When I’m ready.”

  “Maybe you should be ready now.”

  I tap the tip of my knife against my finger and step forward, but Kye grabs my arm. I look down at his hands, gripping the fabric of my shirt. Kye’s greatest strength is that he’s as suspicious as I am reckless. He doesn’t like surprises and takes every possible threat as a threat on my life. Every warning as a promise. But with him to do it for me, there’s no need for me to waste time worrying. Besides, spending my life on the ocean has taught me to see what others can’t and to expect what they won’t. I know better than to trust a stranger on a pirate ship, but relying on instinct is far better than relying on doubt.

  “Didn’t you hear what I just said?” he asks.

  Carefully, I take Kye’s hand from my arm. “I can assure you, there’s nothing wrong with my hearing.”

  “Just your common sense, then,” Lira says.

  I watch her swipe the hair from her face. “How’s that?” I ask.

  “If you had any, then you would have killed her by now.” Lira points to the siren. “Her heart could be cold in your hands.”

  Kye arches an eyebrow. “Damn,” he says. “What sort of ship did she get thrown off of?”

  Beside him, Madrid adjusts her stance, weapon never wavering as her feet shift. She’s anxious, and I can feel it as much as I can see it. Madrid never wants to kill, whether it’s monsters or men. In Kléftes she killed enough to last a lifetime, and in some reverse twist of fate it instilled her with more morals and scruples than before. Neither of which have a place on the Saad. But she is the best marksman I have, and if I ignore her principles, then it makes her one of my best chances at not dying.

  “It’s the sirens who take the hearts,” Madrid tells Lira. “Not us.”

  The knife gleams in my hand. “I’ve taken plenty of hearts.”

  I watch the siren, getting as close as I can without slicing my boots on the net. I think of Cristian drowning in the ocean, the lie of a kiss on his mouth. For all I know, this could be the siren who did it. There was another one with the Princes’ Bane; I’ve gathered that much from the tales that spread throughout my kingdom. Cristian’s murderer could be on my ship.

  The siren says something to Lira, and I wonder if she’s begging again. If Cristian begged, or if he was so far under the siren’s spell that he died willingly.

  “Hold her down,” I say.

  A spear shoots from Madrid’s gun, piercing through the center of the siren’s fin. Pinning her to my ship. I resist the urge to look at Madrid, knowing the grim look of resignation she’ll be wearing. As good a shot as she is, Madrid is an even better person.

  I kick pieces of netting away and crouch down beside the imprisoned creature. This part always makes me feel less human, as though the way I kill draws a moral boundary.

  “I want you to tell me something,” I say. “And I’d appreciate your doing it in my language.”

  “Poté den tha.”

  The siren writhes beneath the spear that staples her to the Saad. It’s dipped in silver thinite, which is deadly to their kind. Its slow poison coagulates at the entry point, stopping the wound from seeping onto my ship and, given enough time, stopping what scraps of a heart she might have.

  “That’s not Midasan,” I tell her. I clasp my compass, eyeing the steady points of the face. “What do you know about the Crystal of Keto?”

  The siren’s lips part and she looks at Lira, shaking her head. “Egó den tha sas prodósei.”

  “Lira,” I say. “I don’t suppose you’d be kind enough to translate?”

  “I’ve never been accused of kindness before.”

  Her voice is closer than I would like, and I shift when I see her shadow hovering next to mine. She’s as quick as she is quiet, capable of sneaking up on even me. The thought is unsettling, but I push it to the back of my mind before I consider it too much. It’s a dangerous thing to be distracted with a monster so close.

  Lira crouches beside me. For a moment she’s quiet. Her storm-blue eyes narrow at the spear in the center of the siren’s fin. She’s trying to decide something. It could be whether she’s disgusted by our violence and if she should hide it, but I can’t see any sign of repulsion. Then again, a mask is the easiest thing to slip on. There’s nothing in my own eyes, despite the sick feeling creeping up in my stomach with the siren’s screams. I push it away, as I do everything. A captain doesn’t have the luxury of guilt.

  Lira stands and she’s newly steady as she looks down at the dying creature. “Maybe it would be helpful,” she says, “if you take out her other eye.”

  I flinch and a smile presses to the corner of Lira’s pale lips. I don’t know if it’s because the siren is so scared, or if Lira is simply pleased by the look on my face. If she said it just to see how I’d react.

  “I’d be depriving her of your winning smile,” I say.

  Lira cocks an eyebrow. “She’s your enemy. Don’t you want her in pain?”

  She looks at me as though I’ve lost all sense. My crew tends to look at me the same way, though not usually on the days when I refuse to torture. There are many things the world can say about the siren hunters of the Saad, but one thing that could never be true is that we enjoy this life. The ocean, yes, but never the death. It’s a necessary evil to keep the world safe, and as dishonorable as killing is, it has purpose. If I start to like it, then I become the very thing I’m trying to protect the world from.

  “Soldiers don’t enjoy war,” I say.

  Lira purses her lips, but just as she opens her mouth to say something, I’m thrown onto my back. My head cracks against the floor, and pain explodes in my temples.

  The siren is on top of me.

  She scratches and bites, making an ungodly howl. I dodge her attacks as she tries desperately to take a chunk out of me. Her fin is a mess of clotted blood, ripped st
raight down the middle. She must have torn herself free.

  “I can’t get a clear shot!” someone says. “I’m gonna hit him.”

  “Me either!”

  “Madrid!” Kye yells. “Madrid, shoot it now!”

  “I can’t.” I hear the sound of a gun being thrown to the floor. “Damn thing is wedged again.”

  I struggle beneath the venomous creature. Her face is fangs and hate and nothing else. She is hungry for part of me. Heart or not, she’ll take whatever piece she can.

  The weight of her presses down, crushing my ribs. There’s a crack, and then I can barely breathe through the pain. Around me, my crew shouts so loudly that it’s almost incomprehensible. As their voices turn to noise, my arms burn with aching. The siren is too strong. Stronger than me, by far.

  Then, just as suddenly as it came, the heaviness disappears. My breath rushes back.

  Kye grips her devil shoulders and rips the siren from me. She skitters and slides across the deck before colliding furiously with the cabin wall. My crew jumps out of the way to let her body skim past them. The sound of her impact shakes the Saad.

  The siren digs her fingernails into the deck, shoulders arched. She hisses and lurches forward. Quickly, I grab my knife. I ignore the furious pain in my ribs as I let the featherlight blade take aim in my hand and then hurl it through the air. It glides into what is left of her heart.

  Most of the blood blisters onto her skin, but the remnants that threaten to spill onto my deck are quickly drunk up by my knife. The siren screams.

  As Kye pulls me to my feet, I catch a discreet breath, not daring to show that I was surprised. Even if it’s obvious. It’s my job to expect the unexpected, and I was stupid enough to turn my back on a killer.

  “Are you all right?” Kye asks, searching for wounds. He glares at the blood on my arm. “I should’ve been faster.”

  The look on his face rips through me as much as the siren did, and so I roll my shoulder, careful not to wince as the pain in my ribs intensifies with each moment. “All in a day’s work,” I say, and turn to Madrid. “Your gun jammed again?”

  Madrid picks up her discarded weapon and studies the spear mechanism. “I don’t get it,” she says. “I’ll have to bring it belowdecks for another service.”