A brief frown cuts into Sheel’s formerly harsh expression. Yet, he refrains from apologies or condolences, and for that I’m grateful. I don’t think I could bear the apology of a siren, not when there are still instances when I resent their kind for my current predicament. Still, I recognize the hand I played; the choices I made that brought me here, save for the six months of which Ilryth robbed me.
“You will learn our old tongues, just like you’ll learn our ways.” Perhaps his forthcomingness wasn’t merely a distraction. “You must before you are sacrificed to Lord Krokan.”
My turn to divert the conversation. “Why wasn’t the duke wearing any armor?”
Sheel presses his mouth into a hard line. “There’s not enough to go around.”
“He forfeits his armor to his men so that they might be more protected,” I realize.
“Yes.” Sheel regards me thoughtfully. His anger has given way to something that almost resembles curiosity. “How did you know?”
I stare at Ilryth’s unmoving form. He’s a duke. A leader in his own right. There are merchant lords in Tenvrath, and from among them the council is elected—a system not unlike what this siren chorus sounds like. I am familiar with the responsibilities of leadership from my land, as well as from my ships.
“I am a captain.” The words are still projected thoughts, but it doesn’t feel like they come from my mind. They come from my heart. Iama captain, even without a ship. It is woven into my very essence. “I know what it’s like to be willing to sacrificeeverythingfor the people you’re responsible for. Those you love…”
The guilt has caught me. Can I even call myself a captain when it’s because of me that my sailors are dead? I,the great Captain Victoria, who never so much as lost one crew member, lost them all in one night.
What if… The question returns, haunting me relentlessly. In my darkest nights, when my only company is my own worst enemy, I cannot help but wonder if those around me would’ve been better off if they never met me. The doubts poison my blood, fueling my muscle and the relentlessness of my work. Perhaps, with enough sweat and toil, maybe, one day, I will be worthy of their loyalty and admiration.
“Your Holiness.” Lucia lifts her head, locking eyes with mine and jarring me from my thoughts. “I might need your help.”
It’s still odd to be called holy. But now is hardly the time to try to convince her to stop. “Help how?”
“Float over him.”
“Excuse me?” Even in my mind, the words have a bit of a stammered shock to them.
Lucia shifts, her hands still hovering on either side of Ilryth’s face. The light seems to flicker as she interrupts her song to speak. “Horizontal—nose to nose, feet to tail.”
“Why?”
“You are anointed with the songs of the old ones, by his hand…” She pauses to sing a verse, joining what sounds like Fenny in the distance. “You are like a bridge to their power, and to him. And I—” She pauses again, brow furrowing, mouth twisting into a frown. “I’m not strong enough alone to save him.”
“Will it hurt?” I ask, but I’m already moving. I push lightly off the stony floor and drift midway between the ceiling and his bed. I’ve come this far to save him. I’m not stopping now. Plus, the best chance I have of getting what I want is by helping to keep him alive. He’s going to owe me for this.
“No, it shouldn’t.”
“All right, then.” With small twists of my wrists and kicks of my feet, I move over top of him, drifting to a stop. I’m acutely aware of our positioning. It’s been half a decade since I’ve been over a man and the radiant heat of his body serves as a vivid reminder. The coiling need is all too happy to ignore the blatant fact that now is very much not the time or place. I swallow it down, well trained in not letting emotions or urges get the better of me.
“Closer, please. I need your hands on his temples, under mine.”
“I thought I wasn’t supposed to touch him?”
“This will be fine.” Her words are filled with desperation. I’m not sure if it’s “fine” or not. But I don’t think Lucia cares right now. Not that I blame her. If it were Em, I’d break every rule—old gods or no—to save her.
With a few somewhat awkward movements, I’ve lowered myself enough that I can reach his temples. Lucia’s hands make room for mine to slide underneath hers. I rest my fingertips on the duke’s skin.
Tingling shoots through my body akin to the last time I touched him. I am an eel, electrified from head to toe. For a brief second the world falls to a hushed thrall, music pulsing in the distance.
My lips part slightly. The glow encompassing the duke is changing colors from a soft silver to warm gold. The bubbles are not just coming off his skin, but mine. They grow in quantity, as if they are trying to carry me away in their effervescence. But I can’t move my hands from him. It’s as if we’ve been glued together.
Emotions war within me—attraction and repulsion lock horns. The pull toward him intensifies; my urge to wrench myself free grows in equal measure. Curiosity begs to see what’s next. Duty to save him—no man left behind—fuels my resolve. Yet, at the same time, hushed whispers in the back of my mind are present to remind me that this man took me and has possibly damned my family. Every story, every sailor’s instinct, tells me that my sworn enemy is below me—to shift my hands and wrap them around his throat.
No. I refuse to meet cruelty in kind. I made my choices, willingly got myself into this—I’m going to see it through.
A pause. As if the whole world has sucked in a breath. No movement. No sound.
Then, the stillness gives way to a different melody. This is not the one the sirens were singing to heal him, but something new. A song in dissonance with the one Ilryth imprinted on my soul that night long ago, the two clashing against a third singer that is borderline howling underneath it all.
