Her head jerks, her eyes flaring with desire and curiosity despite her attempt to hide her sudden eagerness. It is what sirens crave far beyond any worldly treasure. Contrary to centuries of stories, it was never their songs that lead sailors to leap to their deaths; it was what their songs revealed.
A man’s deepest truth. Rarer than any jewel, and far more dangerous, as more often than not, the truth is a terrible thing. Many who face theirs cannot live with themselves after.
It is not something a sane person would offer, but I’ve never had a claim to sanity, warped as I am by time and death.
“And what if I find your truth lacking, king?” Though her words are soft, they bear a dangerous edge. “I will not betricked by duplicitous plans and seductive words, no matter how handsome the face.”
“Do not insult me, siren,” I snap, my weariness bleeding through my voice. “You know well what an offer this is. Take it or leave it, as I have things to do.”
Lisian inhales sharply and adjusts her bangles. “Very well,” she concedes primly. Then, with a dirty look at my ribbons, “Control your pets. I won’t be able to carry a tune with such filth so near.”
I roll my eyes, but do as she asks. A groan traps itself in my throat as I call my death to me. It slithers over my bare chest, winds around my waist. It squeezes my ribs like an iron vise, piercing my skin like I’ve been tied with barbed wire. My jaw locks as the beginning notes of Lisian’s song ring through the air.
Her voice is sweet and clear, and despite my death’s icy rage, I allow the melody to float beneath my skin once more. It is different than the song that drew me here; different than the harmonies that float through the island, and tangle with the breezes.
This one doesn’t only grip my heart, buteverypart of me. The notes rove through past and present, stripping every piece of armor I’ve built around myself throughout my long life. My pain; my loneliness; my vengeance; my rage—the song permeates through it all, peeling it away piece by piece, until nothing remains to shield myself with. I am no longer bone or muscle or skin; I am an open wound through which the truth of my heart bleeds.
It spills into the air between Lisian and I, a twisted, desperate thing unused to the light. But I do not shy away from it, nor do I try to shove it back where it belongs in the recesses of my heart, even as Lisian’s eyes flare wide in shock.
Most men cannot face their truth because it takes them by surprise. They have lived their lives cloaked in their owndelusions, so convinced of their own goodness, one glimpse of their true nature eats them alive.
But I knew the dark truth of myself long before this moment; I have drawn it up and faced it time and again over the past year. It is as familiar to me now as my own face, so when I gaze upon it, there is no weeping or arguing. It is as it is.
Lisian’s eyes flicker, and a moan slips between her teeth as she drinks in the truth of me. It is a delicacy of the highest order as truth is a powerful magic, one that often heightens a siren’s own. She doesn’t understand she will gain no dominion over me by knowing my truths for I do not hide them as vulnerabilities. I wear them as armor.
The song fades. Lisian’s eyes roll back, her body swaying like she’s drunk on spirits. When she finally opens her eyes, her expression is dreamy and dazed. But her voice is perfectly vicious when she says, “Long live the Carrion King. How can we serve?”
Chapter twenty
My death slithers in time with my strokes as I row, the ribbons a shade darker than the inky water slapping against the small boat. The shadow of the Indomnitus looms large overhead, the light of the second star filtering through the billowing black sails. Lisian bobs beside me along with two of her sisters, their presence only detectable by the occasional glint of their gemstones in the starlight.
I secure the oars, a familiar heat lighting in my veins as I gaze up at my ship. It has been so long since her serpentine curves sliced through the water; so long since those sails have inflated with the winds of adventure. The sight of it elicits a fire inside me I thought long extinguished—the burn of adventure. Of possibility.
It was a feeling I chased like a fiend all those centuries ago, as I sailed through different sunsets and foreign civilizations. I lived for the high of the fight, for the unknown lingering behind every corner, savoring every sunrise because it might be the last.
When the Aeternalis burned my ship, I thought I’d never feel those things again. If only I’d known, I’d find something far more potent in the arms of a feral woman with a wild mouth and an even wilder attitude.
The feeling of possibility threads through me now—the sense of lingering on the edge ofsomething—but it is heavier than it was centuries ago, accompanied as it is by my vengeance.
If tonight is my last, I’ll spend it carving every bit of my justice into the Aeternalis for daring to desecrate my sacred spaces.
He will learn exactly what it means to steal from death.
I inhale a sharp breath, willing my ribbons to calm even as they strain toward my ship.Soon,I tell them, before nodding to Lisian.
The siren’s returning smile is eerily inhuman, and though its savage edge sends a shiver racing up my spine, I take it as her agreement to see our bargain through.
“Remember who you are, Niko.” Lisian’s voice is a melodic hiss over the surface of the water. “King of Carrion. There is nothing you do not kill. Nothing you cannot ruin.”
“Why, Lisian…what a shameless flatterer you are.” I shoot her a cruel grin.
She doesn’t return it. “I only mean to remind you. I have seen your truth. You are the end of everything. Do not forget it, or you will be the one ruined.”
A vicious part of me feels like snapping at her—like releasing my death and allowing it to drink every bit of life from her for the simple infraction of assuming I couldeverforget who I truly am. For how could I, when every touch is agony, every movement a reminder?
I turn away before I slice her throat. Grappling hook in hand, I stand to assess the height of my ship. Then, planting my feet, I send the hook flying upward toward the Indomnitus’ rails. It’s been over two hundred years since I’ve boarded a ship thisway, and it is obvious. My throw is far too short, and the hook bounces harmlessly off the hull before falling back to the water with a splash.
Irritation prickles beneath my collar, and with a curse under my breath, I pull the hook back into the rowboat. I dry it off before readjusting my grip. This time, when I release the hook, I also release my death. Together, they soar silently up the expanse of the ship, landing deftly behind the railing.
