Chapter 12
Riella held her breath while Yvette took her hand from the door.
The metal came alive, the surface writhing and shifting like a hurricane sky. Then, just as suddenly, the surface froze. The door sprang open, which elicited a choked groan from Madame Quaan.
The stronghold’s interior was far larger than appeared possible from the outside. It was low-ceilinged and dark with shadows, brightened only by columns of solid silver and gold coins, and piles of jewelry and trinkets.
After Riella’s astonishment wore off, she was overcome by disgust. Not only had Madame Quaan sold her own daughter, she’d hoarded more wealth than she could ever spend in her lifetime.
Yvette’s eyes bulged at the riches, before profound sorrow washed over her beautiful features. Then, she glared at Madame Quaan with such resentment that a chill shot down Riella’s spine for being in the same line of sight. But the older woman showed no remorse, seething under Riella’s grip, albeit silently.
“Not a bad haul,” said Jarin in approval.
He stood over Gerret’s inert body, his arms folded.
“It’s not ours,” said Riella.
“I know that.” There was an indignant note to his voice. “I was just saying.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Riella reminded herself to stop assuming the worst of him. He hadn’t really done anything to deserve her scorn, except exist, and blackmail her into murder.
But she did stab him in the heart, so perhaps she ought to let the blackmail slide.
Sehild and Odeya entered through the demolished doorway, their wary expressions turning to amazement when they saw the stronghold.
“Wow,” said Odeya to Madame Quaan. “I knew you were fleecing us, but . . . wow.”
“The guards are gone,” said Sehild to Riella. “And most of the customers. Some are still getting dressed.”
She peered nervously at Madame Quaan, and quickly looked away again. The hold the older woman had on them was severe. Even while under Riella’s control, the madame scared Sehild.
“Go upstairs and make sure the customers leave,” said Riella to Jarin. “Guard the entrance and don’t let anyone in. This place is closed for business.”
He nodded and went upstairs.
Now, she addressed Odeya. “Bring all the other women down here. Tell them to bring a bag each.”
Madame Quaan grizzled, but still did not dare speak.
The women of the house filed down. They were astounded by the contents of the stronghold, and equally surprised they could take their share of the riches. Yvette oversaw the process with grim satisfaction.
Riella tossed the pouch she stole from the Count to Yvette, to add to the loot. Now that Jarin was here, he could take her to the Black Cliffs. She didn’t need the gold.
As the riches were removed from the stronghold, Madame Quaan seemed to shrivel and shrink. By the time the last of the precious metals was divided among the women, her face was pale and her eyes were fathomless with rage.
The women native to Klatos offered to find lodging for those from other towns and kingdoms. After exchanging hugs and well wishes, the women gradually departed in small groups without ceremony.
Riella remained in the study with Yvette, Madame Quaan, and Gerret’s unconscious body.
“What are you going to do to me?” asked Madame Quaan through a clenched jaw. “Whatever it is, get it over with. I have nothing left.”
The siren frowned, trying to decide.
There was not a repentant bone in this woman’s body. If Riella released her, there was every chance she’d restart her vile business of slavery, either here in Klatos or elsewhere. That was an unacceptable risk.
But executing her in cold blood was extreme. While Riella felt confident in her jurisdiction in the ocean, she did not belong here on land. Did she have the right to judge this woman unworthy of life?
In the end, she drew inspiration from the blood enchantment. Riella dragged Madame Quaan and Gerret into the dark depths of the stronghold, shoving the woman hard so that she wouldn’t get up right away. Yvette stood back, watching impassively while holding her pouch of gold and silver to her chest.
“If you are deserving of life, your blood will grant it to you,” said Riella before slamming the door closed.
At once, the door sealed itself. Madame Quaan’s enraged shouts and thumping became barely audible, even to the siren’s highly attuned hearing.
When Riella looked up, she was alone in the room. Yvette had already left. Perhaps she’d return to save the madame and Gerret, having had a change of heart, but Riella suspected not.
Indeed, she found Yvette in the bar area, chatting animatedly with Sehild and Odeya. Their demeanor was completely different from just an hour ago. Their eyes were bright and they couldn’t stop laughing.
Yvette ran at Riella and hugged her tightly. “Thank you.”
The siren smiled into Yvette’s dark curls. “I wish only that you lead happy lives.”
Sehild and Odeya exchanged cheek kisses with Riella. Sirens did not practice this custom and the gesture spread a pleasant warmth through her chest. A siren would die for another siren in a heartbeat, but showing each other physical affection was unheard of.
Riella marveled at how the vitality and tenderness of human women were almost supernatural powers in themselves. In a horrid and twisted way, she saw why human men tried to capture it for themselves. Elves possessed similarly healing natures, and Seraphine was forced to confer her beautiful power to that ghoul, Polinth.
Eager to begin her journey to help the elf, Riella bid her new friends farewell and met Jarin by the front gate.
“Thank you,” she said to him. “For helping.”
“It was a tough job, hiding you from the guards, siren.” A devilish smile lit his face, his teeth white in the hazy copper afternoon light. “But I’d do it again.”
She balled her fist and punched his bicep, which only made his smile wider.
“Hey,” he said. “It worked, didn’t it? You achieved your ends.”
“I did,” replied Riella thoughtfully, watching a trio of women from Madame Quaan’s disappear down the street together.
She put her hand to her chest. “Odeya said it’s normal to feel many things at once, but it doesn’t feel normal. It feels overwhelming.”
“You’re feeling things because you helped others. It’s good.”
“I did what anyone would do.”
Jarin scoffed. “That’s not true. Most people ignore the suffering of others.”
“But how? How do you bear it?”
His face became serious, and his eyes remote. “Not well, much of the time, to be honest. It’s why the world is the way it is. So many of us can’t bear the pain of being human.”
“How awful.”
He cuffed her on the shoulder, then directed her toward the bustling cobblestone street. “It’s not all bad. The good moments make all the pain worth it. Or, so I’ve heard.”
Riella fell into step beside him while thinking of Seraphine, Tregor, the boy cringing from her on the street, and the women enslaved by Madame Quaan. “I don’t know if I can imagine anything feeling good enough to offset the pain.”
“Maybe one day you’ll find out.”
She sighed. “I’ll be happy if I can get to the Black Cliffs. You said you’d take me there.”
“And you said you’d kill Artus. I’m leading a mutiny tonight, and you can kill him then. But only if we make it back to the Pandora before dusk. Once the ship is mine, I’ll take you to the cliffs.”
She raised her brows at him. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
“A mutiny does sound like fun.”
“I’m not doing it for fun. I’m doing it because Artus flogs and kills his own men, and I have to stop him before his strength grows. Even if I’m outnumbered.”
The streets became more crowded the farther downhill they walked, toward the docks. Seagulls floated overhead and the taverns steadily filled, rowdy with rosy-faced sailors and local folk. The scent of smoky cooked food reached Riella’s nostrils. She had never consumed human dishes, and yet her stomach growled. She’d not eaten since the day before.
“Well, I deeply enjoy fighting pirates, so it’d be no burden for me,” said Riella.
Jarin glanced sideways at her. Everyone on the street automatically gave him a wide berth, parting like tidal water as he approached. “You would fight alongside me?”
“If it means you’ll take me to the cliffs, then yes. I’d far prefer to travel by sea to land. I feel very much like I don’t belong here.”
“I know what you mean,” he said half to himself, staring around at the people laughing and chatting.
“Being a pirate is not the same as being a siren.”
“And yet, the people in this city would sooner welcome you into their company than me. You know nothing about me, except that I’m a pirate.”
“What else is there?”
He cleared his throat. “I come from questionable stock, let’s put it that way.”
“Your father was a mountain troll?” She raked her eyes over his body. “That would explain your gigantic, lumbering structure.”
She’d been joking, but Jarin’s expression darkened and he refused to meet her gaze. “My father wasn’t a troll. He was a great warrior.”
“Oh. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. What of your mother?”
“Tell me what’s at the Black Cliffs, really?”
Riella noted that he yet again had changed the subject, but she answered anyway. If she was more open with him, perhaps he would respond in kind.
“An elf named Seraphine. Polinth holds her captive. She sacrificed her freedom so that I could escape.”
“Brave elf,” commented Jarin. “They aren’t known for being fighters.”
“Which makes it all the more terrible.” Guilt splintered Riella’s heart. “Because sirens are. And I left her there.”
“Knowing Polinth, you didn’t get much choice. He’s a gifted sorcerer. A degenerate, but gifted.” Jarin paused. “Try not to dwell on the bad feelings. That doesn’t do you any good, tempting though it may be.”
“Guilt is a particularly heavy feeling.”
“Aye, that it is. But it also does nothing to help your elven friend.” He pointed at the food stalls lining the side of the cramped street. “You should eat something now. The food here is leagues better than anything you’ll be fed on the ship, believe me.”
“Is there any kelp?” she asked, peering doubtfully at the stalls.
Jarin barked with laughter. “Kelp. Let me get you some real food.”
He carved a line through the throng of people toward a food cart. An elderly man cooked something in a pot of oil, chopped and served in a cup fashioned from parchment.
While she waited, Riella wondered what was so questionable about Jarin’s stock, if his father had been a great warrior. Obviously, it was a sore subject.
The pirate gave a few coins to the elderly man and brought the food to Riella.
“It’s not fish, is it?” she asked, taking the little parcel from him and sniffing it. “I will never eat fish.”
“It’s a vegetable. I promise you’ll like it.”
She picked up a piece and touched the tip of her tongue to it. Her eyebrows flew up in delight. “Ooh! Salty.”
Jarin grinned. She hated how handsome that made him look, and covered her discomfort by cramming the food into her mouth. At first, she wasn’t sure if she liked it. But then she chewed, and a pleasant greasy explosion happened in her mouth.
“It’s potato, salted and fried.” Jarin guided her farther down the street. “And one other thing. I don’t lumber.”
She ate as they walked, demolishing the food in less than a minute and disposing of the parchment cup.
He was right about the lumbering, although she’d never give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. For his size, he was remarkably agile. A result of residing on a ship, she supposed. Walking on land must’ve seemed far easier when you spent most of your time rocking back and forth on the ocean.
“Need anything else before we set sail?” he asked. “You need to be fit for combat.”
“Well, I might need?—”
Riella stumbled on the cobblestones, forcing her to grab Jarin’s steel-threaded arm to right herself. She removed her hand at once. Against her will, she was reminded of his body’s heat as he’d cradled her head and pressed his groin into hers.
“What do you need?” A smirk danced on his lips, as if reading her thoughts.
Had she really licked those lips? Voluntarily? What had she been thinking?
She didn’t think, that was the problem. She’d given in to her instincts, and those instincts seemed drawn to Jarin.
As a siren, she was taught to trust her instincts implicitly. They kept her safe. Did the same hold true now that she had legs? Could she trust her instincts, even if they put her in a position of feeling vulnerable?
“Shoes,” she said, stepping back from him. “I need shoes more suited to fighting.”
The ornate silk slippers Odeya had given her were beautiful, but highly impractical.
“That I can do,” he said. “Mind if I?—”
He kneeled in the middle of the street, forcing everyone to move around them, and reached for her foot. She bit her bottom lip as he held her ankle and eased off the shoe. Balancing on a single foot made her wobble, and she steadied herself by grasping his broad shoulders.
He stood, tapping the shoe in his hand. “So I know which size to get. Stay here.”
Strangely breathless, she leaned against a lamppost while Jarin disappeared into a nearby shopfront. The window displayed saddlery and belts and rather more sensible-looking shoes than the ones she’d been wearing. He returned minutes later with a pair of brown leather boots in her size.
Holding Jarin’s arm for support, she changed into the boots. She tested them out, pacing up and down, amazed at the difference. The grips on the flat soles made walking far easier.
“Good?” he asked.
“Good,” she confirmed.
“Let’s go start a mutiny, then,” he said, handing her silk slippers to a grubby-faced girl on the side of the street.
Dusk drew nearer, the docks striped with long shadows as Riella and Jarin descended the street.
“Is Artus invulnerable, like you?” she asked. “If I’m to fight him, I ought to know.”
“No, he’s not. I believe he’s trying to be, though. It’s why he attacked a royal ship carrying artifacts, and why I need to move against him. He’s always hated my invulnerability—secretly though, so he can keep me close. I helped him take the Pandora from the last captain. But he’s always known I’d be his biggest threat, one day.”
Riella thought of Yvette’s toxic bondage to Madame Quaan. “He’s not your father, is he?”
“No. But he saved me when I was younger, which is why it’s taken me so long to overthrow him. When I lost my parents, I stowed away on a pirate ship. Artus was the gunner and he took me under his wing. Best and worst thing that could happen to an angry young man.”
“What were you angry about?” she asked, trying to fill in the gaps in his cryptic story. “Were your parents killed, then?”
“My father was killed, yes. My mother . . .” He squinted at the crimson horizon. “. . . is complicated.”
“Was she invulnerable too?”
“No. She’s not. But she made me so.”
The siren’s mind brimmed with questions, but she and Jarin were fast approaching the docks, so she asked the most pressing one. “What are Artus’s weaknesses?”
“He takes advantage of any kindness,” answered Jarin without hesitation. “Show him none.”
A horn blared long and loud, penetrating the late afternoon din of the city. The sound echoed through the streets and sent chills through Riella.
“The Pandora’s horn,” said Jarin, quickening his pace.
“What does it mean?” she asked.
“I don’t know. But we don’t sound the horn at port unless there’s dire trouble.” He turned to Riella. “Whatever it is, I can’t leave my men to fend for themselves. If you want to part ways, now’s the time.”
“You’ll still take me to the Black Cliffs?”
“I will.”
“Then, let’s go.”