You don’t have to feel bad just because I’m naturallygood at it. If anything, you should be encouraged by the fact that we sharethe same genes. It’s impossible for you to be terrible, even if you aren’tquite as good—

Even though I’m talking to him, I’m watching Julius. He appears to bemuttering something to himself— either kill me,

A soft, half- muffled sound draws my attention to Julius. He’s pressed ahand to the lower half of his face, his shoulders shaking, then stilling justfor a second before he loses it again, shaking his head too, as if he’sannoyed he finds it so funny in the first place.

is glasses are, apparently, framesonly; his fingers pass right through them.

I want to know if Julius was afraid of the dark when he was younger. If heever believed in ghosts or Santa or the Loch Ness monster. I want to knowwhere he studies, whether it’s by the light of the living room window oralone in his bedroom, if he keeps the door wide open or closed. I want toknow what he would dress up as for Halloween, what song he picks out at121karaoke. How early he rises, how late he sleeps. What dishes their mothercooks for the Spring Festival, what he talks about on long car rides. I wantto collect these pieces of information like ammunition. Part of me wants toembarrass him, and part of me is simply, overwhelmingly curious.

Moleskine

On the very first day,he’d sent me an incredibly difficult equation from some kind of advanceduniversity paper as a challenge. I’d solved it just to spite him, and dugthrough all the papers available online to find something even trickier, andsent that back. We’d then fallen into the habit of exchanging questionsevery morning. We never said anything else. Just the screenshot, and theanswer. One blow traded for another. He would respond back each timewithout fail, and we’d kept it up all the way until school started again.

Intimidatingly smart. I hold on to those words, examine them up close. I’venever thought of myself as intimidating or scary, yet it feels like the greatestcompliment. A confirmation of my wildest hopes.

I conceal my surprise. I’d thought he was grossly exaggerating when he toldme on the phone that his little brother talks about me all the time. But then Inotice the crimson color creeping up Julius’s neck, and the only logicalexplanation for it is that whatever he’s said is either terrible, or wonderful.“What has he said about me?”

even when my schedule is packed.”

“You’re accusing me of being too happy?” I forget to lower my voice thistime, and the elderly woman shoots me a glare over the top of her historicalromance novel. I mouth an apology and continue in a fierce whisper,“That’s ridiculous. There’s no such thing.”“Acting too happy,” he corrects, his gaze piercing. “When I don’t reallythink you are.”My chest burns, like the words have squeezed their way inside 116and peeled the flesh from my heart. But I can’t let it show. “You don’t knowme that well,” I mutter.

you sound like you’re in an adver-tisement fororganic fruit juice. It’s overly cheery.”

To my surprise, he laughs. “Oh, I know you. You’re the other captain, right?My little brother talks about you all the time.”I falter. Beside me, Julius has gone very still, his complexion pale. “Your . .. little brother?”“Yeah,” James says breezily. “My brother, Julius Gong.”

Something about the tone, the inflection of the words, the faint rasp at theedges.

everytime someone’s yelled at me, every embarrassment and failure anddisappointment.

I laugh, which seems to please him

Go on. You’re not going to let her curse at you fornothing, are you?

Julius stares down at the phone like it might grow teeth and bite him. Forthe first time, he looks wildly uncomfortable, a flush spreading up the

I wish I wasn’t the kind of person who wasalways so sensitive to other people’s shifting moods and tones, who startleswhen someone raises their voice even a little, who cowers when someoneelse gets annoyed

“Wow, she really doesn’t like you,” Julius says after a beat. He can’t evenhide the surprise in his voice

blazer

I wonder if this is how she feelswhen I’m teaching her stoichiometry.

Because beneath my apprehension is the stronger, deeply ingrained need tobe liked. To be accepted. To be forgiven. To be recognized as good. I’ll doanything to redeem myself. The words on the bike shed flash through mymind again, and my chest contracts, like all the air has been sucked out ofthe room.

I could host it whenthey’re gone, clean up before they’re back.

is entire left eye is swollen shut, the skinaround it a vivid purplish- blue. The bruise wasn’t there yesterdayafternoon.

ulius moves closer andloosens the brush from my stiff fingers. Then he brings it down hard overthe brick and begins scrubbing, using so much force the muscles in hisshoulders flex beneath his damp shirt.Unlike his previous attempt, he erases all the marker in one go.“Done,” he says, letting his arm fall back to his side. “Simple as that.”But nothing about this moment feels simple. I open my mouth, though I’mnot sure what I plan to tell him. Thanks?Please forget this ever happened? Do you think I’m a bitch too?Before I can make up my mind, he’s walking away. Not with his usual slowleopard’s stride, as if it’s a gift to mankind to simply see him in motion, butwith purpose, like there’s somewhere he needs to be. Someone he needs tofind.

“Well,” Julius says from behind me, “it’s a very uninspired choice of words.Such a basic pejorative denotes low intelligence.”This, of all things, jolts a weak laugh out of me.

I wonder if he keeps as clear a record ofour every exchange as I do.

ut his eyes fall on my face first,and he glimpses something there that changes his demeanor at once. Hisgaze sharpens. His shoulders tense.“What is it, Sadie?” he asks again, but in a different way.Lower, more serious. Urgent.

But when I drape it over myself, it falls around me like acape. I don’t mind it though. It’s warm and dry and it smells like him: likemint and cedar and the beginnings of something sweet, familiar, somethingthat reminds me of summer when we were fourteen years 91old. Then I catch myself inhaling, hugging the soft fabric closer to myshivering body, and freeze.There must be water lodged in my brain for me to be acting this way.“Thanks,” I say, willing my voice to sound normal. “You can turn aroundnow.”He turns slowly. His gaze catches on the blazer where it ends just above theknee, covering up my skirt. A slight movement in his throat, like he’sswallowing something sharp.

“My bag. My blazer’s inside.”I pause. On their own, the words make perfect sense. But strung together,and coming from him, they might as well be an alien language. There’s noway he’s making an offer—

“And white polyester,” he says, his voice strained,“once wet, becomes transparent.”

Because Ihaven’t had the chance to do something so ridiculous in a while, to behavelike a child.

brain, because rather than tripping over myself with apologies or frettingover lost time, I double over, cackling.“I’m—sorry,” I squeeze out through my giggles. “I didn’ t— mean—”His eyes narrow, but it’s hard to take him seriously when the front of hisshirt is plastered to his skin. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you did thaton purpose.”“I swear— it wasn’ t—” I clutch my stomach, breathless with laughter, andit hits me out of nowhere that this is the first time I’ve really laughed inalmost two days. It’s like my body is a rubber band, stretched too tight inevery direction— and now it’s finally snapped, the tension released. I gulpdown the cold, sweet air, filling my lungs with it.Then he grabs the hose faster than I can react and turns it on me.I yelp.The violent blast of water is so cold it almost burns. It’s in my nose, myhalf- opened mouth, the inside of my shirt. I can feel it running down myspine, pooling into my shoes. And the only clear thing in my blurred visionis Julius’s face. He’s smiling now, evidently pleased with himself.

“Oh my god, you’re so stubborn.”“You’re so bossy,” he shoots back.“Difficult,” I seethe.“Demanding.”“Arrogant.”“Impatient.”“Cynical,” I speak over him, my fists clenching around the hose as morewater spews out. “ Snobby—”“Overcritical,” he jeers at me.“ Manipulative—”“ Judgmental— hey, watch it.”

I have very nice hands— as you have already observedin the past. It would be a shame to ruin them.”

“This is just the school’sexcuse to make us do manual labor.”

Turns out Ialways want to be wanted, even by the boy I loathe.

“As a solution, we ask that you work closely togetherover the coming month to bridge your differences, until your tensions havedissolved. I don’t just mean in your regular captain duties, but across theschool, throughout various activities. Consider it a show of comradery.”

CazSong

“Oh, right— you mean assho—” I clamp my mouth shut, but not before Icatch Julius laughing into his fist. It’s nice that he can still find it in himselfto make fun of me under our present circumstances. Very heartening.

a spoilt brat, an insufferable thorn, acold- hearted deceiver, and a certain word that refers to the . . . downwardregion of the human anatomy?”

“Why can’t you go in first?” He says it coolly, as if I’m the one who’s beingridiculous, but there’s a wariness to his expression.His eyes keep sliding to the door like it might open up the gates of hell.He’s nervous, I realize.

“Oh my god, shut up.”He falters briefly, then gives me an odd sort of smile, like he’s caught medoing something I shouldn’t, like he knows me better 77than I want him to. My skin tingles from the unwelcome attention. “Yourlanguage turns cruder by the day. Decided to drop the model student act forgood?”“Seriously, Julius,” I say through clenched teeth, lifting my hand, “if youdon’t stop talking, I’ ll—”“Hit me?” His smile sharpens, as though in challenge. It’s a smile that saysyou wouldn’t dare. “Choke me, the way you fanta-sized about in youremail?”

Therewas red marker.” He pauses for emphasis. “On my face.”

Before anyone can celebrate, the door swings open once more, andSamantha comes marching in again. Her complexion has changed fromgray to crimson. “I just remembered that I won’t be paid the speaker’s fee ifI don’t stay for the full session.”

“Never,” she seethes, 72“in all my years of visiting schools have I come across students so— sorude and undisciplined.

“Have you ever heard of a diary, Sadie? It might be a worthy investment.”

Julius’s eyes cut to me, quick as lightning, cold as ice. “Well, I don’t thinkanyone should ever write an email like this to begin with. It’s remarkablyimmature, and a sign of the sender’s unresolved anger issues— not tomention low self- esteem.”“But what if the recipient deserved it?”I don’t realize I’ve stood up and spoken until everyone whirls around tostare at me, the concentrated weight of their attention like a hammer to thestomach. But I’m only staring back at one person. Julius. The tightness ofhis jaw, the darkness of his eyes.“So you’re saying it’s the recipient’s fault,” Julius says with a laugh. “Wow.Sure.”Okay, stop talking, the logical part of my brain tells me. Shut up and sitdown right now.But my mouth seems to have cut ties with my brain. “I’m just saying thatmaybe if the recipient were a little less infuriating, and wasn’t quite so

“You,” Samantha says, and points right at Julius.

but she’s always more disruptivewhen she senses that I’m in a bad mood. It’s her way of simultaneouslyraising my blood pressure and my spirits.

“I’m talking about, like, really feeling ourselves. Have you never drawn theperfect cat wing and felt the utmost need to share it online, for it to be savedin perpetuity, to become our lasting legacy? Don’t you think it’s a crime notto show the world the new black dress I bought and how good it makes myfigure look?”

“Now, you might be under the impression that since you’re the youngergeneration and you grew up with your little tablets and laptops and iPadsand gadgets, you don’t need any advice, right?

“The Digital Student: Online Etiquette andCybersafety”

hen, without meaning to, my gaze slides to Julius in the second 66row— just as he lifts his head and glowers at me.A shock goes through my body at the venomous look on his face. I’d hopedhis anger would dissipate after yesterday, but it seems to have onlyfermented.

“Can you stop that?” I snap, whipping my head around.The kid freezes. My mother freezes too; she looks stunned.I’m shocked myself. The words don’t feel like they could have come out ofmy own mouth. It’s like somebody has removed every filter I’ve fixed inplace, cleared out a direct path from my brain to my lips.

I wonder if he blamesme for what happened too. If that’s the reason for the faint but alwaysnoticeable friction between us, why he only comes back once every week orso, why half our conversations seem to lapse into silence.

And now, in that gap, someone’s drawn a red, jagged line all the way downthe middle.

Abigail chews her lip. “Well, I . . .” B

If I slow down, if I think too hard, I’ll fall apart

“What’s so funny?” Abigail yells after them, because she’s never beenafraid of confrontation. “Your new bangs?”

“I would like to make a general announcement that if, for somereason, you take issue with a grade that I have given you in the past, youcan discuss it with me in a civil manner.” Her gaze snaps back to me, and Iwish more than anything that a sinkhole would open up and swallow mewhole.

imagine wrapping my hands around your long, pale throat and watchingthe fear bloom in your eyes. I imagine your skin turning red, your breathingquickening as you struggle. I want to watch you in pain, up close. I wantyou to beg me. I want you to admit you were wrong, that I’ve won. Maybeyou would even sink to your knees for me. Plead for mercy. That would befun, but even then, that wouldn’t be enough—

your a lier, Julius Gong.when the Chinese teacher asked us for the idium for “water and fire don’tmix,” I answered at the same time you did!!!!!!How DARE you tell the teacher you were the one who got it right and notme??!!! How DARE YOU take MY gold stickre???? Who gave you theright, huh? you don’t deserv any stickers. your a very, very bad person, Idon’t care how good other poeple think you are. I’m gonna make you regretthis so much you’ll cry, just you wait.My awful spelling at eight years old is almost as embarrassing as thecontent itself.

Heat lashes through me. I move to shove him away, but my hands only hithard, lean muscle, the flat planes of his chest. He laughs at me, and I wantto kill him. I mean it with every cell in my body. I’ve never wanted to killhim so badly. I hate him so much that I could cry.“Go away,” I hiss.“You don’t have to be embarrassed—”I hardly ever raise my voice, but I do now. “God, just leave me alone. I’mso sick of you.” It comes out even louder than I intended, cracking theserenity of the gardens, sounding over the treetops. My throat feels scrapedopen with the words.He finally steps away then, his face impassive. “Oh, don’t worry, I wasalready planning on leaving.” Because it has to be his choice, not my

“You know what I think?” he murmurs, drawing so close his mouth skimsmy ear, his cruel face blurring in my vision. My breath catches. Goosebumps rise over my bare skin. “I think you’re obsessed with me, SadieWen.”

“From what I recall, you wrote two whole paragraphs protesting the colorof my eyes,” he drawls, and I feel myself pale with horror. “They’re toodark, like those of a monster from the fairy tales. Like a lake you coulddrown in on the coldest day of winter. My lashes are too long, more fittingfor a girl’s. I don’t deserve to be so pretty. My gaze is too sharp, too intense;you can’t hold it for long without being overwhelmed.” He stares right atme as he speaks, like he wants to see if it’s true, to witness his effect on mein real time. “You said it makes it difficult for you to concentrate in class.”

“Hurt my feelings?” He says it like a joke. “You have far too high anopinion of yourself, Sadie. You aren’t capable of hurting me.On the contrary . . . don’t you remember what you wrote?”

“You think I’m fake?”“You don’t think you are?” He cocks his head. “You go around smiling andcharming the teachers and agreeing to anything anyone asks of you likeyou’re some kind of angel, and then you 41go back and write your secret little emails about how much you hate myguts and wish to strangle me—”“It’s called being nice,” I cut in.“Yes, strangulation is very nice. Practically a peace offering.”“That’s not what I’m saying.”He laughs, a cold, hard sound. “You never say what you mean anyway.”

You wouldnever be that brave,” he adds with a scoff. “You’re too fake.”

“There were forty- two emails addressed to me. The earliest dated back tonine years ago.”

“A printing company,” he says, then pauses, like he regrets volunteeringthis information.

Footsteps storming out the living room and the slam of thedoor, like a thunder-clap, the rumble of the engine, then the horrible,crushing quiet.

I hate it when people are mad at me. I hate it, Ihate it, I can’t stand it.

my laptop seems to be in adifferent position

It’s the fifty- seventh draft email I have

Also, your hairstyle is ridiculous. You might think it looks all natural andeffortless, but I bet you spend entire hours of your 30morning styling it with a tiny comb so that the one singular strand falls overyour left eye at the perfect angle. From the bottom of my heart, I really hopeyour comb breaks and you run out of whatever expensive hair productsyou’ve been using to make your hair appear deceptively soft when I’m sureit’s not, because there’s nothing soft about you, anywhere at all

I simply like to unleash all my rage in my email drafts

I want to leave a permanent mark. I want him to feel it, to hurt. I want todestroy him.

Just so you know, Ms. Rachel took a peek at our group project earlier andsaid it looked— and I quote—“phenomenal.” I’m saying this now so you’renot too shocked when our grades come back and mine’s higher than yours. Iknow how upset you get every time I win.Best regards,Julius Gong, School Captain

I act like this is news to me, a happy coincidence. Like I didn’t spend hourssearching her up online and reading through an old interview she did for heralma mater’s student magazine, where she mentioned her interest in theWarlord Era. Like I didn’t choose this specific topic for the very purpose ofappealing to her personal tastes

Then I notice Julius watching me in my peripheral vision, and it’s like I’vebeen zapped. Everything sharpens back into focus. I won’t give him thesatisfaction of seeing me struggle. I refuse to.

“You know what? I can just do the rest myself. Totallycool.”

“The summary,” I get out. The summary I already wrote out for you, I addinside my head. Word for word. The one I asked you to copy down onto thetemplate that I predesigned, and printed, and personally delivered to yourhouse in the winter rain on the first day of the midyear break so you coulddo it when you had time. That summary? “I thought . . . I mean, sure,” I say,seeing his blank stare. “That’s okay. What about you, Georgina?”Georgina makes a gesture that reminds me of a flower wilt-ing. “I’m sorry,”she says, pouting. “I tried to start, I promise, but, like, my face still hurtsfrom when I hit my nose against the bathroom wall?”“I thought you said you were fine,” Ray says.25Georgina shoots him a quick, pointed look, then turns back to me, her darkeyes shining with emotion. “I feel worse whenever I have to work on anassignment. It’s, like, super unfortunate. I wish I could do more to help, but. . .”

“We didn’t do it,” he says bluntly

I’d assumed that kind of unconditionallove and support only existed in old sitcoms.

I’ve correctly predicted the breakup of everycouple in our year level so far, haven’t I?”

“Youdon’t trust any of them.”

“Hello, darling,” she says. She started calling people darling ironically lastyear, but it seems to have entered her permanent vocabulary. The same goesfor bamboozled, vexed, and the random, self- invented phrase fumbled thebirdie

“could you scan your notes in color andsort them by date and topic? And could you add in your practice essays too?Just send it all over to my school email by tonight—”

embarrassing how tight I latch on to these little pieces of validation, howmuch I want to be liked, to make everyone happy.

. “Like, it looks so soft?” It’s somewhatconcerning that she’s chosen to vocalize this as a question. It implies adesire to find out the answer.

It’ll be just us, and we won’t need anyone else. Our lives will be better thanthey used to be with my dad around. I’ll do everything he should’ve done,provide everything he should have provided. I’ll do so much that nobodywill feel his absence lingering in our living room like a silent ghostanymore. Maybe Mom will even start smiling again.

Julius catches my eye, like he wants to make sure I’mlistening

But then there came a minor issue with the bathrooms. To bespecific, the toilets were all built facing the side, instead of the door, so youcouldn’t sit down on them without banging your nose. At first the schoolasked us to be grateful and flexible and view it as a learning

Obviously this has been communicated well, because the communication atthis school is flawless

“At Woodvale, teachers and students are on very close terms, and we’reencouraged to express ourselves in, ah, creative ways. Every time we walkthrough these beautiful halls, we’re reminded that our teachers are alwayslooking down on us from above. Like, um, angels. Or God.”

Three points to Julius.

“I honestly don’t think they care,” Julius murmurs into my ear, his voicelow enough for only me to hear, his breath warm despite the freezingweather.

I clear my throat.He raises a dark brow at me, but adds nothing.I clear my throat again, louder.“And this is Sadie,” he says after a beat, waving a loose hand at me. “Theother captain.”

he never has any problem greeting other people

For some time now, I’ve suspected that his accentis fake. He’s only ever set foot in the States for campus tours; there’s nological reason why he’d sound like that, except to seem special.

As of now, Julius is at 490 points. I’m at 495, thanks to the history test Icame first in last week

Black eyes, sharp angles, a smile like a blade.That single, ridiculous strand of dark hair falling over his forehead. Theschool blazer draped around his shoulders like he’s posing for a high-fashion magazine.Julius Gong

track- and- field regional finals

Woodvale Academy c

Lira catches my eye and arches her brow. “Are you staring at my chest ormy necklace?”I give her a shameless smile. “Which one won’t earn me a slap in theface?”“I’m just trying to gauge whether or not you’re planning on stealing it.”She runs a slender finger over the stone. “You are a pirate, after all.”“True,” I say. “But then, so are you.”

bring it to my lips with a provoking smile and thenpress a hand to her cheek. It’s soft and sharp and as full of as manycontradictions as she is.“Are you ready?” she asks.I kiss her by way of reply, surprising myself that I waited a full minute.It’s an unusual show of patience on my part.Lira grins, her teeth skimming my lips, and lets her tongue run acrossmine. She clutches on to the collar of my shirt and I wrap my arms aroundher waist. It’s like holding a story rather than a person; she feels wild andinfinite in my arms.

Her tentacles floodinto each other and take the shape of legs

My sister’s kingdom glistens somewhere behind me,

Elian settles beside me, gathering me in his arms. When he lifts me, myhands curl around his neck as though it’s the most natural thing in theworld. I don’t think about how it feels to have him hold me – to truly seeevery inch of me. I can’t focus on how much my heart knocks against mychest

then I realize that he’s checking for injuries. Making sure I’m okay until hecan see it for himself.

He kisses me then. Just once. Delicate in a way I’ve only known withhim. And then the icebergs fall and the impact creates a wave high enoughto swallow us whole. I throw my arms around Elian and let my magic coatus. Shielding us from the bursts of snow that threaten to crush us to thewater bed

“I don’t like you because you’re nice,” Elian says. His forehead touchesmine, his lips hovering a breath away.“That says a lot about your psyche.”

Elian laughs an offbeat, exhausted sound. “You’re not understandingme,” he says, grabbing my hand. “I’m not leaving you.”“Elian, I—”“Don’t say something heroic and self-sacrificing,” he tells me. “Becausethen I might start thinking you’ve actually got some humanity in you.”I smirk. “That would be boring.”

The Flesh-Eater grins, saliva clinging between the lines of his sharkteeth, cutlass tail primed by my prince’s heart.

Elian lets out a breath, amusement and surprise and something far tooclose to pride.

hand tightens on my jaw and we’re a tangle of fingers and teeth and theworld obliterates around us. It’s all stardust.I bite his lip and he moans into me. We devour each other, gaspingdesperate breaths until we exhaust the air.Elian breaks away, as savage and brutal as the kiss itself. He doesn’t pullback, so much as he severs himself from me. Tearing his lips from mine.When he looks at me, his eyes are a feral mirror of my own. Dazed andfurious and so, so hungry.I run my tongue across my bottom lip, where his angler taste still lingers.

It’s nothing like the soft and tentative tryst we shared under the stars. It’swild and burning, something newly territorial in it. His lips crash fiercelyonto mine, hot and soft, and when I feel his tongue slip against mine, everyanimal part of me comes alive. It’s inside of him, too. The predatoryimpulse. We claim each other, right here on the edge of war.Elian drags his hands through my hair and I clutch him, pushing andpulling him closer against me. Even no distance feels like too much. His

“Do you know what I want from you?” I whisper.Elian swallows. “I’m not going to give you the crystal.”When I reply, my voice is throaty. “I’m not talking about that.”“Then what?”I grin, feeling more wicked than I have in so long. “Your heart,” I say,and I kiss him.

Any human who takes a siren’s heart will be immune to the power of theirsong.Only Elian didn’t need to take my heart; I gave it to him.

Lira. I grab her before she hits the ground, skidding to the floor in her place.My leg burns against the snow, ankle twisting as my arms catch her waist.

By falling for a monster, I have become one for her.

And to let thePrinces’ Bane live . . . of all the things I’ve done, that would be the worst.To put so many people in danger would be monstrous. And yet, one look atLira’s pleading eyes, and I know that’s exactly what I’m going to do.

“Stop,” I demand, and my voice cracks.

my hand falling from Lira’s

other hand, threaded wildly into Lira’s

I go to shove past her again, but she grabs me in desperation, fingersslipping into mine like it’s the most natural thing in the world. I seize.

“Kahlia!” Lira screams.

She wouldlet Lira be killed so I could carry the guilt of it. She would refuse to saveher so I could be disgraced when I did

She hisses. “Just like a human, to rely on weapons to make a kill.”

“When you die,” she says, “do youthink my daughter will weep?”I lift my knife. “Kill me and find out.”

It’s not a siren. It’s a merman.

Kye yellssomething, and I turn just in time to see him crash to the floor, a sirenskewed on top of him. Madrid kicks her off before the blood has time to dodamage, and hauls Kye back to his feet

The Sea Queen looks at melike I am a pitiful thing, no more her daughter than any other creature in herdominion. The complete opposite to the way Crestell had looked at Kahliawhen she saved her life.

Misdirection, Elian said. He’ll be proud to see how well I’ve learned

hen he dropped his sword, there was something so utterly depletedabout it that I can’t find the words to describe it in any language. The ideathat he doesn’t want me dead is impossible, but I hold on to it moredesperately than I have ever clung to anything in my vicious life.

“the next time I face her, I won’t even blink.”I feel the compass jolt against my hand and, slowly, the pointer shifts.

How she pushed mefrom the path of Rycroft’s bullet and asked me to kiss her on the edge of amountain. I force myself to remember that lying is her greatest talent

“When the time comes, I want the Princes’ Bane to die by your blade.”

“Either you marry a powerful queen and rule by her side, oryou stay in Midas with a future king who will question your every move.”

“Go back to where you came from,” I tell Lira. “Right now.”

As though it’s apossibility that I let Lira live because I really am that stupid and not becauseI really am that human.

I wish I had killed her. I wish she hadkilled me

“Oh, I’m not a recruit,” Lira says. “I’m just here to kill him.” She starespointedly at the princess. “And anyone else who gets in my way.”

I think of the taste of her kiss, with the stories of stars roofing us. Anentire galaxy watched while her body curved into mine. As she asked me tokiss her and it was all I could do to keep myself steady.

then she would have killed me.Lira would have killed me.

where Elian stands.His face is slack and expressionless, eyes lingering on the eye in my hand. Iblanch and my heart goes still in my chest. Suddenly nothing feels solidexcept for the air that lodges itself in my throat.I believe in you.For a moment I entertain the pitiful notion that maybe he didn’t hear. Butwhen his eyes hit mine, I know he knows. I know he has pieced together thepuzzle I tried so hard to shatter. And when he reaches for his sword, I knowthis night will end in blood.

I WAS SUPPOSED TO be happy when it failed

I give him a carefree smile. “I told you that I would be useful to keeparound.”

He’s suspicious – perhaps he always was – and though he has everyright to be and part of me is proud of him for it, it hurts all the same. Icannot be trusted and it kills me that he might know that.

Lies and lies, all mingling with half-truths on my tongue.

Elian’s hand finds mine. He squeezes, just once,and everything in me quickens. Heats. My body curves toward him and Ipress my free hand to the glacier walls. When we find the curve to thecorner, Yukiko’s light illuminates our faces once more.I don’t drop Elian’s hand.

Elian’s glovedhand hovers dangerously close to mine, and though I feel the air spark andwarm between us, I don’t look at him

And he does.

“You said I was more charming when I was unconscious.”

“Are you ever going to kiss me?”Slowly, Elian says, “That’s not a favor.”

“Genocide doesn’t seem quite right, does it?

Because I can’t help but hateseeing him stand submissively by her, not giving him a choice in his ownfuture. Using him for her devious plans, just like I intended to. It’s too muchof a reminder of my life before the Saad. Before Elian made me realizewhat it was like to be free. The very person who gave me a glimpse of hopeis now so willing to sacrifice his own.

Yukiko is Elian’s side effect, as the Flesh-Eater was mine.

“You maycare about her,” Yukiko says, “but it won’t change anything. Love is not forprinces, and it’s most certainly not for kings. You promised me that youwould become a king. My king. I want to remind you of that promise.”

There’s part of me that wantsto – a part larger than I’d like to admit – but I wouldn’t know what to say ifI did.

Always a prince, never just a man.

“You’re putting your entire kingdom in danger by letting yourself bemanipulated by a power-hungry princess who—”She breaks off and looks to the floor with an unreadable expression

“Are you really going to marry her?” she asks, and then shakes her headlike she doesn’t want to know the answer. “It’s a smart plan, I suppose,” shesays. “You get the Crystal of Keto and an alliance with a powerful kingdom.Even if you have to give up life on the Saad, you still come out a winner.”Her forced smile falters a little at the last part, and when she speaks again,her voice is quiet and severe. “You never quite seem to lose, do you,Elian?”

Lira snatches her hand from mine. “Kye thought it was funny.”“While I’m glad the two of you are bonding, you should try to rememberthat Kye is an idiot.”

our locked hands

I squeeze my hand across her waist to silence her.

“I wonder if she can feel anything at all,” Lira says. She shifts, and whenshe turns to me, her eyes are vacant. “I suppose we won’t need to wonderfor long.”

“Do you really hate the sirens that much?” she asks.“They kill our kind.”“And you kill theirs.”My eyebrows pinch together. “That’s different,” I say. “We do what wedo to survive. They do it because they want to see us all dead.”“So it’s revenge, then?”“It’s retribution.” I sit up a little straighter. “It’s not as though the sirenscan be reasoned with. We can’t just sign a peace treaty like with the otherkingdoms.”“Why not?”The distance in Lira’s voice gives me pause. The answer should comequick and easy: because they’re monsters, because they’re killers, becauseof a thousand reasons. But I don’t say any of them. Truthfully, the idea ofthis not ending in death never crossed my mind. Of all the outcomes andpossibilities I considered, peace wasn’t one. If I had the opportunity, wouldI take it?

A blanket iswrapped loosely around her shoulders, and when it slips, she shrugs ithigher

I think of Crestell, shielding Kahlia from me and laying down her ownlife instead.Become the queen we need you to be.

I don’t know why, but Elian has evoked the same feral feeling that used tobe reserved only for her. The desire to allow sparks of loyalty and humanityin me to take hold. We’re the same, he and I. Just as looking into mycousin’s eyes feels like looking into a memory of my own childhood, beingaround Elian feels like being around an alternate version of myself.Reflections of each other in a different kingdom and a different life. Brokenpieces from the same mirror. There are worlds between us, but that seemsmore like semantics than tangible evidence of how dissimilar we are.

I pushed him from the bullet the same way he pulled me from the ocean.Without thinking or weighing up what it could mean or how it might benefit

He shrugs. “Maybe. But the little circus medic fixed you up okay. Heeven taught me how to dress your wound so he could focus on helping theship stay afloat.” Kye nods to the bandages with a smug look. “Prettyperfect, aren’t they? My first.”

I picture Lira, and it’s like I can feel her cold blood drippingthrough my hands like melted ice. If she dies, then my plan and this entiremission dies with her. More than anything, I’m counting the minutes untilour rookie engineer emerges and tells me that everything is fine. That Liradidn’t die for me and that she can still offer the last piece of the puzzle tofree the Crystal of Keto from its cage.

Nail marks so similar to theones along my own chest.I hesitate, caught off guard as a distorted image of the Princes’ Baneflashes across my mind. She could have snapped my neck or done anymanner of things to disable me, but she let her claws tear slowly throughmy chest instead. That was the thing about sirens. They always wentstraight for the heart.

“I saved a monkey with a knife wound to the ribs once. There was anaccident with a balloon bursting. It’s not that different.”

“I don’t want her to die, Elian.” Kye squeezes my arm, keeping mesteady as the fraying parts inside threaten to dismantle me. “I never did.Besides” – Kye shoves a hand into his pocket and sighs through the nextwords – “she protected you when I couldn’t.”

m not sure how long I was dead, because my father refuses to speak ofsuch things and I never asked my mother. It felt like an eternity. After, theworld must have felt particularly sorry for me, because of all the crazy,deadly things I’ve done since – which far outweigh a mile-long swim – I’mstill alive. Untouched by another brush of mortality. Made invincible,somehow, by that first fatality.

“Remind me not to get on your bad side,” Elian says.“Too late.”He grins. He’s still grinning when I see Rycroft’s head rise from thefloorboards. The pirate’s hand is at his waist in barely any time at all, andwhen he lifts it into the air, I’m surprised to see that the pistol is as black assquid ink. Just as Elian turns his head – as his crew lurches forward inpanic – a shot fires out.It’s not the first time I’ve heard a gun fired, but the sound seems louder. Itshudders through my bones and drums in beat with my heart. Everything isa rush of sounds. The smell of gunpowder and the awful scream of warningthat shoots from Kye’s lips. And then Elian. The way his smile drops whenhe notices the dread in my eyes. Three life debts.It’s almost a reflex when I push him out of the bullet’s path.There is an instant quiet that blankets the room. A fragment of a secondwhen the world seems to have lost all sound. And then I feel it. The pain ofscorching metal tearing through my human skin.

When he turns back to me, his eyes flicker over my face. His lips tense toa thin line as he notices the scrapes burning into my cheek. The blood thatcovers me, so much of it my own and so much of it not mine at all.“What are you doing here?” I ask.He shrugs. “What I do best.”“Getting on my last nerve?”“Saving you,” he replies, picking up his sword. “This is the second time.Not that I’m counting.”It’s the third, actually, if we count how he pushed me from Rycroft’s pathon the deck of the ship. Elian may not be counting, but I am.“I can’t believe you came back for me,” I say.I don’t bother to keep the gratitude from my voice.

When he reaches me, he throws it to the floor andbraces my shoulders. His smile is like nothing I have ever seen.I say the first thing I can think of, mirroring his words to me fromEidýllio. “I’m pretty sure I got rid of you already.”

Elian doesn’t even glance at Tallis Rycroft.

with a piece ofRycroft inking the corner of my lips and a smile like the devil goddess whomade us all. I swipe my tongue across my lips, snarling as his filthy bloodclots in the edges of my teeth.

Elian left because I told him to and he would have stayed if I had asked. Hewould have died, perhaps, if I would have let him. But I didn’t. I salvagedsome small part of myself that I forgot existed – a part I was so sure mymother had gutted from me – and I let him go

Elian must have missed anyarteries.

her heir, or simply command theFlesh-Eater to help make her a new one.

The girl he can’t seem to save.“Go,” I tell him.Elian’s eyes harden. Darken. That green disappearing under a whirlpoolof anger. “Being a martyr doesn’t suit you,” he says.“Just go,” I hiss.“I’m not just going to leave you here.”The sound of gunfire pierces the air. And a scream – a roar of fury – soloud that I wince. Elian turns to the doorway. Outside, his crew could bedying. The men and women he calls family marking their lives as forfeit tosave their captain. And for what? For him to surrender his own life to savethe very monster he has been hunting? A girl who has been plotting to stealhis heart from under him? A traitor in every sense of the word.Both of us have put our lives and our kingdoms on the line to find the eyeand overthrow my mother. If nothing else, I won’t stand by and watchsomeone else lose their kingdom just so I won’t be alone when I lose mine.“Elian.” My voice takes on a murderous calm.“I—”“Run!” I scream, and to my surprise, he does.

I stare in disbelief as he tries to pull his hand from therestraints, his left thumb now slack.

“Lira?” His voice is as coarse as sand. He must see blood somewhere – itseems to be everywhere – because the next thing he asks is, “Where are youhurt?”Again, I lick the crack in my lip where Tallis struck me.The blood is warm and bitter.“I’m not.” I angle my face away so he doesn’t see otherwise. “You bledall over me.”Elian’s laugh is more of a scoff. “Charming as ever,” he says.

I whip my head back a secondtoo late, and a blinding pain explodes against my skull.

“Maybe not,” Lira says. “But it was funny.”

Lira pulls out the small dagger she slipped into her boot earlier, and Ipress my back to hers. Rycroft’s shadows surround us, and from the cornerof my eye, I see snipers gather on the quarterdeck. I can take a dozen men,maybe, but even I’m not bulletproof. And Lira, for all the fire that runsthrough her veins, is not invincible.

I smirk and look over at Lira. She blinks, not in shock, but as though sheis considering what he’s saying like a proposition rather than a threat. Ifshe’s scared, she does a good job of hiding it.She lifts her rum from the table with a slow and steady hand. “Just so weunderstand each other,” she says, swirling the goblet indifferently, “I’m nothis lady.”Before I can register the look on Rycroft’s face, Lira lurches forward andthrows the golden liquid straight into his eye. Rycroft lets out an ungodlyhowl, and I jump to my feet, knife drawn as the pirate clutches his facewhere the gold dust slices with every blink

bristle. Rycroft had played the seducer, using a charm conjured fromhell knows where, while I had put my country on the line. He had nothingto lose, so he’d traded nothing. Whereas I had an entire kingdom to lose andI’d offered it at a bargain price. Too caught up in my own crusade to evenstop to think. Pathetic. I was starting to feel really damn pathetic.

The one who started this quest by pointing me in thedirection of the Sea Queens’s weakness.He’s one of the Xaprár.It was Rycroft who sent me after the crystal.

I let a flicker of practiced irritation cross over my features. “Not going tohappen.”

His eyes flicker to Lira and she smiles coyly. I didn’t realize she wascapable of looking coy, but it seems I’ve underestimated her skills of deceit.She wraps a winding piece of hair around her finger, so convincing that I

When Lira runs her tongue over her lips, my hands unclench and theanger seeps from me. Everything she does is sensual, playing her part asperfectly as she can. Or maybe she doesn’t need to act and simply enjoysthe lustful way Rycroft’s teeth scrape his lip when he watches her.