I quickly shake my head, meeting her eyes again. He shouldn’t be here.
Something flashes across her gaze, and one corner of her mouth lifts into a smile.
“You know how stubborn he is. Not even the sea could hold my brother back from finding you.”
The hunter turns back toward her, his face twisted into a scowl.
“I thought I told you to leave,” he says. His hand settles on the hilt of his knife, the silent warning tense in the air between them. “I won’t sell to your kind.”
Cailia studies him for a moment. She raises her head, her jaw tightening as she meets his eye. There is no fear in her eyes, just the swirling darkness of disgust. “I will give you two hundred gold sovereigns.”
Even the men on the neighboring platforms glance over at that number, their voices faltering. Gold like that can change a whole lot for a simple man like this hunter. It buys ships. It buys lives. Freedom.
Grimsbane lets out a low whistle.
“Generous,” he says, though the word carries no gratitude. His eyes flick over her again, over the clock and the faint shapes beneath it. “But not enough.”
“Three hundred,” she says as though it’s nothing.
“You don’t understand,” he replies with a nasty smirk. “I’m not selling to you.”
When I glance upward, his hand slides lower, below where the rope binds my tail, his dirty fingers reaching for my scales.
“If you lay a hand on her again,” a voice says behind him, “I will cut it off and shove it down your throat.”
The hunter freezes. He turns slowly, the muscles in his face tightening as he searches the crowd behind him.
Nothing.
But I know who that sinister voice belongs to instinctively, and let it wrap around my injured body like thick, sweet honey. With a beating heart, I let my gaze flit over the crowd, searching for the pirate stupid enough to set foot onto the human king’s territory, just for the sake of me. A doomed siren past the point of saving.
I know it’s him by the way he stands. Tall and broad-shouldered, his face hidden beneath the shadow of a cloak pulled below his dark brows.
Then he lifts his head.
Pushes the cloak from his face.
My pulse stutters.
Sable, you stupid, stupid pirate.
When Grimsbane realizes, the confidence drains from his face with his blood.
“You,” he whispers.
Sable does not answer, his gaze remains fixed on the hunter’s hand as it finds my tail, fingers tightening around it where the rope holds it up. He takes slow, deliberate steps towards me. I writhe as he nears, screaming into the cloth for him to be careful.
When the hunter digs his fingers into my flesh, and I cry out with the pain of it. All hell breaks loose. Sable throws the cloak off his body and pulls out his cutlass in one swift movement. His arm moves in a clean, decisive arc, steel flashing once in the lanternlight before cutting through flesh and bone with practiced precision. The hunter’s hand falls away from me, severed so cleanly that for a moment it does not seem to register with him that it is no longer attached.
Blood pours out of the wound in heavy gushes, delighting my siren. His scream tears through the market as he stumbles backward, alerting the men from the nearby stands. They soon surround us. When another hunter lunges toward Sable, he closes the distance in two long strides and raises his blade again. Their weapons collide with a sharp clang, and soon the man grunts under the pressure of Sable’s strength. With the twist of his wrist, he forces the hunter off balance before smacking his head with the handle, sending him crashing into the wooden posts beside the stand.
Around us, the fragile illusion of order collapses with the force of the sudden violence. More men throw back their hoods, revealing faces I know as well as my own.
I recognize Grim first, mainly because of the axe he carries. He frees it from beneath his coat and drives it into the chest of the nearest hunter, the impact forcing him backward off the platform. Nightglass emerges at his side, his blade already dripping with blood, and throws himself into combat with a nearby member of the hunter’s crew.
More men of the Noctis follow, hidden moments ago among merchants and buyers, now step forward with drawn steel. I recognize Nightglass, Match, and even the cook.
They all came for me.