“I wasn’t with them,” I say, avoiding his stare.
“That‘s not what I asked,” he says as his gaze drifts toward the back of my cell, unfocused for a heartbeat, before snapping back to my face. He stands abruptly, the stool scraping across the planks.
“Who,” he takes a deep breath through his nose, then exhales just as slowly, “were those men?”
Biting my lip, I scramble for a plausible explanation he’d buy, but nothing comes to mind.
“Hunters.”
His gaze sharpens.
“Hunting what exactly?”
My breath catches in my throat. At my hesitation, his mouth curves, as if he already got a hold on the mask of lies I’ve carefully crafted and only has to rip it off my face whenever he feels like it.
“What are they hunting?” he presses, stepping closer to the bars.
The ship gives a sudden rise and then drops abruptly, and for the first time, he stumbles on his feet. His eyes flick to the side again, to the empty space near the ladder, searching for something.
“They hunt…various things,” I say and furrow my brows, searching the spot he is staring at.
“Not a good enough answer,” he drawls. He curls his fingers around the iron, as though he needs anchoring.
“You compelled Lark with a humming trick. You have scales scattering that pretty, pale skin of yours. You dare lie to meabout being a witch.” His voice lowers. “What? You thought I wouldn't notice?”
Anger flickers in his eyes before they darken.
“You’re not telling me the truth,” he says, his voice tight.
“I can’t,” I whisper, and even to my own ears it sounds thin.
His mouth presses into a thin line. I can tell he is losing his patience. When he reaches for the lock, I step back, trying to create distance between us. The door opens with a low groan, and he steps inside the cell. My fingers curl at my sides as I measure the space behind me, the wall already too close. There’s only one reason for him to open that door, and that is to drag the truth out of me.
“You truly expect me to believe that?” he says and begins circling me in slow, calculated steps. “That you’re just some harmless witch with a fondness for scales? Surely you’re aware of how ridiculous that sounds.”
I don't dare to move. Don’t even dare to breathe. Of course, he doesn’t believe me. I don’t even believe the lie myself. My teeth press into my tongue as I force my mouth to stay shut, even though every instinct in me screams to run, to bare my teeth, to do something.
“You see, my sister is a sea witch,” he continues, his words a little quieter now. He stops his pacing behind my back, his presence making me shiver. “So I know a whole damn lot about them, and I know for sure they cannot choose their appearance to their liking. My sister would’ve chosen beautiful, glistening scales if she could. But instead she’s stuck in the form of a living reef.”
He continues to circle me.
“So try again,” he says, and comes to a halt.
My heart beats so loudly, I am certain he must hear it, considering how close he is standing in front of me.
“What are you?” he asks and narrows his eyes until they are almost slits. “The code demands a tribunal. But I do not tolerate liars, and I cannot risk having you on board if I don’t know who or what you are. So I suggest you stop lying to me, if you do not wish me to cut off your tongue and feed it to the fish.”
My breathing grows heavy. A pirate tribunal. My father once told me about those things. A crew member once made a mistake, I was not told what it was, and they all voted to decide his fate. He was abandoned on a little island in the middle of the sea. Grim wasn’t lying when he said the captain isn’t in a good mood. I remember the words of the ghost— that I should tell him the truth. Despite this, I consider lying again, of inventing something else, making something new up to further hide the truth. But I know he would pull away every thread of my lie, until the fabric came apart in his hands.
“I am—“ My throat closes around the word.
He waits and widens his stance, like a man bracing for impact. He already knows what I am. I can see it in the way he watches me with intent, like he’s only waiting for me to confirm. If I say it, there’s no taking back. No pretending. My tongue feels heavy in my mouth, as speaking it out loud might be the moment the ground gives way beneath my feet.
“I am a siren.”
Chapter Seven
Myconfessionisamere whisper, but still loud enough for him to hear. A tear slips from the brimming pool of my eye, wetting my cheek.