Oh by the Devil, it was painful. It wasn't a muscular pain; it was a splitting headache right down the back of his skull—from what, he had no clue. There was very little he had any clue about, other than the fact that his cell was musty and that his feet were on solid land. He also knew the lock was not easily picked.

The last solid memory Vallin could recall was speaking to Everson about birds on his desk. There had been no birds, apparently. Bates, who was lying facedown in the cell next to Vallin, said it was a Siren attack.

It pissed him off, to say the least. Sirens weren't supposed to be an issue for him; he had a deal. The moment he was able to speak to someone, he was going to ask for the Queen and give her very very limited time for explanation.

Everson said he was out for two days. When Vallin reached up to the side of his head, his fingers came back with dark, dried patches of blood. Miller tried to get a look at him from her cell, but she couldn't reach. He wasn't quite sure how he'd been knocked out or what happened, but his memory gap didn't particularly bother him. His broken deal, though, that irritated him.

He waited for someone to come. As he did, he planned out his conversation with Kretch. He decided he would skip the charm, go straight to confrontational. She was a soft-spoken woman who seemed to be quite fond of Vallin, so he'd make her think he'd lost his patience.

Footsteps came down the call, heavy and unsure. Vallin glanced up, leaning against the front bars of his cell. The crew immediately perked up, but the approaching man wasn't much of anything. He was just a boy—someone any one of them could easily beat, but he was a boy, someone the Siren Queen wouldn't have on her island. This whole thing was just weird.

"Which one of you is Captain Bardarian?" the boy asked to the cells, bright eyes darting.

"Guess," Vallin said.

The boy pursed his lips, moving forward to unlock Vallin's cell. Glancing at Everson, they silently agreed that cooperation was the best idea in this situation. They needed a lay of the land, an understanding of where they were and who was who. He let the boy tie his hands, fighting with his ego to do so.

"Come with me," the boy said, turning around.

Vallin glanced at his crew as he was led down the hallway, footsteps echoing in the musty silence. The was a turn, and then another, and then another. He nearly lost track, but not quite.

The boy led them to a door the same as all the others. It opened to some sort of conference room with tables and chairs. Someone sat at the far end, head down as they wrote something down on a slip of paper. Vallin glanced back at the boy. The woman could be a Siren, and that was so not fair—it was practically cheating. He reconsidered starting the fight now and making a run for it, but the boy was firm on the door behind them before he could decide.

"You can leave, love."

Vallin glanced back at the woman, still writing. That was not the voice of a Siren; it was far too rough. Why would a non-Siren woman be here? Why was this so weird?

Vallin glanced back at the boy, assuming the woman was talking to him. If she was talking to Vallin, maybe this wouldn't be so bad. He took a step forward.

"Not you." She glanced up and tossed the pen down on the table. "I was talking to your escort."

Vallin looked over at her, made the eye contact. She was a new brand of stunning, and it was so bizarrely obvious that he found himself letting out a sputter of laughter.

She leaned back, brilliantly hazel eyes amused. "That's new," she said.

Vallin grinned as his escort left the room. He reached out behind him, hands still bound, and tried the door, but it wouldn't budge. He glanced back at her. "Sirens must hate you," he said.

"Like you wouldn't believe, but the men envy you more." It was whiplike, that response, and it matched the sharpness of her perfectly. Sirens were notoriously beautiful, but they were too unnatural to ever really look human. Vallin's interrogator didn't really have that problem.

"I fear there are more important things to discuss than how unbelievably"—he waved his hand as he searched for the word—"pretty? That doesn't really do it, does it?"

"Exotic," she said.

He snapped his fingers. "That's it. Exotic." Sharp grace, very unique. Exotic. "There are more important things here. I'd like to start by asking for the Siren Queen."

She blinked like this was offensive. "What leads you to believe I'm not her?" She casually crossed her ankle over her thigh, leaning back as she let out a dry laugh. "You've never met me before."

Vallin finished unknotting his rope. He tossed it on the table, walking over to a tall window in the corner. "You're a little young to be queen," he replied, trying the joint of the window.

"You're a little young to be king."

Vallin glanced back at her. In the dull afternoon sunlight, she was ethereal and distracting. He wondered if he could capture her with a drawing.

"You draw?"

He blinked. That was a rare ability, but he'd seen it before. "You're quick," was all he said, turning back to the window.

"I am quick, but you're also right," she said, leaning forward in her chair, watching him examine the room, unphased that he'd found his way out of the bonds. "I'm not the Queen. I do have a rather hefty title to my name, though. You want to hear it?"

Vallin tried to see out the window, but he wasn't tall enough. He reached up to feel the hinge.

"I'm the owner of the Avourienne," she said.

He snapped back around immediately.

"You signed it over to me," she said. "You were unconscious, of course, but it was still your hand—no matter how limp—that held the pen."

Vallin felt his cool manner melting. They stole his ship?

"You want to have a look?" she asked, sliding the paper over to his side of the table. She leaned back again, watching him move the paper forward.

It was the deed to the Avourienne—a fake, copied—but it would pass for the real one in any port, and it was his signature on the line.

Vallin looked up, his nonchalance cracking. "I have a deal with the Siren Queen."

"That's nice. I have a deal with the guy down the hall that he'll bring me the leftover Kapas after they serve them in the mealroom."

He fought with his calm, still on the winning side. "I need to speak with the Queen."

She sighed, rising from the chair. He scanned the curve of her shoulders, those telltale muscles in her legs. She was trained; he could tell from those athletic movements, that breezy confidence.

She made her way to the door. For some reason, she could open it just fine. Was that some kind of spell? She gestured for him to follow her.

Vallin paused, confused as to why she hadn't redone his bonds properly. He tried to find the trap. Was there one? She twirled a key in her hand, holding the door open for him, so he passed by her slowly, noting her height. High centre of gravity, still lean enough for him to win.

She shut the door behind her, then passed by him to lead the way down the hallway again. There was that key in her hand—the same type the boy had unlocked his cell with. If he could get that key, he could let out his crew. He could find his way back to the cells.

Vallin increased the size of his steps, catching up to her. She kept her back to him, no semblance of fear. That unflinching relaxation made him feel like he was missing something. Was he missing something?

She led him down the hall to another door. She footed it open with her leg and in doing so, a muscle above the back of her knee flexed.

That, there—that was a clue. That muscle ran all the way up the back of the thigh, and it allowed for the extraordinarily specific action of boosting the body up when the foot was up above the center of the body. To have that muscle, one had to be extraordinarily flexible and strong, too.

She let him pass through, watching him watch her. She moved through the door after him to latch the lock, giving him a glance of that silver key again.

If he hadn't seen that muscle, he'd already have started the fight. He didn't even have that muscle. In fact, the only time he'd ever seen it that obvious before was on an acrobat that worked for the King.

But he had a chance, here and now, to get that key, and if he didn't try, how would he ever know? Perhaps she was only a circus performer in the end, and she didn't actually have a knowledge of combat. Perhaps he'd been mistaken in seeing it.

His mind whirled. She was probably two-thirds his weight, and this new hallway was a small space, which boiled a fight down to sheer strength.

He had to do it now. As she turned. He had to do it now. His heart stumbled in his chest, desperate for him to move and break this absurd anticipation.

Vallin took a small step towards her as she spun the key in her fingers. She kept her gaze on him, freezing his feet to the floor. She pushed the key into the lock.

Now. Now. But that muscle, it was telling him something.

Finally, when she had to turn the key, she broke their gaze to glance at the lock, and Vallin found the courage to move. He barely had to jump forward in the tiny space as he reached for the key. His fingers touched the lock and his elbow reached out to connect with her side, hoping he could turn her into him. That way, it would be about strength. No tricks.

She sighed. She sighed as she twisted to avoid his arm. She hooked her ankle around his, pulling out his balance but not throwing him. He threw his head backwards, and it made a crack as it connected with her forehead. She spun her foot over his other ankle, drawing out his legs and sending his arms against the door to steady himself. In doing so, he pitched over and ended up tilted. He was about to push off when something came down on his neck, pinning him to the door. He tried to spin, but whatever was on his neck was far too strong. Her arm couldn't be that strong. Her leg, maybe, but how could she get it up there while maintaining its strength?

Vallin twisted and felt the arch of her foot against the curve on his neck. At the same time, her left hand came down on the door next to his face, and her right one covered his on the lock.

"You saw it," she breathed, the words hot on his ear, "and you still put yourself here?" He could feel her shoulder against the back of his, the warmth of her body against his cool skin. She was talking about the muscle. How did she know he'd seen it? What kind of soul seeing was this?

"It's my thing," she said. "The art of the underdog."

The idea of someone being flexible enough to carry out this move was absurd to Vallin, and so was her mind reading, so he felt himself laugh. "I think it's more the art of flexibility." His voice echoed off the wood. "We could do a lot with that."

She didn't laugh, but she also didn't seem like the type of person who laughed or enjoyed a well-crafted innuendo.

"Take your hand off the key," she replied.

Vallin's eyes found the lock, where his hand was over the key, hers covering it. He made the move to pull it away but instead he slid his hand to her wrist, grabbing tightly and spinning it around. She lost her balance and the pressure lifted off his neck. As soon as it did, he turned and tried to catch the other wrist. She ducked under his free arm and pulled her wrist over and around him until she was once again behind. He tried to turn but she wrapped a leg around his torso and sent the two of them crashing back into the door. She held her wrist tight over his shoulder, his arm still attached. She was choking him—with his own arm?

She flipped her hand and caught his wrist once he tried to let go, leaving him stuck.

Vallin sputtered out another laugh. "What the hell?" She was a weapon without a weapon. So not fair, in his opinion.

"I'm starting to think you are the Queen," he said, wrenching his hand from her all at once. He pulled hard enough to break free, and he finally was able to turn around. Now that she had no space to move, he could get her; he was sure. He spun quickly, both hands on her neck. A simple chokehold would come down to strength and nothing else. There would be no circus tricks left to do.

It worked; he got her into the chokehold. He took a deep breath, pressing his thumbs into the carotids on either side of her neck. She was able to get her knee up to his chest as she tried to push him away, but without the full extent of her leg, she couldn't make it work. She pushed hard, her face paling from lack of blood.

Vallin wasn't sure if he could kill her. Well, he could, but he wasn't sure if he should. He'd never found someone with this kind of skill, and he probably needed to find out who she worked for—if there were more like her. Should he kill her? Risk it?

Her hands turned sporadic, the sharp nails of her fingers digging into his arms, leaving little half-moons along his biceps. He held fast despite the blood she was drawing. She reached out to his own neck, but she couldn't quite get around his arms.

Now that he was close, he could see every colour in those fantastic amber eyes. Could he kill something so pretty?

Before he saw her begin to move, she had the key in her hand. She brought it down on one of his arms, ripping through the skin with the sharp rusty metal. He broke away enough for her to bring her foot up properly, and she kicked him as hard as she could. He just managed to keep his balance as he stumbled backwards down the hallway.

"I'm starting to think you're not a king," she said back, closing the distance between them again.

Vallin inspected the cut on his arm. It was long and nasty, blood already spilling from and pooling at the edges. "Do you take something?" he asked, looking over at her, not willing to take a step back. "Some kind of drug?"

"Filler root. I'll get you some."

Vallin laughed. Filler root was poison of the deadliest kind. "You're some sort of half-Siren?" he asked. "Some mixed-race phenomena?"

"We could've done introductions if you hadn't gotten physical." She stopped a few inches from him.

"It usually works for me." He needed a different way out; she was the more skilled fighter, and she hadn't even brought out the knife that he'd felt in her pocket.

"You want to go a little more?" she asked, rolling onto the balls of her feet.

He regarded her carefully. She was quite a few years his junior—maybe in her early twenties. She was far too young to be a new Siren Queen, not counting the fact that she didn't appear to be a Siren at all. By the eyes, sure. But she was too good on her feet.

Vallin stepped to the side, allowing her to lead him down the hallway once more. He followed this time, no intentions of fighting back in the near future. Oh, it was weird.

She turned right down an identical hallway, then left. Vallin tried desperately to remember their path, but he wasn't sure if he could retrace it once that went on for a while. He guessed that was the point.

Finally, she pushed open a door on her right and stepped aside for him.