Chapter Ten

Winter opened his eyes. It was deep night, the cabin dark except the moonlight coming through the porthole.

They had left Minsk, glad to be back at sea with Soule, keeping a wary eye out for The Mockery, sailing north up the trade route. They would meet Lowen in Caska, the older Siblin still dropping off his cargo.

Winter glanced at Soule’s face, only seeing it partly, a soft rounded cheek, her lips parted, breathing. He glanced out of the porthole, wondering what had woken him.

His back was suddenly prickling, a wave of awareness going through him. He and Isidor had spent all their lives on board a ship, walking a deck as soon as they could walk, and most of their adult lives on this one. They knew The Singsong’s motions, knew how she moved in the water. He didn’t hear anything, but he could feel it, could feel her listing too far to one side in her rocking, feel a smallest vibrations that shouldn’t be there.

It could be so many things. A strong current. A sea animal passing under them. A patch of seagrass. But Isidor’s eyes opened. They met his.

The Singsong was being boarded.

Winter rolled out of bed, his hand going to his knife, not bothering with pants, drawing it. Isidor was doing the same on the other side of the bed. Isidor leaned and put his hand over Soule’s mouth. She woke with a startle.

Winter waited while Isidor pulled her dress on.

“Stay here,” he heard Isidor whisper to her. “Lock the door behind us.”

There were no pirates in these waters. Havish and Leet, most likely. Winter turned the handle of the door, slipping out low and quiet, Isidor just as stealthy, both of them naked, both with their knives out. Isidor closed it behind himself, noiseless. They waited. Isidor tried the door. She’d locked it. They split up, Isidor going aft, Winter going fore.

Winter had just passed the wheel, well out of the light of the single lantern that hung there, moving through the shadows, when chaos broke out behind him. Isidor. Winter ran, coming in low, seeing Isidor grappling with a man.

Winter crashed into the figure, twisting, wrapping his arm around the man’s neck, his knife in his other hand, the man going with him, strong, trying to pin him against the rail behind them. The man stopped Winter’s wrist, fast, in the arc of Winter’s knife to his belly. They locked, neither able to move the other, the point of Winter’s knife wavering only a small space from his gut.

Winter saw a flash in his side vision, red hair. Soule, out of the cabin.

“Stop,” she said, and then louder. “Stop! He says he wants you to stop! Winter!”

Winter was still locked with the man, who he realized was also naked.

“It’s a pervert pirate,” Isidor said happily, striding forward and putting his knife to the man’s throat, the blade sideways, the man going still.

“Drop your hand or my brother will cut your throat,” Winter grunted in Malanan, still struggling with him.

Winter repeated it in Caskian, Alverian, and then Dorsan.

That was the one that did it. Dorsan. The man nodded shallow, slowly released his hold on the knife. Winter pulled back and pushed him away as Isidor stepped sideways, the man catching himself and turning, getting distance, he and Isidor getting in between the man and Soule.

“He’s talking to you?” Winter asked Soule behind him, still breathing hard, shoulder-to-shoulder with Isidor, both their knives out.

“In my mind,” Soule answered.

She gasped, sounding like she was in pain.

“Soule!” Isidor said, turning and going to her.

“It’s gone,” Soule said, relief in her voice, fear.

The man came forward a little, leaning to see her. Winter got in his path, looking at the stranger. He was big, black hair in small braids to the middle of his back, strong features, fierce, very light eyes. Those eyes. They were the color of Soule’s eyes.

He wasn’t looking at Winter. He was still trying to see Soule.

“Yes,” Soule said to nobody in Siblin, sounding surprised. “Yes.”

The man took a couple of quick steps toward her. Isidor was back at Winter’s side in a moment, blocking his way. The man stopped.

“I don’t understand,” Soule said, her voice tense, and then louder. “I don’t understand.”

“Don’t do that to her anymore!” Isidor shouted at the man in Dorsan.

The man looked surprised, looking at Isidor, opening his mouth, speaking in Dorsan.

“I’m looking for her,” he said. “You understand?”

“Who are you?” Winter demanded in Dorsan.

“Kell,” he said, pointing to himself.

“What the fuck are you doing on our ship? What do you want with Soule?” Isidor said in Dorsan, not relaxing his stance.

“She is my sister,” Kell said, looking at her.

Winter blinked at him, both of them straightening.

“What?”

“Sister,” Kell repeated.

“What did he say?” Soule asked, not speaking Dorsan.

“He says you’re his sister,” Isidor said in Siblin, staring at the man’s ears that showed when he leaned more, at the peaked tips. “He’s a siren.”

#

They were all on the deck, dawn just breaking. Soule was sitting between Winter and Isidor, who had dressed, Winter bringing a set of pants from the cabin for the man, who had put them on. Kell was across from them, also sitting against the bulwark. He seemed fascinated with Soule, who was just as interested in him. She kept glancing at him, looking away when he looked at her.

He and Isidor could see better now, the man looking them over as well. He had a kind of rope harness across his chest with a pouch attached, the bag looking strange, shiny. His hair in the braids swayed whenever he moved like it was a little alive. Winter looked more closely. There was a strange quality to his skin as well, showing now that the light was stronger, also shiny.

Isidor leaned over to Winter, speaking in Siblin, Kell eyeing them.

“We’re in open sea, Winter. Where the fuck is his boat?”

Winter turned to Kell.

“Where’s your ship?” he said in Dorsan.

He was surprised when Kell laughed, a deep sound, deeper than theirs. When he did, his upper canines appeared. His teeth were long, sharp and pointed, the teeth of a predator. Isidor spotted it too. Winter’s eyebrows went up. Evidently the man was strongly inclined to peace, considering he could have bitten Winter when they were fighting.

“I don’t have a ship,” Kell responded.

Winter eyed him. Kell gestured.

“I want to talk to Soule,” the siren said.

“It hurts her,” Isidor retorted.

“I will talk to her slowly,” Kell said. “It doesn’t hurt. It’s just new.”

Winter narrowed his eyes at the siren.

“We’ll ask her if she wants to,” Winter said. “And we’ll ask her what you say. And you stop if it hurts her.”

Kell eyed him, obviously curious. He nodded, agreeing. Winter looked down at Soule, who was following the exchange in Dorsan, which she couldn’t understand, with her eyes. He touched her cheek, caressing, her skin soft.

“His name is Kell. He says he wants to talk to you more in your mind,” Winter told her in Siblin. “We’ve said we’d ask you, and that we’d be asking you what he says, if you’ll tell us. We can’t speak your language, Soule.”

Isidor touched her cheek on the other side of her. She turned to him, his fingers also caressing.

“He’s agreed to stop if it hurts you,” Isidor said. “Do you want this, my beauty?”

She nodded. Winter looked up. The man was watching them closely, his eyes shifting between Winter and Isidor.

“Wife,” Kell said in Dorsan, gesturing to Soule and then looking between them, making a which one? motion.

“Anthata,” Winter said, giving the Siblin word and then switching to Dorsan. “Soule is our anthata. We’re Siblin. I’m Winter. That’s Isidor.”

“Anthata?” Kell said, his eyes still shifting between them.

In case there was any confusion, Winter turned to Soule, who looked up at him. He kissed her mouth gently, her lips soft. She turned to Isidor, who did the same.

“Anthata,” Winter said to Kell.

The man’s brows had gone way up.

“Both?”

“Yes,” Winter replied, Isidor nodding. “We’re Siblin.”

The man looked down, grinning, glancing at Soule briefly, giving a chuff of laughter, finding something funny. He finally sobered, looking at them, curious.

“You are...friends?” Kell asked Winter.

The man had no idea what Siblin were, obviously had no experience with their people.

“We’re brothers,” Winter said.

The man’s brows went up again.

“You have the same mother and father?”

“We had the same mother and the same two fathers,” Winter replied, letting the man work that out.

It didn’t take Kell long. He looked interested.

“All Siblin are like this?”

Winter nodded. The man was studying him. His eyes shifted to Soule.

“Yes,” Soule said a moment later. “Yes.”

“What did he say, Soule?” Isidor asked her right away.

She looked at him. Her eyes went up, translating.

“He asks if I understand,” she said. “And if I want this, if I’m with you by my choice.”

“The Dorsan word for yes is dis. For now it is stah,” Isidor told her.

Soule looked back at the man.

“Dis,” she said. “Dis.”

Her eyes unfocused. She shook her head at him. She turned to Isidor.

“He asks where I’ve been, but I can’t answer him. I don’t know how.”

Isidor turned to Kell, speaking in Dorsan.

“She understands you’re asking where she’s been, but she says she can’t answer you. She says she doesn’t know how.”

Kell studied Soule now.

“She knew once. She will remember,” he said. “I want to greet her.”

Winter was wary. He glanced at Isidor. Kell leaned forward, looking fierce.

“I have looked for Soule for years,” he said. “I am her brother.”

“We don’t mean to offend you,” Isidor replied. “And it’s her choice. But we don’t know you. Soule doesn’t remember you. Just because you say you’re her brother doesn’t mean she’s safe with you.”

Kell looked away, thinking about that. He finally nodded.

“I’m not offended,” he said. “You are protecting her.”

“What’s he saying?” Soule said in Siblin.

“He says you’ll remember how to talk like a siren because you knew once,” Winter answered. “He says he wants to greet you. We’ve said we don’t know him and we’re not sure you’re safe with him. He said he’s not offended because he knows we’re protecting you. Do you want to?”

“I want to,” she said immediately.

Winter turned to Kell.

“She says she wants to greet you.”

Kell’s eyes shifted between them.

“You will allow it?” Kell said.

Isidor made a face, Winter frowning.

“It’s her choice,” Winter repeated.

“She’s not a child,” Isidor said.

Kell looked between them, looking curious again. He got up and all of them did. Soule walked forward a little, looking at his face. Kell approached her slowly but he got close, looking down at her, his eyes roaming her features.

He reached and touched her hair, a small smile coming to his mouth. He began looking her over, tilting her chin, turning her face and looking at her ears, his mouth quirking, taking her hands and spreading her arms, looking down at her, touching her cheek, looking at her hands. He finally looked in her eyes.

“Soule,” he said.

#

That night, Winter offered Kell a place to sleep in the hold, but he refused. The next morning, he tried to teach Soule to talk to him. Soule got better at understanding him, not as overwhelmed, but she couldn’t seem to speak to him unless she sang aloud, subjecting himself and Isidor to a complex one-sided conversation in images and feelings, much of it about themselves as she answered questions, some of it a little personal without her meaning to and no way not to listen in.

Mostly she was just difficult to understand. Kell seemed to have the same difficulty, but he was patient with her.

Once they were underway, Isidor went and got his cavash and sat down next to Kell, looking at him. Winter watched from the helm.

“Winter and I want to know how you got to us in open water without a ship,” Isidor said bluntly in Dorsan.

Kell nodded and got up. Without any warning, he pulled the string of his pants, letting them fall, and jumped onto the rail naked. He dove, clean and true and far, straight out from The Singsong and into the sea.

“Back the sails,” Winter said to Isidor as Soule cried out, going to the rail and looking for him, Isidor running, grabbing lines, spilling their wind.

They were finally dead in the water, Isidor getting the glass, pointing it back the way they had come, looking at their wake, a great deal of water between where Kell had gone in and where they were now.

“Port side,” Winter said, pointing, Isidor joining him, Soule on his heels.

Kell was in the water, appearing to be fine, just his shoulders and head, dark braids that didn’t even appear wet. Seeing him, Soule sang something out and in a flash it was in their minds, a whole complex sense of a person, Kell’s face, a series of fast images, completely unique, a sense of someone. Kell grinned at her, looking delighted, obviously the man’s name.

“How did you catch up to the fucking ship?” Isidor yelled in Dorsan.

“I swam to the fucking ship,” Kell gave back.

And he and Isidor watched as Kell dove slowly, tall black arced spines rising out of the water from his back, and a great big fat tail somewhat like a dolphin’s rose out of the water behind him instead of legs, a dark silver smooth powerful thick shape. And there it was.

Winter and Isidor turned and looked at Soule, the question occurring to both of them at the same time. They’d never seen her in the sea. Next to it. In a boat on it. In fresh water. But never in Sága. Isidor came close to Soule, looking her down and up, smiling lazily, slipping his hand around her waist and drawing her to him, her hands going to his chest, her eyes pulled from Kell.

“Will your bottom half turn into a fish if I put you in the seawater, my beauty?” Isidor asked her, licking his lower lip salaciously, the villain. “And if so, will you show me where to put my prick?”

Winter’s mouth quirked. Soule looked at Isidor for a full moment and then began laughing, a long series of husky giggles, pulling back from him, Isidor grinning to hear it, her shoulders shaking.

“I don’t have a tail,” she said when she could.

“How do you know you don’t,” Isidor said, his hand moving to her ass, groping her.

“Because I’ve been swimming in the sea before,” she answered.

“She doesn’t have his hair or his skin either, Isidor,” Winter observed. “Or the gills.”

Isidor and Winter glanced at each other, Isidor sighing lightly. They were a little disappointed about the tail. She saw it. Soule frowned, looking indignantly at Isidor, her gaze shifting to himself. Winter shrugged a little with one shoulder.

“We were just curious, Soule,” Winter said, gesturing.

“I love your hair the way that it is,” Isidor added.

But that didn’t seem to please her either. Winter glanced at Isidor. He was better at this kind of thing, Isidor giving him a small grimace in return. Isidor took the direct approach to soothing their anthata’s ruffled feelings, pulling her closer again, trying to kiss her. Soule turned her mouth to the side a little at the last moment, Isidor getting her cheek, glancing sidelong at him as he pulled away.

That glance. Winter’s eyes narrowed. She wasn’t offended. She was such a handful. Winter felt a wave of desire, his body relaxing, seeing Isidor putting it together just as fast. Isidor turned and leaned back on the rail beside her, casual, as Winter trapped her against it, a hand on each side of her. Winter leaned in.

“Turn around and lift your dress and put your hands on the rail, Anthata,” he said.

“What about—?” she protested too innocently.

Soule looked around for Kell, not seeing him. Winter thought her brother was in the water and likely to stay there. He didn’t seem stupid. Soule turned to the rail, putting her hands on her dress, looking over her shoulder at them as Winter stepped back to look at her. She gave them a long honey glance and nothing else. They waited, Winter’s excitement rising.

“You’re making it worse for yourself,” Winter said, seeing how far she wanted them to go.

Soule began raising her dress slowly, still looking at them over her shoulder. She stopped at the top of her thighs, her glance teasing, long lashes.

“Can’t we go to the cabin?” she said, inching it up a little, showing them just the curve of her round ass, both their eyes there.

Winter slanted his eyes at Isidor. Isidor’s smile was slow, full of promise. Soule saw it and shivered hard, raising the dress high, sticking her little round butt out at them, arching, spreading her legs a little, offering her pink pussy.

Both of them stared at her cunt, those puffy lips. Winter came and ran his hand over her ass, her round firm cheeks. He rubbed her ass and smacked her once, enjoying it, stepping back, Isidor coming and taking her hand.

“Yes, let’s go to the cabin, Anthata,” Isidor said.

#

Winter came out of the cabin awhile later, going down to the galley and making himself some more cavash. He brought it up, deciding there was nothing urgent that needed doing today, The Singsong already dead in the water. They could relax. He sat on the quarterdeck looking out to sea, thinking about his anthata in ways that were filthy and that occupied a great deal of his thoughts on a daily basis, especially while steering the ship, watching her. Plotting, really.

The Singsong swayed like she shouldn’t and up the ladder on the gangplank came Kell, seeing him, his eyes acknowledging, naked. He went to his pants where he’d left them and put them on. He didn’t even look wet.

Winter got up and went down the stairs, walking across the deck and going down the steps into the hold, getting the empty barrel there and heaving it. He got it halfway up the stairs when Kell arrived, helping him carry it the rest, Winter nodding his thanks. Winter brushed off the top of the barrel and walked into the cabin, not disturbing them, and came out with two chairs, going down to the hold and getting a third. He went and got the waxed cards and brought them out, setting them on the table along with Dorsan wine. He sat.

Kell was watching him. After a moment, Kell came and sat down in one of the chairs across from him, looking at him. Winter handed him the wine skin. Kell opened it, sniffing. He nodded, upending it into his mouth.

“Good,” Kell said approvingly, swallowing.

He handed it to Winter, who took it. Winter brought out the cards.

“Do you want to play Met with Isidor and me?” Winter proposed. “It’s a game. It’s meant for gambling but it doesn’t have to be.”

“I’ve seen cards but these symbols aren’t the same,” Kell said.

“They’re Siblin cards,” Winter said, taking up the wine skin and pouring some in his mouth, passing it. “You learned numbers in Dorsan?”

Kell nodded. Winter laid them out in order and named them off in Dorsan. The man’s eyes followed. He’d remember.

“How did you learn Dorsan?” Winter asked as he dealt them out.

“I boarded a ship on open sea with the men there and wouldn’t let them leave until they taught me,” Kell answered.

Winter snorted.

“You kidnapped Dorsan traders?”

Kell nodded.

“I didn’t know there were so many different languages. They were rude, disgusting people.”

“Dorsan traders are pricks,” Winter agreed, upending the wine skin, passing it again.

Siblin were lifelong travelers, moving fluidly among cultures, much of their livelihood depending on their ability not to startle local people, to respect their customs so trade went smoothly, to learn their language and their ways and not to judge too much.

The best way to get to know somebody else was to invite them to play. It didn’t matter what. All over the world, people loved a good game. And stories. Everybody loved stories.

Winter explained the rules, what you wanted, how to get there. Her brother was quick. He talked about as much as Soule did. The cabin door opened, Isidor coming out. Winter got up, passing him, handing him the wine skin, Isidor taking it and sitting down.

“Where are we?” he heard Isidor say.

“Ready for the first round,” Winter called, opening the cabin door, closing it behind himself.

Winter looked at the bed, pulling off his boots, his shirt. Soule was on her back, completely bound in rope, her legs tied open and bent at the knees, her tits with rope crossing them, jutting them out, her arms behind her. She couldn’t move at all. She wasn’t just gagged. They’d put another cloth over her mouth so she couldn’t make any noise, her red hair all around her. She was blindfolded.

Winter got on the bed and pulled his pants down, finding her and shoving his cock in her tight cunt, grunting. She was ready, slick and swollen. She couldn’t make any noise, couldn’t move. He worked himself into her, the sensations exquisite, beginning to fuck her in long strokes.

“We’re going to keep you here for a time, little siren,” Winter said, grunting, going slow.

She felt so good. He enjoyed her a little longer and then reluctantly pulled out. She was too close. She couldn’t react by sound or movement, but her body told him plenty, flushed and slick and quivering. Isidor had been going at her hard, tormenting her like only Isidor could. Winter touched her pussy, spreading her inner lips, seeing her clit so swollen it was dark red, a surge going through him. Yes, Isidor had been busy.

Winter gaze traveled up her to her tits, lowering himself and tasting them. He loved her tits, loved her big red nipples. They were swollen from the binding a little but her nipples were untouched. Winter grinned, leaning down and sucking one gently, Soule unable to respond. He moved to the other, biting and tugging, bringing his fingers in and squeezing, sometimes pinching. He made himself stop, her nipples swollen and much more red. He moved back down between her legs.

Winter touched her clit, rubbing gently. Soule couldn’t even squirm. They’d never tied her so completely before. She liked it, if the amount of slick coming out of her was any indication. He checked her hands periodically. She could tell them if she wanted them to stop. Winter gathered her slick, swirling more, and brought it to her little ass, pressing against her hole, entering her with his finger. They’d been preparing her.

He knew what was under there, how she was reacting. Her pussy was twitching and pulsing. He stretched his thumb up, rubbing her clit, still fucking her ass with his finger, enjoying himself as she strained, stopping his thumb, still fucking her ass. He withdrew his fingers from her and put his cock in her, fucking her some more for the pleasure of it, pulling out when she got too close.

Winter withdrew from her, washing himself in the basin, his hands, drying them, putting on his shirt and tightening the string on his pants, leaving his boots off and going barefoot. He left his shirt untucked over his pants to hide his cock. He went out the cabin door, closing it, Isidor getting up and passing him, handing him the wine skin.

Winter sat down, taking up Isidor’s cards.

“Who’s turn is it?” he said.

#

Isidor closed the cabin door, smiling when he saw her tits, her nipples bright red. Winter had appreciated his gift. That was good, because Isidor wasn’t done with her little pussy. He undressed. He wanted her so ready. Isidor got on his knees between her legs, watching her pussy, not touching her.

“I’m back, my beauty,” he said.

Her pussy pulsed at his voice. Isidor slowly smiled, touching the skin around her entrance, making his way inward, entering her with two fingers carefully, knowing how needy she was.

He followed with his cock, penetrating her and withdrawing slowly, pumping into her. He pulled out, his hand going to his cock, stroking himself with her slick. He pressed all around her hood until she was completely distended and brought his lips down gently, taking the tenderness into his mouth and sucking for a moment, stopping, working himself, touching her again.

When he was ready, Isidor knelt between her legs and pushed his cock in her slowly, all her tightness, until he was seated in her. He leaned back and pumped his hips, long slow strokes, spreading her pussy lips with his thumbs and holding them open, touching her clit. She pulsed on him, clamping. Close, she was close. Isidor withdrew his hand, leaning back, continuing to enter her achingly slow, disappearing into her and pulling out, watching it.

Isidor brought his hand down to his cock, excited, her slick plenty to work with, pulling out and stroking himself and plunging back into her, not enough to make her climax, his own need rising. He grunted, swirling his hand around the head of his cock, pumping himself and plunging into her again. Each time he did, her little pussy took him and spasmed with need, trying to keep him there, the sensations incredible. He held off, enjoying the anticipation, enjoying the bound beauty under him.

“I’m going to come in you now,” Isidor grunted, excited, stroking himself fast.

He entered her and this time he didn’t pull out, fucking her rough, the pleasure keen. She went up fast but he was ready for it, a wave of exquisite pleasure washing over him, his cock flexing, releasing, clenching his teeth not to cry out, her hot little cunt so greedy, rippling.

His breath choked out, not voicing his pleasure as it took him, difficult, pulling out and thrusting his hips, releasing. He pulled out and thrust hard in again, closing his eyes, feeling her clutching at him, but it wasn’t enough to tip her over, a delicate balance. Isidor grinned as he pushed into her once more, grunting it was so good, his cock emptying into his anthata, his eyes closing.

Isidor opened his eyes, panting, his body awash in warmth, relaxed. He could fuck her all day, every day. Isidor withdrew from her slowly she was so on edge. Isidor leaned over her pussy and blew air on her clit, watching her swell and twitch. She was ready. He grinned, getting up and washing himself in the basin, drying his hands, getting dressed.

Isidor came out, Winter getting up and passing him.

“More wine,” Winter said to him, handing him the skin.

Isidor opened the hatch, going down to the hold, coming back in a moment with a full wine skin. He brought it back, upending it, handing it to Kell.

“Am I winning?” Isidor asked Kell, looking at the cards, the board.

#

Winter stepped into the cabin, closing the door, pulling off his shirt and pants. He got on the bed over Soule, caging her form, looking at her for a nice long time, savoring it, knowing she knew he was there. Isidor had released in her, exciting him more. He leaned down, speaking soft in her ear.

“I’m going to take my time, and you’ll still take me after. Get ready.”

Winter stayed on his knees, entering her slowly, feeling every bit of his cock as he slipped into her wet, tight heat. He closed his eyes to feel it even more, every thrust better than the last. Whenever he felt her strain, he would stop, difficult, then begin again, holding off his own pleasure as well.

He finally pulled out altogether, his pleasure close, reaching for her nipples and squeezing them both at once, tugging and tormenting them, waiting for it to back off.

When he was ready, he plunged into her again, fucking her hard, rough, letting himself go, losing control completely, feeling the relief of it. He felt her pussy dragging and pulsing on him. She wasn’t going to last long at all.

Her whole body went rigid, her pussy clamping on him.

“Fuck,” he bit out.

Winter grunting, loving it when his anthata came on his cock, feeling her strain so hard it almost hurt, rippling all down his length as he increased his thrusts. He pinched her nipples again, feeling her come harder around him, taking him and drawing him deep. She was still coming. Winter continued his thrusts as she finally began to pulse on him, more pleasure on his cock.

Lust shot through him when her pulses stopped, knowing just how sensitive she was. He loved to do this, fucking her harder. He backed off onto his knees and spread her pussy lips, thumbing her clit roughly, still thrusting.

“I know,” Winter soothed her, knowing what was happening under there, thrusting into her viciously, rubbing her clit, a hard red nub under his thumb.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t voice any of it. She could only feel it. Winter finally took his weight on his hands, his pleasure rising sharply, propping himself on his arms, grunting with every one. He leaned down and bit one nipple and then the other, tugging with his teeth. He felt it begin, drawing his head back, his eyes closing, delicious.

“Good girl,” Winter breathed.

He began to come as Soule climaxed again. Winter clenched his teeth not to voice it, his face contorting with pleasure.

#

Isidor picked up a card, grimacing at it, slapping it down.

“What’s gambling?” Kell asked him.

Isidor looked up at him and smirked.

“When you lose you pay the person who won however much money you bet when you started,” Isidor answered.

It was Kell’s turn now. He only let one card go.

“This is Winter’s fault,” Isidor muttered, putting three cards in.

Kell smiled, laying his cards out, Isidor making a face at him.

“There you go, and if we were gambling you would have taken my money, but we’re not,” Isidor said.

“We play for money now,” Kell proposed, taking up the cards.

“You have some?” Isidor said casually.

Kell gave him a glance, one side of his mouth smiling, his eyes saying he wasn’t fooled.

“You both lost on purpose so I would want to gamble,” the man observed.

Isidor grinned at him, shrugging.

“You pretended you didn’t know what gambling was,” Isidor observed in turn.

Kell gave him a much more sincere smile, laughing a little. He nodded.

“Sirens have money?” Isidor said.

To his surprise, Kell reached into the small pouch harnessed to his chest, picking through it and tossing a coin onto the table. Isidor picked it up, looking at it. A simple design, a hole in the center, no embossing.

“Gold composite,” Isidor said, looking at it closely. “What is its value?”

Kell shrugged, shaking his head.

“Would this buy a great deal where you’re from or only a little?” Isidor asked him, holding it up.

Kell thought about it.

“Food for two people for three days,” he answered.

Isidor’s eyebrows went up.

“The yellow metal Dorsans call amatis. It’s worth more here. That coin would buy, depending..,” Isidor thought about it, his eyes going up, “food for two people for thirty days.”

Kell eyebrows went up as Isidor handed the coin back to him, Kell smiling a little ruefully.

“The Dorsans were happy when I gave them coins when I left,” Kell remarked. “More friendly.”

“I imagine they were,” Isidor said, laughing, dealing the cards again.

Winter came out of the cabin behind them, going down the hatch to the hold and coming out again. Isidor handed him the wine skin when Winter arrived.

“Are we gambling yet?” Winter asked him.

#

Soule came out in awhile, looking so pretty in her linen pants and shirt, her hair braided, almost glowing with health, her cheeks flushed, her hair shiny and sleek. It sent a wave through Isidor to see it. She was a little shy. She came straight to Isidor, who set down his cards and pulled her onto his lap, kissing her.

“Are you well, my beauty?” Isidor said in Siblin, though he knew she was.

She nodded, smiling up at him so he had to kiss her again and take his time. She got off his lap and went to Winter, Isidor picking his cards up.

“Are you hungry, little siren?” Winter asked her in Siblin, his hand going to her waist, tugging her braid down to kiss her. “I can cook you something.”

“I’ll make something,” she said, turning and running lightly to the stairs and disappearing, all of them turning to watch her go and then going back to the game.

“Soule is young. She needs you,” Kell said.

“She told us,” Winter replied, taking a card. “We feed her.”

Kell nodded, looking a little relieved.

“Siblin women are like this?”

Isidor shook his head.

“Siblin don’t have girl children,” Winter answered. “Or anthatas only give birth to twin boys.”

Kell reared his head back, surprised.

“There are no Siblin females?”

“The women who become our anthatas are made Siblin through the ritual. It doesn’t matter what they were before,” Isidor answered, discarding, taking the wine from Kell, passing it to Winter, who drank. “Soule is Siblin even if she is a siren. She’s in our Ledger for our people.”

“Why do you call us the word siren?”

“We don’t. That’s a Dorsan word. The word in Siblin for Soule is sparine. Alverians call her a teltsie, Luterians call her a morlea, Veshtans a lisestra, Caskians a thalki. Siren is the word for a female of your people,” Winter answered, passing the wine to Kell. “There’s older stories of your men, but people thought you were a myth. Dorsans called you tritons, for the other form you have, for your tail that comes in the water.”

Kell was staring at him. He frowned.

“Why do so many people have names for our women?” Kell said.

“There’s another siren,” Winter answered.

Kell set down his cards face down, staring. They set theirs down as well, leaning back, Isidor crossing his arms across his chest, in it now.

“Another siren besides Soule is here in your territory?” Kell confirmed carefully.

“Siblin are traders, travelers,” Isidor answered. “We don’t have territory. The siren is by our trade route on the black rocks.”

“Black rocks?” Kell said immediately.

“Yes,” Winter said, Isidor nodding.

Kell reached into his pouch, pulling out a piece of charcoal, looking excited. Isidor wanted to know what that bag was made of that it kept something like that dry in the water. Kell pushed his cards aside and made marks directly onto the barrel top. A long tall thin arch. Winter nodded.

“You know where that is?” Kell said intensely.

“That’s the Brecca Straight,” Isidor answered. “That’s where the other siren is. She kills men.”

Kell stared at him.

“Kills them?” Kell said incredulously. “What do you mean?”

“She sings to them,” Winter said.

Kell waited.

“Why does that kill them?” he asked, still not understanding. Then Kell seemed to realize, looking alarmed. “She sings men to madness?”

“Yes. Who is she? What is she?” Isidor asked, leaning forward. “She isn’t like Soule. Soule says her mind is asleep.”

Kell looked disappointed. He winced.

“I don’t know who she was, but I think I know what she is. It’s rare for my people, a kind of illness in the mind. If one of our women loses the one she has chosen when she is young, not yet able to control her hunger, sometimes she can go mad. The woman on the rocks is probably what you would call...,” Kell said, looking up, recalling the Dorsan word, “a widow. She won’t take from another. She’s starving but she doesn’t die. She is dangerous to any male she meets, driving them mad with her need. She can’t be helped or saved. She suffers. My people don’t allow a widow to live, for....to be kind.”

“For mercy,” Winter supplied.

“Mercy,” Kell repeated, nodding.

Winter looked at him flatly.

“Siblin don’t remember other sirens. We thought all sirens were like her. And not just Siblin. All through the world, people talk about your women. People think they’re monsters that seduce men and eat their flesh.”

Kell made a disgusted face, shaking his head.

“This widow is sick, mad with grief, but she doesn’t eat men’s flesh.”

Winter got up and went into their cabin, coming out with a book. He set it in front of Kell, opening to a page, pointing. The black and white ink illustration showed a nest of sirens singing, sharp teeth, one tearing into the guts of a sailor, other dead men on the rocks. Kell looked shocked.

“Your people are feared and hated throughout the world because of this woman,” Winter said bluntly. “We almost killed Soule when we met her. Nobody realized there was only one siren in the straight. We believed they were all like that, that your women were predators, hunters. When we found Soule, we thought she was mindless, a killer.”

Her brother had gone very still. Kell’s eyes were searching Winter’s face. Winter leaned forward.

“Your widow is here,” Winter said. “She’s been here for over two hundred years singing to sailors, to Siblin. We have families on board, you understand? Not just men. Women and children. She sings to ships and our people die.”

“This woman is singing to whole ships?” Kell said, appalled.

“The mouth of the Brecca Straight is a graveyard,” Isidor confirmed.

Kell rubbed his eyes with his fingers, looking ill.

“We didn’t know,” Kell said. “My people don’t leave our island.”

“Would her song affect you?” Winter asked him.

Kell nodded.

“She is dangerous to all men. Soule could get near her, but I don’t think Soule would bite to kill unless this woman were singing to you. I’m afraid the widow would hurt her.”

Winter was staring at him, Isidor was.

“Bite?” Winter said.

“With what?” Isidor said.

They all turned to look as Soule came up from the galley, looking so pretty in her braid, pink in her cheeks. She slowed, taking in their stares.