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Sirens are creatures whose sole existence depends on enchanting men. I can switch over to that nature effortlessly, but I loathe it. I don’t feel like myself.
I live on the cusp of two worlds, trying desperately to fit into one.
Heads turn as I exit Riden’s quarters. I pretend not to notice. “Where would you like me?” I ask Riden. My voice has softened, taking on an almost musical tone. But I’m not enchanting anyone with my voice. I can’t control more than three at a time. It wouldn’t do me any good on a ship with so many men, even if I had enough song in me. Probably shouldn’t have put so much into Riden the other night, but I couldn’t resist once I’d started.
Riden’s mouth drops open after I speak. He looks at me as though he’s never seen me before. In a way, I suppose he hasn’t. My appearance hasn’t changed at all, only the way I hold myself. The way I act, speak, move. I’ve taken on my siren nature, and while I look the same, the men can still tell something is different, and it piques their interest.
“What’s going on? Why has everyone stopped—” Draxen now looks my way. For a moment he is caught like everyone else. I lock eyes with him. Showing my interest in the subtlest of ways. He shakes his head as though catching himself out of some sort of daze. “Get back to work or there will be lashings for everyone. Riden, what is she doing on my deck?”
Riden, too, shakes himself out of the momentary stupor. “She’s opted to work on the deck rather than rot in my quarters. I think she’s getting a bit restless, Captain.”
Draxen eyes me carefully. I give him a gentle smile that makes him swallow before speaking. “Did the chains make you change your mind, then,princess?”
“Yes, Captain.” No sarcasm. Just sincerity. And innocence. Submissiveness. I try not to cringe as the word enters my mind. Horrid word, that one. But it is what I must be if this is to work. For my father, I’m willing to become everything that I hate.
Riden and Draxen both pause as though they’re waiting for me to say more. Ah, they’re waiting for the smart comment that is sure to follow. Let them wait. Siren Alosa is the promise of a man’s fantasy. Right now I’m tuned into Draxen, trying to become his.
Riden turns to Draxen as though he will have some sort of answer for my behavior. If I weren’t so in tune with my role, I would laugh.
Draxen is seeing me anew. He sees my weakness as his strength. I am something to be dominated. Something to be controlled. Draxen likes corrupting innocence. I’m hardly innocent. I’ve killed far too many men to ever be thought of as that, but it’s all about perception.
A light red of interest hangs over the captain’s shoulders. It’s battling with the orange of indifference. Good.
And Riden—I turn toward him, reading his desires. He is not nearly as captivated by this form. Riden likes a challenge. He likes games. I’m not nearly as compelling for him like this. Interesting. Might make the deception more difficult, though. Currently, he’s surrounded by blue. Blue is confusion.
I’ve spent years trying to understand the meanings of the colors I see. I’ve had to ask pirates what they’re feeling when I’m like this, so I can associate words with what I see. It’s difficult, because people are less inclined to talk when they’re deep in emotion. But I’ve managed to fill in the gaps.
I wait silently. The embodiment of patience and tolerance.
Riden looks as though he’s about to fall over: He’s craning his neck so far, trying to make sense of what’s in front of him.
Draxen’s the captain, though. He has to set an example for the others, has to force himself to come to his senses more quickly. The man has a reputation to make, being the new and young captain that he is. Draxen is definitely the hardest mark on the ship.
Were we alone, he’d probably be on me within five minutes. It’s amazing the things people will do in secret, when others can’t see their actions. That’ll be the trick: getting him alone. And especially away from ever-perceptive little brother, Riden.
“For stars’ sake, someone hand her a mop,” Draxen says.
There are five men already at the deck, swabbing it with mops. The nearest pirate eagerly jumps forward and hands over his.
“Thank you,” I say as I delicately touch the wooden handle with my fingertips.
Every seaman finds himself swabbing the deck at some point. The task is one that must be done frequently to keep salt and excess water from building up. Never did care for it myself, but I can’t let that show now.
I start my task, moving the mop in smooth movements. I bend over farther at particularly tricky spots. Everything I do has a purpose. I’m aware of each movement I make and Draxen’s reaction to it. When fancy strikes, a man gets this notion in his mind that everything a woman does is for him. Right now this is true for Draxen. Though he tries to hide it, I know he watches me. He can’t make sense of the change, but he doesn’t think me that intelligent to begin with. And now his desire is growing, burning redder and redder.
“What are you doing?”
I’m pulled from Draxen’s emotions as Riden speaks. “Swabbing the deck.”
“No, not that. You’re being different.”
“Different how? Could you move over please? I need to get that spot.”
“See, now, that is exactly how you’re being different. Since when do you say ‘please’? And why are you moving like that? You look ridiculous.”
“You’re free to think as you like,” I say delicately, like it’s a compliment.
“Stop,” he says, dragging out the word.
