fists are calloused, and his teeth are rows of perfect canines.

“No,” he says. “I don’t want to be your friend. My mother says we

are not to hurt you.”

“Why?” Nieve, the silver mermaid, the itch in my veins I can’t

scratch.

“Because we are to be brothers.” Archer holds his blade forward,

pointing it at Kurt. “I can’t say the same for your shipmates.” His

eyes fall on Layla. Her breath catches in her throat as she takes a

shaky step back against me. He breathes her in. “She smells divine.

Mother would like her.”

Then he reaches out a hand for her, keeping his eyes on me the

whole time, and I do exactly what he’s been waiting for.

I throw the first punch.

Forget Nieve.

Forget the throne.

Forget the oracle that tricked me into a promise I don’t want to

keep. Forget Kurt shouting my name to stand back.

When I throw the first punch at Archer, I lose myself. Hell, it

doesn’t even hurt him. Not the way it hurts me. It’s like hitting

cement, and even though the pain hasn’t hit me yet, sticky blood drips

from my knuckles.

The shouting starts instantly, along with swords clashing, wood

splintering, and bodies splashing.

Archer said he doesn’t want to hurt me. Though I have a hard time

believing him exactly, all he does is grin. He breathes in the rage,

the adrenaline.

I’m not ready for the blow he reciprocates with. I fly across the

deck. Right smack against the side of the ship. My head spins, and my

shoulder makes a loud crunch. I scramble for my dagger with a

trembling hand, and despite the black spots floating in my vision, I

get back up.

To my right, Thalia attacks a red merrow with a shark fin on the

back of his head. She fakes to his left and jumps on his back,

straddling like a horse. She’s this wild thing, bringing down her

daggers into his back until the hilts won’t let them go any deeper.

Planting one foot on his spine, she kicks. He slides off like butter,

breaking down the way they do into oozy black blood and sinew.

She holds out her hand, and despite how small she is, she pulls me

right up. “Where’s Archer?”

He’s gone from the deck but I know he’s still there somewhere. One

of them lunges at Thalia, but I block his arm and drive my dagger deep

into his solar plexus. I hold my breath from the retch snaking its way

up my throat.

“Brother!” Thalia shouts, but she’s blocked again. “I’ve got this,

Tristan. Help him!”

Kurt is wrestling with a merman and a merrow. The merrow, like

Archer, is more human looking than the others I’ve encountered, except

for his shark-like face. The merman is covered in tattoos. A trident

is tattooed on his chest, and a nasty scar runs from his clavicle to

his belly button, as if he was gutted and then put back together. He’s

fast. Faster than even Kurt, the way he uses the edge of his hands to

deliver crosshatch hits until he’s got Kurt in a master lock while

Shark Face sucker-punches him in the gut.

I tap Shark Face on the shoulder, and when he turns around, I bash

the hilt of the dagger in his eye. He makes a terrible sound, cupping

the nasty black blood pouring down his face. Something the nautilus

maid said bugs me. Would it make it easier if you didn’t think of me

as people? Bad time to feel her freaky vibes in my head, but Shark

Face doesn’t even come after me. He’s going back after Kurt.

My hands are shaking. I don’t like killing anything. Not merrows,

not mermen. I hated it in elementary school when Angelo used his BB

gun to kill squirrels. But if I don’t do it, my friends are going to

keep dying. I grab Shark Face around the throat in a nelson, and from

behind me, Layla screams, pushing her sword into his chest. It takes

her two tries to get it through to the back.

I can feel the tip of her blade as the merrow breaks down all over

me, a hand still grabbing onto my wrist. “That was too close,” I say.

She smiles, wiping the black ooze from her cheeks.

I pull the merrow’s hand off my wrist and throw it at the merman

fighting Kurt. He turns around, eyes glowing like headlights. “You’re

lucky, prince.”

“And why’s that?”

“Because no one is to lay a finger on you.”

That’s enough of a distraction for Kurt to kick the breath out of

him. Kurt lifts his sword over the merman’s head. Kurt’s breath

catches and he hesitates, just for a moment but I can see it. He

drives the sword right through the merman’s back, and the merman turns

to a slopping pile of foam.

Behind Kurt, Archer shows himself again. He’s crouching on the

edge of the ship, one hand under his chin. He’s studying us, smiling

the whole time.

There’s a bang on the other end of the deck, and its force knocks

me forward into Kurt. Fishy chunks of merrow spray everywhere. We

scramble to Gwen, who is fending off the last merman in Archer’s

troupe. He’s so tatted up that there isn’t any bare flesh except for

his face. He’s holding his knife right over her, execution style.

I reach out with my dagger, but Archer’s hand clamps down on the

merman’s neck with a powerful squeeze. The merman strangles, eyes

peeled back and body shaking until Archer’s fist is full of surf and

air.

An arrow falls to the floor, and I realize Archer’s grip wasn’t

what killed him. Someone shot him.

“You’ve fought well tonight.” Archer runs to the ledge of the

ship. “But soon our numbers will span the entire sea, and you,

brother, will join our cause.”

“We shouldn’t let him get away,” Thalia says, craning over the

ledge. “We can swim to him.”

I hold my hand out. “If that’s what he wants, he’ll have a whole

lot more of these guys waiting for us.”

Kurt picks up the foreign arrow and examines it. “Cedarwood. Gold

leaf. Golden spearhead. Ouch . It’s very sharp.”

“You didn’t shoot?” I look to Thalia.

“I couldn’t reach my bow in time.” She holds up her daggers in her

hands.

“Then where the hell did it come from?”

The unanswered question settles over us. We reform our circle,

careful of the shifting shadows along our ship. There’s the rustle of

water, the flapping of loose sails, the creaking of the old wood

swelling against the sea, and the extra loud thumping of Layla’s

purely human heart.

“We know you’re there,” I warn.

“Easy now,” he says, stepping forward.

His hands are raised, holding up his bow. Even in the dark, I

recognize him instantly. Brendan, champion of the North. Starlight

gives a coppery sheen to his bright red hair. His clothes look like he

had a fight with a big pair of scissors.

Though the only time I met him was for a brief hello at Toliss

Island during the presentation of the champions, Brendan runs down the

steps and pulls me into a strangling man-hug. “It’s good to see you

too, Cousin Tristan.”

Brendan and I huddle around Arion on the quarterdeck.

We insist on dressing the cut on his shoulder with the muddy gunk

Blue used on my knuckles. It stings like hell, but Arion doesn’t

twitch.

“How’s that?” I say, slathering it on with a patch of seaweed.

“Don’t worry about me, Master Tristan,” Arion says. “I’ve been

through worse.”

“That’s not the point.” I wipe my hands on a dirty rag. “You

should have been able to defend yourself properly.”

“A hundred years ago,” Arion says, tugging slightly on the ropes

at his hands, “I would’ve gutted that Archer like the beast he is.”