Chapter Text
Madeleine had never imagined the sea could be such an impossible, infinite blue.
It stretched before her like a living mirror. It was not the bay she had known. Not that murky harbour of the city where ships moaned against their moorings and the air was rank with the smell of gin and urine. There, the water was always grey, beaten dull by commerce and cruelty.
But here… here in this nameless fishing village cradled between cliffs and clouds, the sea seemed untouched by man. Wild, yes, but sacred, too.
She had come only for a respite, no more than two nights carved out from a week of cold winds, battered roads, and a relentless rain that seemed intent on driving her to the edge of madness. The storm had followed her like a dog, nipping at her heels from the moment she left home. Thunder cracked over her like the voice of God. She was forced to take refuge in the mouth of a jagged rock face, curled in upon herself, watching the heavens unravel.
So now, in the soft hush of this coastal inn, with its low-burning hearth and salt-washed windows, Madeleine felt something unfamiliar bloom in her chest. Not joy, exactly, but a quietness, a relief too delicate to name.
This morning, she had woken to light, pure and golden, slanting through the warped glass of the window. For a brief moment, she allowed herself to indulge in a fantasy. That she might stay. That a place so exquisitely still, so untouched by the brutal hum of city life, could be her home.
The village lay in a green cradle, nestled in the valley between towering cliffs that wore their grassy crowns like ancient kings. Beyond it, the sea gleamed silver-blue beneath the morning sun, and the tiny port, teeming with idle fishing boats, seemed to breathe with its own quiet rhythm. There was a pebbled beach, glistening like a wet coin, and Madeleine longed to wander its shore, to lose herself in its secrets.
Last night, as she trudged through the lantern-lit streets, she’d glimpsed strange markers along her path; small shrines half-sunken into mossy walls, bronze plaques weathered by salt and time, each one paying reverence to an ancient sea god. The innkeeper, a woman bent with years and wind, had spoken of old ruins. Fragments of a forgotten temple buried somewhere in the cliffs, reachable only by treacherous paths known to few. Abandoned for generations, the woman had said, though she could not recall why. The reason, it seemed, had been buried as deeply as the stones themselves.
Perhaps they would pass by it, just close enough for Madeleine to stop, to stand in its shadow, to wonder. If her fiance, Henrik, allowed for such a delay.
But Henrik — darling, impossible Henrik — was not a man of delays. He belonged to the city, body and soul. He thrived on its excess, its thrum, its chaos. The idea of life in a quiet village would be, to him, the very death of life itself. Still, she told herself she would ask. One day, after the wedding, after the champagne and the lace and the dance. Perhaps then.
He was still asleep now, completely exhausted from their ordeal. The storm had nearly broken them. Twice their horse had reared in panic, shrieking against her reins, nearly tearing free of the cart entirely. Thunder had rolled like cannon fire across the cliffs, shaking the very bones of the earth.
Now, seated by the window, she let her gaze drift beyond the rooftops, past the rust-coloured chimneys and crooked eaves, down to where the docks shimmered in the morning haze. A single cloud moved lazily across the wide blue above her, a white ship drifting over an endless sky. Since their arrival, the storm had lifted. The innkeeper said the sea would hold; the winds were mild, the fishermen confident. With luck, they would reach the capital in a week.
But the coast was an unpredictable mistress. The sea winds, so sweet now, might turn cruel. Another storm might rise from the deep, unbidden.
Still, she had today. One day of sun, of clean air, of silence. One day to breathe, to feel her shoulders soften, to remember herself.
She might have even found peace in it, had she not come to this lovely, haunted village at exactly the wrong time.
The first sign, though Madeleine would only recognise it in hindsight, had been the innkeeper’s eyes. Wide, too wide. Not with suspicion, but with something much older and colder: fear.
Madeleine had stumbled through the threshold of the inn, soaked to the bone and aching with exhaustion, her skirts clinging to her like seaweed, her stomach empty. She’d expected warmth, a smile, perhaps the offer of a towel.
Instead, the old woman had looked at her as one might look at a shadow in the shape of a man.
“Best keep moving,” she’d said, her voice sharp, trembling. “No rooms tonight.”
Henrik had stepped forward then. Drenched and furious, ever the gentleman until pressed. He’d snapped before Madeleine could intervene, barked something about her manners, about how she ought to treat paying guests, finishing with that dreadful phrase — do you know who I am? Madeleine winced at the memory.
Still, the woman relented, grudgingly. She gave them a room.
But Madeleine could not forget the look in her eyes.
The second sign came as they were settling in. A small kindness interrupted. The innkeeper’s granddaughter, a lovely creature with a wide, gentle face and hair the colour of sand, had offered to see to the cart and calm the horse. The storm had nearly broken the poor beast’s mind. But the old woman snapped at her, “Stay inside. Don’t go near the stables.” Her tone was clipped, almost cruel, and the girl withdrew without protest.
And then, later, as Madeleine peeled off her soaked gloves and laid them on the hearth to dry, the innkeeper returned with a small tray of warm broth and uttered, softly, urgently: “Keep your windows locked tonight.”
It was enough.
“What is it you’re so afraid of?” Madeleine had asked, voice low, trying for politeness. “If there’s danger in town, thieves, perhaps, or something worse, I’d rather not stay longer than necessary.”
But Henrik had already begun to shiver from his wet clothes, and Madeleine let the conversation die so he could get warm.
Still, the unease clung to her like mist. Even hours later, wrapped in blankets and lying beside the crackling fire, her mind refused to rest. Scenes played out in her head: pirates coming ashore beneath the veil of night, dragging townsfolk from their beds; a village held hostage by some lawless crew. It all seemed grotesquely plausible.
When at last her tossing threatened to wake Henrik, she slipped from the bed and wandered into the corridor, seeking a cloth to dab the sweat from her brow. There, in the dim light of the common room, she found the old woman once again, locking the front door with shaking fingers.
They stood in silence a moment before the innkeeper turned to her, her expression softened, regretful.
“I apologise,” she said. “It’s not what you think. No pirates. No sickness. No famine. And the nymphs — well, they’re more nuisance than menace. They only scold those foolish enough to wander into their springs.”
Madeleine blinked. “Then what—?”
But the old woman only looked toward the cliffs, her gaze fixed on something far beyond them. “There’s something older than us here. Older than the stone. We mind our silence, and we lock our windows. That’s enough.”
The conversation ended there. The door clicked shut.
A flash of movement disturbed Madeleine’s thoughts, a blur of white wings and a high-pitched screech. Two gulls swooped down toward the docks.
Far out at sea, a single fishing vessel bobbed on the glittering azure. She narrowed her eyes, trying to make out the shape, and then, just at the edge of the sill, something moved.
She gasped.
A pair of enormous, liquid eyes stared back at her. Wide, unblinking, glimmering with phosphorescent sheen. They blinked slowly. A sea sprite, no larger than her palm, perched on the windowsill like a child peering into a shop window. It regarded her with a strange intelligence, before vanishing down the stones with the fluid grace of water.
Madeleine exhaled slowly. She should have expected them, of course. In the city, sea sprites were a nuisance, always found in the rigging of ships, sipping from puddles on the docks. But the larger ones, the more mysterious ones, the undines and the selkies, never lingered near the city. The canals were too narrow, the waters tainted with rot and runoff. Such creatures belonged to places like this, places still kissed by wildness.
She thought, briefly, of her childhood. Of a girl she’d played with once on the wharf. A pretty child with hands too smooth and movements too strange. She could have been an ordinary girl, having strayed into a district far from her home, yet Madeleine was convinced that she was an immature nymph, because she distinctly recalled her splashing water into her face, yet her hand never went anywhere near the rippling surface beneath the wharf.
And now, in this place where the cliffs breathed secrets and the wind seemed to whisper names she could not understand, she thought again of that girl and of what she might have been.
“Hello,” Madeleine ventured softly.
The tiny sprite tilted its head, rising slowly to perch on the windowsill. Its sapphire scales shimmered in the sunlight, giving its cherubic face an otherworldly glow. Another sprite, smaller and more delicate, flitted up beside it, wings a blur of iridescent colour that reminded Madeleine of the inside of a seashell.
Their enormous, blinking eyes studied her, cautious and curious. Were they assessing whether she was a threat? Or something they could play with?
Maybe they were hungry. It was hard to tell. The sprites in her city were never this docile.
“I don’t have any food,” Madeleine said gently, raising her empty hands. “I’m sorry.”
Unconvinced, the sprites hovered closer, sniffing and prodding at her fingers with soft, scaled snouts.
The sprites scowled once they were convinced that her hands held nothing edible. Just before darting away, one nipped her finger and hissed.
“I told you,” Madeleine called after them, watching them spiral into the morning air, their shrill chatter echoing through the room. Not as tame as she’d thought, but certainly braver than the city sprites, who avoided human contact unless playing tricks.
“Greedy little things, aren’t they?”
Madeleine turned at the sound of the voice. The innkeeper’s granddaughter had entered from the kitchen, carrying a tray with two clay teapots and a cup.
Madeleine hadn’t gotten a proper look at her the night before. It had been too dark, and she too tired. But now, in the morning light, the young woman’s beauty was striking—eyes the colour of seawater, and blonde hair that shimmered faintly blue when it caught the light. A telltale trait, perhaps, of oceanic lineage.
Could she be the child of a nymph or some other water-dwelling creature? It wasn’t uncommon in towns like this, but asking outright felt impolite.
“I fed them earlier,” the young woman said with a sheepish smile. “I guess I didn’t leave enough salt-bread. Sorry about that!”
Madeleine returned her smile and glanced at her finger. The sprite’s bite had left little indents, but no blood. “It’s alright. I was more surprised than anything. The ones in the city don’t come that close unless they’re about to cause trouble.”
Back home, sea sprites were infamous for their mischief. Some of their pranks were harmless, but others were far more dangerous. Madeleine’s father, rest his soul, had always insisted it was sea sprites that loosened the rigging that knocked him from his ship’s deck, not the wind.
The young woman placed the tray down on a nearby table. “Here, we feed them ourselves. Keeps them content and mostly out of trouble.”
“In the city, they just scavenge,” Madeleine replied. “I guess they torment us out of boredom.”
The girl gestured toward the teapots. “Would you like something to drink? Tea or coffee?”
While the granddaughter poured Madeleine her coffee, she asked, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t get your name last night?”
“Oh! It’s Estelle.” She gave a small bow. “I’ll be taking care of you during your stay.”
“Thank you. I’m Madeleine. But really, don’t go out of your way—we’re only staying another night.”
“Oh, don’t worry. I’m thrilled to have something to do. It’s been so quiet lately, I might go mad if I have to polish the same set of silverware one more time.”
The inn was empty, aside from them. The innkeeper had mentioned that they were the first guests in weeks. Most travellers had either left quickly, or never stayed at all after hearing the town’s grim news.
As if sensing her thoughts, Estelle’s face grew solemn. “I also wanted to apologise. About last night. My grandmother… She's been on edge lately. We all have.”
Madeleine followed her gaze toward the distant cliffs, where gulls circled the grassy peaks. “I understand.”
The siren had been discovered two months ago, or at least, that was what the innkeeper claimed. But Madeleine suspected it had been here far longer. It had made its nest somewhere in the cliffs, but no one had found its exact location. Every attempt to track it had ended poorly. Those who returned were battered; scratched, bruised, and torn. Some came back with wounds over their hearts or puncture marks on their necks. Others never returned at all.
Those who did return spoke of a creature resembling a woman, but with coral-pink eyes, a scaly tail in place of legs, and wings stained yellow.
Despite the danger, people still searched. Five women had vanished since the siren arrived.
Madeleine hadn’t believed it at first. But the innkeeper had warned her in earnest, if she ever heard a faint humming or a haunting tune carried on the sea breeze, she was to lock herself away immediately, or have Henrik tie her down if needed. No one knew who would be next.
“I can’t imagine how frightening that must be,” Madeleine said, looking back at Estelle, whose eyes remained fixed on the cliffs.
“It was a shock,” she replied. “We get a lot of visitors. Humans, yes, but also nymphs, spirits… We’ve always been a haven for water folk.”
Noticing Madeleine’s curious expression, Estelle added, “My mother was a freshwater nymph.”
“I wasn’t sure if I should ask,” Madeleine admitted, once more admiring the subtle blue hues in her hair.
“It’s alright. I get that a lot. My grandparents raised me with my father. Mother returned to the spring when I was little.”
“I’m sorry to bring that up—”
“No, really, it’s fine.” Estelle smiled lightly. “Grandmother always says nymphs are beautiful but fickle. I guess she’s not wrong.”
She placed a steaming mug of coffee in front of Madeleine. It smelled floral, with an earthy richness. “We get selkies in the colder months. Sea-goats too, they graze on the seaweed near the bay. I think a herd might come by this morning. But…no one expected a siren.”
“Really?” Madeleine asked, taking a cautious sip. “I thought they were common along the coast.”
She had never seen one with her own eyes, but her father spun endless tales of the winged beings. He had spoken of sirens often, recollections shared beneath the dim lanterns of a ship’s underbelly, passed from sailor to sailor like warnings. Those tales had stolen sleep from her as a child, especially when he was far from home. The sirens of her dreams had been monstrous and feathered, with claws sharp enough to pierce bone and eyes that gleamed in the dark. They descended from cliffside nests, shrieking, and tore unsuspecting sailors from the decks of their ships.
She’d imagined her father—brave and foolish—steering his ship through fog and salt, unaware of the melodies slipping into his ears, of how easily he might be drawn into the jagged mouths of coastal rockfaces.
She had never feared krakens, or leviathans with eyes like oil lanterns. They were too far away, too slow, too mythical. But sirens were cunning. Sirens were close.
And yet, with all the terrors she'd conjured for him, every siren ambush, every spectral hunt through reef and tide, her father had died in the most ordinary way imaginable: thrown from a mule cart while delivering barrels of salted fish inland. A loose wheel, a panicked horse. His neck had snapped before he hit the ground.
It had almost been laughable, if not for how heartbreakingly dull it was. No magic, no monsters, no haunted sea.
Just rain-soaked mud and a broken axle.
Irony lingered, bitter as burnt coffee on the back of her tongue. All the monsters she'd feared had left him untouched. The world, it seemed, did not need creatures of myth to take everything from you. Sometimes it just needed a bad road.
“They are,” Estelle continued, snapping Madeleine out of her reverie. “But not this close to people. They’re usually more…private. I don’t think that’s the strange part, though.”
Madeleine paused, frowning. “What do you mean?”
“It’s just the one,” Estelle said. “No one’s seen another. And sirens don’t usually travel alone.”
Sailors said sirens were never alone. They lived in flocks, sisters who hunted together. A lone siren was unnatural.
“A female siren,” Madeleine murmured. “And she’s luring women…”
Estelle looked uneasy, scratching her cheek. Silence settled between them, heavy with implication. Madeleine sipped her coffee, unsure what to say. Henrik wouldn’t like her dwelling on something so dark, and it certainly didn’t help her growing unease about staying in this town another night.
Thankfully, Estelle changed the subject. “So… where are you two travelling to? The capital?”
“We are,” Madeleine said, fingers playing with the modest engagement ring on her hand. “He’s not my husband yet. We're going there to be married.”
“Oh, congratulations! Where are you travelling from?”
“From the northern city.”
“The sister port?” Estelle blinked. “Why not take a ferry? They pass by all the time.”
“Normally,” Madeleine said. “But they’ve been delayed. Storms, most likely.”
Traveling by ship would have been faster, and cheaper, but Henrik wasn’t a sailor. The slightest rocking left him green and sick.
Glancing toward the foyer, she added, “He gets terribly seasick.”
He could barely walk once on a boat. The poor man couldn’t even keep the broth down. It was almost funny, given that he’d fallen in love with a sailor’s daughter.
“To spare him five days of misery, I agreed to travel by cart. It’s taken longer than we hoped.”
“But an adventure nonetheless!” Estelle said, grinning. “Though…that storm last night…”
“We tried to wait it out,” Madeleine said, “but he was determined to keep moving.”
“Do you have family in the capital?”
“He does.”
Though Madeleine had wished for a wedding closer to home, Henrik longed to celebrate with his family. He was proud of his roots, of his noble lineage. Lord and Lady, influential and wealthy, unlike her own background, which was modest in comparison. Despite her fine clothes, Madeleine had never quite felt like she belonged among people like them.
Sometimes she wondered if she had accepted Henrik’s proposal too quickly. A year wasn’t long.
“I’ve never been to the capital,” Estelle said, drawing her back. “But I’ve never wanted to leave, either.”
“I haven’t been, either,” Madeleine admitted. “Though I hear it’s beautiful.”
Henrik had painted the city in vivid colours. Stone buildings, ancient bridges, and canals dividing five bustling districts. The old temples were now playgrounds and meeting halls, their forgotten gods remembered only in stories and songs.
“Ah, listen to me ramble!” Estelle said, chuckling. She glanced at Madeleine’s cup, then set the pot down. “Let me know when you’d like breakfast. Or, there’s a wonderful bakery near the bay, if you’d prefer an ocean view.”
Her kindness warmed Madeleine. “Thank you, but… your grandmother asked me not to go out.”
More than asked, she had made Madeleine promise.
“Of course,” Estelle said, her cheer fading. “She won’t let me leave either. But I don’t think the siren’s song would affect someone like me.”
“Why’s that?”
Before Estelle could answer, Henrik stepped into the room, combing his damp hair back with his fingers.
Madeleine felt a wave of relief as soon as she saw him. He looked slightly better than he had the night before—fresh-faced, with a smile brighter than the morning sun.
“Good morning, darling,” she greeted warmly.
Estelle quickly snatched up the tea tray and addressed her fiancé.
“I can brew a fresh pot if you’d like something to drink, sir?”
He settled into the chair opposite her. “Coffee, thank you.”
With a cheerful smile, Estelle chirped, “Be right back!” and disappeared into the kitchen.
Considering the dreadful state the town was in, Madeleine couldn’t help but admire how Estelle remained upbeat. Had she known any of the missing women? Were they neighbours? Friends?
Henrik’s gaze dropped to the bare table. “Was the table not set when you woke?” he asked, frowning. “That’s poor service.”
“I think Estelle was waiting for you before preparing anything,” Madeleine explained. “But I’ve been here for a while. She probably got worried I was thirsty, and she’s been very kind, keeping me company.”
He hummed noncommittally, struggling with the top three buttons of his shirt. “My ears were burning when I woke. Were you talking about me, my love?”
“I was just telling Estelle how brave you were during the storm. Did you sleep well?”
“Not the best night,” he muttered, still fumbling with his buttons. “But better than sleeping in the back of that blasted cart.”
“Oh dear, was it too quiet for you?”
“Far too quiet,” he said. He’d often spoken fondly of the ambient sounds from the street outside her home, or ships arriving in port. “I’m already going mad here. The bed’s too small, my feet hung off the edge. And who serves drinks in clay cups? It’s like living in the Stone Age.”
He must have had a terrible night to be so irritable. “It won’t be long now, we’ll be back on the road soon,” Madeleine said, trying to lighten the mood.
“Joy of joys,” he murmured, half-laughing.
“But this place is beautiful, don’t you think?”
Henrik glanced toward the window. “Yes, I suppose it is…” His patience frayed again as he fumbled with a button for the third time. They were too small for his hands, more suited to the dexterous fingers of a butler.
Madeleine, who had never grown up with servants, always found the idea of someone dressing her somewhat strange. She rose and crossed the room, crouching in front of him. “Here, let me.” As she buttoned his shirt, she added softly, “I didn’t sleep well, either. Something the innkeeper said troubled me.”
His brow arched. “That’s surprising. You snored like a sailor.”
Her indignant squawk made him chuckle. The sound reassured her, perhaps he wasn’t as grumpy as he seemed. It wasn’t his environment, after all. He thrived in cities of polished streets and gleaming tableware, not places like this.
With his buttons fastened, Madeleine returned to her seat. “I’m serious, darling. I’m worried. I don’t think—”
“My love, don’t trouble yourself,” Henrik interrupted, waving a hand dismissively. “We looked a fright when we arrived. She probably thought we were burglars.”
“No, it was after that. And I really don’t think we should stay much longer—”
Estelle returned with a pot of coffee before she could continue. As she poured, Henrik eagerly asked about breakfast.
“That’s all?” he said, unimpressed by the options. “A lot of fish…anything else?”
Estelle tapped her chin. “We might have some eggs left, but they’re a bit old. Deliveries stopped when the siren arrived. Sorry, sir.”
Henrik barely reacted to the mention of the siren. “Hmm. I’ll have the grilled mackerel, then.”
She nodded and turned to Madeleine. “And for you, ma’am?”
“Just porridge, please. A small bowl.”
Once alone, Madeleine watched Henrik sip his coffee, as if her earlier concerns hadn’t registered. Perhaps he was simply too tired to respond, but once he heard what the innkeeper had told her, he’d understand.
Five women missing. Livestock vanishing. Likely, the siren was hunting. And the innkeeper’s protectiveness over her granddaughter had been telling. If the old woman feared letting the girl step outside, what might be watching from the cliffs?
By the time Estelle returned with their food, neither of them had spoken. Henrik was still waking up; Madeleine lost in uneasy thoughts.
Estelle refilled their cups and gently offered her help if they needed anything else. Henrik dug into his fish with visible distaste, but hunger outweighed his pickiness. Madeleine forced herself to eat.
One more night felt too risky. Sirens didn’t need long to strike, ships could sink in hours. She would rather sleep in the back of a cart again than spend another night with that threat looming.
Suddenly, two sea sprites zipped in through the open window and landed on the table. Likely the same pair she’d disappointed earlier. One hovered near her bowl; the other made for Henrik’s plate. He swatted it away.
“Cheeky little things,” he muttered.
“They’re bold,” Madeleine agreed, scooping a spoonful of porridge onto the table. The larger sprite devoured it. Its companion darted over and they fought for more.
“Calm down,” she murmured, pushing the bowl toward them. “It’s yours.”
Squealing with delight, the sprites dove in, stuffing their tiny mouths.
“You really shouldn’t encourage them,” Henrik said. “That’s how you get pests.”
“They’re harmless,” Madeleine replied, rubbing her finger where one had bitten her earlier.
Henrik finished his breakfast and washed it down with coffee. “Too salty. And tiny portions. But I suppose they’re short-staffed.”
“Perhaps.” She hesitated, then asked, “Darling? Can we travel today?”
He paused mid-sip. “Pardon?”
“I just don’t feel safe here anymore.”
“We’ve paid for two nights.”
Technically, she had paid, but she didn’t press the point. “I’m sure the innkeeper wouldn’t mind refunding us.”
He reached for her hand and patted it. “I really need to rest. That cart killed my back. If we’d taken the carriage I suggested, this wouldn’t be a problem. Do you understand how humiliating it is to have to sleep with our luggage like some kind of peasant?”
Yes, she could have hired a nicely furnished carriage, however a luxury carriage would have been a clear sign of wealth, an easy target. The merchant’s cart was safer, if uncomfortable.
“I understand,” she said gently. “But I spoke to the innkeeper after we arrived. Did you hear what Estelle said? There’s a siren here.”
Henrik leaned back, thoughtful. “The winged women your father used to talk about?”
“Yes. And five women have gone missing. Some men returned from the cliffs injured, others didn’t return at all.”
Henrik chuckled. “If there’s a siren, it won’t come for you. Not while I’m around. Don’t forget, I was a soldier.”
She smiled faintly, Henrik was incredibly skilled with a rapier. The weapon had been packed, tucked out of sight in the cart, just in case they happened to run into a group of scoundrels on their journey.
“I know you’d protect me. But still…”
“My love,” he said gently, “we’re not prepared. Supplies will take hours to gather. If we leave this afternoon, we’ll be traveling in the dark.”
He wasn’t wrong. They were low on food, water, and their cloaks had been ruined. The horse needed rest.
Her silence must have betrayed her reluctance, because Henrik sighed and raised his hands in mock surrender. “We’re leaving first thing in the morning. What more can I do, move the sun for you?”
“Of course not,” she murmured.
“No sense in rushing if it puts us at risk,” he added.
“You’re right. I’m sorry, darling.”
Henrik laughed softly. “The things I endure for you. Sleeping in a cart…”
“At least we’ll have stories to tell your parents,” Madeleine said.
“I suppose.”
The sprites emerged from her bowl, sticky but satisfied. One nuzzled her finger before flying after its partner.
“How sweet,” she said, and Henrik scoffed.
When Estelle returned, she noticed the unfinished porridge.
“Was it not warm enough? I can make you a fresh bowl!”
“No, really—it was lovely. I’m just feeling a little off.”
“There’s a pharmacy a mile away. The healer there is wonderful.”
Henrik raised his brows. “You frightened my wife-to-be with all that siren talk.”
“I asked,” Madeleine said quickly. “It was my own fault.”
Henrik smiled playfully at Estelle. “She grew up on sailors’ tales. Serpents, mermaids… Her imagination gets the best of her.”
“You sail?” Estelle asked, eyes wide.
Madeleine shook her head. “My father did. A cargo captain.”
“Wow! Was he in the navy?”
“No, but my grandfather was in the coast guard–”
“Excuse me?” Henrik interjected, waving his cup. “A refill, please?”
“Of course, sir!” Estelle flushed and hurried off.
“Please don’t be cross with her,” Madeleine said. “It was my fault.”
Henrik sniffed. “Still, she shouldn’t chatter with guests. She has work to do.”
“Well…it’s a small town. Things are different here.”
Clearly, she’d have to reconsider some of her etiquette and behaviours before meeting Henrik’s parents.
She reached for his hand again. He stared at her engagement ring, then gave her a dazzling smile, the same smile that had first won her heart.
Madeleine’s arm rested in the crook of her fiancé’s as they wandered through the streets, their footsteps echoing against the cobblestones.
She had not meant to come.
The innkeeper had begged her to stay. Her voice trembled with a fear born of old stories that had long since stopped being told in cities where gaslight and arrogance had replaced reverence. Madeleine had hesitated, shaken by the woman’s warning, her stomach turning with a sour dread. But Henrik, ever the rationalist, the gentleman of modern temperament, had grown indignant, gently at first, then with heat. He would not be spoken to in such a tone, he’d said. He would not allow some rustic widow to dictate the movements of his bride-to-be.
So Madeleine came, if only to soothe tempers, to shield the old woman from his rising scorn. But now, as they walked in eerie solitude, her mind drifted again to the siren.
And yet, the town was beautiful.
More beautiful than it had seemed from the inn’s windows. Alleyways that curved like winding rivers; old stone homes crowned in blooms that spilled from painted sills; seashells glinting like scattered jewels embedded in the walls. The town was a mosaic of the old ways. The shrines to the selkies had grown worn with rain and time, their sacred faces marred. Offerings of smooth stones, violets, and sea glass nestled in the shrine’s alcoves, and tiny pots once filled with honey or cream stood empty now, licked clean by sprites.
These whimsical and mischievous spirits were everywhere, shimmering through the stillness like embers in wind. They fluttered and chirruped, their translucent wings catching the light as they darted toward her, some settling upon her skirts, others tugging with impish curiosity at the satchel on her shoulder. One nestled into the hollow of her neck and dozed off.
Henrik, of course, was less charmed.
He swatted at them with the irritation of a man used to being obeyed. One sprite bit at the lace of his embroidered waistcoat; another ruffled his hair. He cursed under his breath and muttered that it was her fault. “That’s because you fed them,” he hissed, though he did smile, briefly, when the sprite on her shoulder yawned and curled itself tighter against her skin like a kitten.
The town, despite its rustic charm, pulsed with unease. Not a woman in sight. Only stern and cautious men roamed the streets near the bay. And even they moved as though hunted by something invisible.
One shopkeeper, grey-bearded and clutching his apron like a talisman, confirmed what she suspected: a curfew had been placed upon the women. The council, fearing the siren’s hunger, had sequestered them in their homes. Another man, less gentle, had warned her, unasked, not to wander in daylight. Henrik’s response had been immediate. “Mind your own affairs,” he snapped, his hand tightening on hers.
But the market near the harbour was alive, at least. Open stalls sold strange, sea-salted wares, oils and herbs wrapped in kelp, dried fish and glass vials filled with glittering powder. Thank God for it, for their supplies had run dangerously low: food, cloaks, boots. Even the leather harness for the horse was strained and frayed.
The blacksmith, a massive man, had offered to craft a new one, but the work would take days. A kind-eyed woman selling charms fashioned from shells and pearls suggested the farmers might have spare harnesses, but they were half a day’s ride in the wrong direction. Henrik’s answer had been silence, lips pursed in displeasure.
So Madeleine, undeterred, sought a temporary solution. A belt, a clasp, something to bind the failing leather until they reached the capital. The woman pointed her toward a shop near the docks, and it was there that the mood of the day shifted once more.
They passed the harbour and were greeted by a vision of sea-goats, dozens, perhaps more, riding the waves like dancers in some ballet. Their great horns curled like question marks, and their scaled tails shimmered with an impossible sheen. Madeleine stood transfixed. Henrik barely paused, tugging her arm once they vanished beneath the foam.
The clothing shop, by contrast, felt like a sanctuary. Madeleine sat near the window on a soft divan, a box at her feet holding a new cloak and boots, sensible things chosen with care by the shop’s peculiar owner and her smiling husband. She half-hoped to see the sea-goats again as she stared out over the harbour, lulled by the ebb and flow of the tide. Boredom crept in like fog.
Behind her, Henrik was negotiating with an almost comical seriousness over boots.
“And the heel?” he murmured, eyeing a boot dyed the colour of dried blood. “Is it reinforced?”
“The durability is excellent,” the woman said, her smile too tight to be entirely genuine.
“I would know,” her husband interjected gently. “I made them.”
Henrik tapped the heel with two fingers. “Yes, well. They’re usually the first thing to come loose.”
The woman’s expression cooled. “Sir, these boots”—she gestured to the collection—“are not truly meant for the road. If I may suggest—”
“We’re travelling by cart,” Henrik interrupted, placing the boot aside like a judge dismissing testimony. “And this one is too high.”
Madeleine turned her gaze back toward the window, where the fishing boat she’d seen earlier returned with its catch. The crew moved like apparitions, their silhouettes sharp against the afternoon light.
The couple had shown remarkable patience so far. Unfortunately, none of the belts they’d brought were long or thick enough to secure the harness properly. But the recently returned fishing boat sparked an idea in Madeleine’s mind.
As she stood, the shopkeeper’s eyes found her immediately, full of tentative hope. “Miss? Can I help you with something?”
She offered a rueful smile. “No, thank you. I just need to check something.” Slinging her satchel over her shoulder, Madeleine approached Henrik. “Darling? Would you mind if I head down to the docks?”
Henrik eyed her suspiciously. “What on earth for?”
“To see if the sailors have any rope,” she replied patiently. “For the harness, remember?”
Henrik selected a pair of sandy-coloured boots from the display. “Hmm... we can go in a minute. I won’t be much longer, my love.”
Though she wasn’t keen on walking alone, Madeleine didn’t want to lose sight of the sailors. “I can go on my own, if you’d rather stay. I’ll be quick, I promise.”
Henrik didn’t answer, too focused on inspecting the boots, so she gently touched his arm. “Do you mind?”
“No, no, not at all,” he murmured, still absorbed in the boots’ laces.
Madeleine pulled a small linen pouch from her satchel and filled it with coins. She offered it to the shopkeeper. “I shouldn’t be long. Will this cover it?”
He weighed the pouch in his palm and peeked inside. “Certainly, miss. Thank you. But… forgive me, it may be out of line to say, but it’s dangerous out there right now. Are you sure you want to go alone?”
“I’ll keep to the shadows,” Madeleine said. The docks were crowded enough, boats and crates offering enough cover.
“I could check the back again,” the shopkeeper offered. “I’m sure we’ve got some thicker belts stashed away.”
“Oh, please don’t trouble yourself.” Her eyes caught the box containing their purchases. “I’ll take my cloak to cover my face.” That way, the siren wouldn’t be able to recognise her, assuming she hadn’t already marked Madeleine as her next catch.
The shopkeeper didn’t look entirely reassured, but he didn’t argue. Madeleine retrieved her new cloak and pulled the hood low over her eyes. With a quiet farewell to her fiancé, still engrossed in the boots, and the weary shopkeeper massaging his temples, she stepped outside.
It took less than five minutes to reach the harbour. The docks were quiet, save for a few sprites picking through crab baskets and seagulls perched menacingly at the water’s edge. The air was thick with the scent of salt and damp wood.
Most of the moored boats sat empty, some neglected, others clearly abandoned, barnacle-ridden hulls cloaked in seaweed.
Then she spotted it, the fishing boat from earlier, docked at the far end of the quay. Most of the crew seemed to have finished unloading, though one figure still moved about on deck, conducting a final check.
“Excuse me! You there!”
A man leapt from a nearby vessel and strode toward her. He was tall and broad-shouldered, dressed in a fisherman’s tunic and heavy trousers, his boots clunking solidly with every step. A pair of thick leather gloves covered his stiff hands.
Beside him walked a younger boy in matching attire.
“Not safe for a young lady to wander here alone,” the man said gruffly. “You haven’t heard the news?”
Her stomach tightened. “I have. That’s why I came—I was hoping you might help.”
He studied her a moment before pulling off one glove and offering his hand. “Tuan Pham and my son, Quang. I don’t believe we’ve met, miss...?”
“Madeleine,” she said, shaking his hand. “I’m passing through with my fiancé.”
“Pleasure, though under grim circumstances.” His expression softened. “So, how can we help?”
“I was wondering if you had any spare rope?” she asked, rummaging in her satchel. “I’d be happy to pay.”
“Oh, I’m sure we can part with some.” Tuan raised a hand to stop her as she reached for her coin purse. “There’s no need.”
“Are you certain?” Madeleine’s fingers hovered near the pouch.
“Quite sure.” He turned to the boy. “Quang, I think there’s a coil down in the hold?”
“The frayed one, sir?” Quang asked. “There’s two better coils further in. But what if our mooring rope snaps and we’ve no spare?”
“I can buy you a replacement in town,” Madeleine offered quickly.
Tuan waved off the concern. “Not a problem. Thank you, Quang—”
“Shall I fetch them, sir?” Quang asked eagerly.
“If you’d like.”
“I won’t be long!” And with a crisp salute, the boy raced toward the ship.
“He’s eager to please,” Tuan said fondly. “Learns quickly, too. Wasted on fishing, really.”
“He seems sweet,” Madeleine said, withdrawing her hand from her satchel. “Thank you again.”
“Think nothing of it,” Tuan replied with a smile.
The moment lingered in quiet awkwardness until Quang returned, rope in hand.
“Sorry for the wait!” he said, bowing as he offered the thick coil. “Will this do, miss?”
“It’s perfect.” Madeleine looped the rope over her shoulder. “Thank you both.”
“I hope it serves you well,” Tuan said. “Are you travelling far?”
She explained their route, from her hometown to the capital, with the hope of arriving within the week.
“That’s quite the journey by cart,” Tuan said with a low whistle. “Why not travel by sea?”
“My fiancé has a dislike for boats.”
“Pity. The cliffs are beautiful, but... not safe these days.” Then he paused, eyes narrowing at something behind her. “Oh no…”
Madeleine turned. A group of six men were staggering along the street, their expressions stricken. Torn clothes. Bloodstains. Weapons bent and broken. One limped badly. Another clutched a blood soaked cloth to his side.
They must have gone searching near the cliffs. But the siren had found them first.
Her heart seized when she saw a young man weeping silently, supported by a companion.
“Nine left this morning…” Tuan said quietly.
Madeleine felt lightheaded. Only six returned.
“That’s awful,” she whispered. “Those poor men…”
“They barely left a few hours ago,” Tuan said. “She’s growing bolder.”
Madeleine turned to him. “Did they lose anyone? Any of the missing women, I mean?”
Tuan and Quang exchanged a loaded glance. Then Tuan said, “The man leading them... his wife was the first to disappear.”
Madeleine pressed a hand to her stomach, nauseated. Her eyes drifted toward the cliffs looming in the distance. They ringed the town like a great wall. Watching. Trapping.
She felt very exposed. Her hood suddenly felt flimsy, no match for a creature with that kind of power.
She should return to the clothing store right now, then go straight back to the inn and stay there until morning.
But instead of doing just that, Madeleine surrendered to her morbid curiosity and asked, “H-how long ago?”
“Two months,” Tuan replied. “They’ve got two little boys…”
“Didn’t anyone send for help?”
“We did. Sent a ship to the capital. Haven’t heard back. Should’ve taken two days, weather permitting, but the storm…”
He ran a hand down his face. “I joined a search once. We lost four men. Never found the bodies.”
“I’m so sorry,” Madeleine said faintly. “Did you see it? The siren?”
Tuan shook his head. “No, all I remember seeing is gold, and then-“
A sharp clatter and heavy splash behind her made Madeleine spin, her heart leaping into her throat. She raised her arms instinctively.
The siren is here. The thought screamed in her mind. She’s come for you—
She clenched her fists, ready to fight off the winged beast, ready to claw and spit…
But she relaxed when she saw it was only a trio of sea sprites, hovering over a crab basket teetering at the edge of the dock. Chattering and peering into the water.
“Always after bait scraps,” Tuan muttered. “Quang, mind checking the rest before the little devils knock another in?”
“Yes, sir!”
He stalked towards the baskets and removed them from their precarious position. He allowed the sprites to continue with their hunt for food, carefully handling the basket they’re occupying.
“If you’ll excuse me, I’ll fetch the fallen one.” Tuan said.
Madeleine blinked. “You’re not going to dive in, are you?”
Tuan only grinned.
He raised his hand, palm out, and with a flick of his fingers, water surged upward in a shimmering sphere. Suspended within was the crab basket.
Madeleine gasped as the bubble floated over to Quang, who guided it safely down. Tuan flattened his hand, releasing the water with a soft splash.
“That’s incredible! Are you…?”
“My mother was an ocean nymph,” he admitted, cheeks flushing.
“I’ve never met so many children of nymphs. They’re so rare in the city.”
“That’s because,” he chuckled nervously, “the sea near cities is... well…”
“Filthy?” she offered.
He laughed. “Exactly. My mother couldn’t stay away from the water long. Returned to the sea when I was five. Left me with her gifts.”
“I didn’t know the children of nymphs could do such wonderful things!” Madeleine said, remembering the little girl by the docks all those years ago. Had she been a half-nymph, too?
“It depends,” Tuan said. “You’ve met Estelle at the inn?” At her nod, he continued, “Her mother was a nymph as well. Estelle helps us navigate through undine schools, and warns us of storms. Though lately, she’s stayed close to the inn. Her grandmother’s terrified.”
“Understandably.”
“I don’t blame her,” Tuan said. “No one knows when she’ll sing again.”
“It’s terrifying… that someone can control you just by singing.”
“It’s not the song itself. It’s what they sing,” Tuan said, his expression darkening. “Sirens see into your heart. They know what you long for… and they promise it to you.”
Madeleine’s blood ran cold. “I… I didn’t know that.”
“Most people don’t,” he said quietly. “My mother told me stories. She saw ships pulled to their doom more times than she could count. Sirens sing your desire back to you. That’s why it’s so hard to resist.”
Madeleine had suspected sirens held magic in their blood, enough to compel seasoned sailors to crash into rocks, but to be able to pluck one’s wants and desires from the deepest recesses of one’s very soul? Madeleine had never considered something so terrifying.
“One girl,” Tuan added, “had to be tied to a chair. Said she could hear someone calling her, clear as day. The rest of us just heard humming.”
“What happened to her?” She asked, clinging to a small sliver of hope that she was able to escape the siren’s clutches.
He hesitated. “On the third night, she snapped her restraints, clubbed her mother and father over the head, then just took off.”
“She hit them?” Madeleine was stunned. Just how powerful was the siren’s song, to drive someone to strike their own parents without hesitation? “Was she—?”
“Sir, please!”
Quang’s urgent voice cut through the air. Madeleine turned, tensing at the sight of Henrik striding down the wharf toward her, fury etched across his face.
Quang stepped in his path, arms spread wide to block him. “No pedestrians are allowed past this point without clearance. Please, you must return to the main dock.”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t speak to me in that tone, young man,” Henrik snapped. “I’m here for my fiancée. Now step aside.”
Quang faltered. “Fiancée…?” He glanced over his shoulder at Madeleine, but in that moment of distraction, Henrik pushed past him with a sharp shoulder.
“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming down here?” he demanded as he approached Madeleine.
“I—I did,” she said softly, trying to keep her tone even and non-confrontational, acutely aware of the watchful eyes around them. Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “I said I was going to the docks to ask about rope—”
She fell quiet as Henrik took her arm. His grip wasn’t painful, but it was firm enough to make her flinch.
“You most certainly did not,” he hissed. “Do you have any idea how dangerous it is to wander off in a place you barely know?”
“Love, I asked you before I left. You said I could go. Even the shopkeeper heard me—”
“Well, if you did, I didn’t hear it.”
Perhaps he hadn’t truly been indifferent to the stories of the siren after all. Perhaps he was afraid, but his pride, his upbringing, wouldn’t allow him to show it. Maybe seeing those bloodied men returning from the cliffs had sent him into a panic.
But whatever the reason, it didn’t change the fact that she had left without warning him again. And for longer than she’d intended.
“I’m sorry,” she murmured, lowering her gaze. “I didn’t mean to be gone so long.”
“I may be partly to blame for that, sir,” Tuan offered diplomatically, stepping forward. “I tend to ramble.”
Henrik drew Madeleine close, linking his arm with hers. “And who are you?”
“Captain Tuan of The Maribel, sir,” he said, extending a hand. “A pleasure.”
“Captain Tuan and his son, Quang, were kind enough to give us some rope,” Madeleine added gently, patting Henrik’s arm in an attempt to soothe him.
Henrik eyed the offered hand, then let it hang in the air untouched. “I see. Apologies. I hope you understand my concern for my fiancée.”
Tuan withdrew his hand with a polite nod. “Of course. No offence taken.”
“Well,” Henrik said briskly, “we’ve taken up enough of your time. We have other errands and must return to the inn before nightfall.” He squeezed Madeleine’s arm again. “We’ve been advised not to linger outdoors too long.”
“Of course,” Tuan replied with a courteous dip of his head.
Henrik gave him a thin, tight-lipped smile. “Thank you for indulging her curiosity. I wish you a safe voyage.”
“It was truly lovely meeting you both,” Madeleine added as Henrik began steering her back toward town. She turned and offered a grateful smile. “Thank you again for everything! I hope things improve for you soon.”
“Thank you, miss!” Tuan called after her with a wave.
“Yes!” boomed Quang, saluting stiffly. “And congratulations!”
The gesture nearly made her laugh, despite the tightness in her chest. These fishermen, so kind, so open-hearted, didn’t deserve the nightmare that had engulfed their town. Everyone she had met so far had shown her nothing but warmth and generosity, even under the shadow of something so terrible.
As they walked, she glanced up at Henrik. His steps were rigid, measured, his jaw tight. His eyes stayed forward, unblinking.
“Darling?” she asked gently. “Are you alright?”
“Yes, yes, I am now. You frightened me.”
Her stomach churned with guilt. “I truly am sorry. I thought I heard you say I could go…”
Henrik exhaled sharply through his nose. “Let’s not argue. What matters is that you’re safe. We leave tomorrow, and soon enough, we’ll be out of this godforsaken place and back to where we belong.”
He said it with finality, but Madeleine felt a ripple of unease tighten her chest.
Back where she belonged?
To the city, with its endless noise and choking air, its pressing crowds and judging stares. To a place where she often felt small and watched.
She pressed closer to Henrik’s side, but a cold flicker of doubt stirred deep in her belly.
Was that truly where she belonged?
The road that unravelled before them out of that forlorn port town was perilous. Though the path was mercifully wide enough to allow the cart to dodge the most treacherous of boulders, the debris rendered the journey endlessly jarring. The wheels groaned, the wood creaked, and each shuddering lurch of the cart seemed designed to shake loose not only the luggage, but Madeleine’s thoughts as well.
She sat stiffly beside Henrik, clutching at the edges of the seat with one gloved hand while the other reached, now and again, to check the bindings on their luggage. Everything was still in place, but the fear of loss lingered, irrational and persistent. Meanwhile, Henrik concentrated wholly on the horse, the poor mare struggling to find footing on the uneven terrain.
Henrik had spoken very little since dawn. He’d moved with mechanical focus that morning, fastening the harness, securing the sheet over their cases, double-checking the cart’s fastenings even though Madeleine had done so herself.
The harness, at least, was still intact. Not as frayed as she had feared. Still, the coil of rope sat inside her satchel, nestled at her feet like a coiled serpent, waiting in case the leather gave way entirely.
“Are you well, darling?” Madeleine asked softly, resting her hand upon his where it gripped the reins tensely. “Did you sleep at all?”
“I slept fine,” Henrik replied curtly. “This damn road is simply... intolerable.”
His voice was clipped, and she did not press. Instead, she massaged his hand, feeling the tension just beneath his skin. “Perhaps the road will smooth out the higher we go.”
But the cliffs loomed above them. To look up at them for too long made her dizzy. As they approached a fork in the path, she remembered the innkeeper’s grave warning. Stay on the high roads, the woman had said. It will take longer, but the siren has never been seen there.
The lower roads were quicker, sheltered, and convenient. And there was the rumour that the siren lurked below.
Henrik’s jaw tightened as he steered them toward the right-hand road, the one that stayed low, hugging the cliffs. It was a choice. A deliberate one.
Madeleine leaned into him, forcing her voice into cheer. “What do you think we’ll see along the way?” Her tone was light, but her stomach churned. The people they'd left behind haunted her.
Henrik was silent, struggling to steady the horse when it stumbled. “I don’t know,” he finally muttered.
“Perhaps the selkie temple? The one the innkeeper mentioned? We saw those little shrines all over town.”
He grunted.
She smiled faintly and tried a different tactic. “I can’t wait to see the capital.”
That earned her a small smile. “Nor can I. We’ll have breakfast in the Nautical Gardens, remember? It’s laid out like a compass. And I’ll take you to the theatre district. They put on all those ridiculous shows you like, mermaids, sea witches, that sort of nonsense.”
She looked down at her ring. “And I can look for a dress.”
But her heart sank. That should have been the most thrilling part, shouldn’t it? Instead, all she felt was dread, at the idea of being paraded through judgmental crowds, of donning something too grand, too noble, of wearing a gown that did not belong to a girl born at sea. Would they let her wear her mother’s jewellery with it?
The cart jolted violently as it hit a hidden stone. Their horse reared with a terrified whinny.
“Damn it!” Henrik snarled. “Is there no other way out of that cursed town?”
The horse backed up in a panic.
“Come now,” he muttered, snapping the reins.
“Henrik, wait—” Madeleine gripped his arm.
But it was too late. The horse shrieked and thrashed, overcome with some unseen terror. Her hooves battered the earth, then, with a final, frenzied leap, she broke free. The harness snapped. The horse bolted.
The cart lurched. Madeleine nearly fell. Henrik cursed with venom.
“I’ll go and—”
“No. I’ll fetch her,” he interrupted harshly. “You stay with the luggage. Fix the harness with those sailor’s knots of yours.”
She blinked. The words struck like a slap.
“What do you mean by that?” she asked, but Henrik was already gone, his coat flaring as he stalked after the runaway horse.
Madeleine watched him vanish around the bend, the road curving sharply to the right. She remained by the cart, checking their belongings with urgency. The sheet had slipped, but nothing had been taken. The food was still intact. The money was hidden, and most importantly, her mother’s jewellery box was there, locked away under skirts.
But the longer Henrik remained gone, the louder her heart pounded. What if the siren had heard the commotion?
Madeleine clutched Henrik’s rapier. She didn’t know how to wield it, but perhaps the gleam of steel might be enough to dissuade a predator. She waited, watching the bend where Henrik had disappeared.
And then, she heard a scream.
Henrik’s scream.
Madeleine didn’t hesitate. She bolted, sword in hand, skirts flying, the sound of her heartbeat matching her pounding feet. The road sloped downward, and she struggled to keep her balance. She fell once, scraping her hands, but rose again, driven by sheer terror.
Another scream. Then sobs. The path twisted and narrowed.
And then she saw it.
Henrik, collapsed near the foot of the cliff, his hands shielding his face. And over him stood the siren.
She was horrifyingly beautiful. Nude, glistening, skin deep brown and luminous in the moonlight, with wild coils of black hair cascading down her back. From her shoulders, great yellow wings unfurled; feathered, radiant, and gleaming like burnished gold. One foot pressed firmly against Henrik’s chest, pinning him in place. Her hand hovered in the air, talons curved and ready to strike.
With a cry pulled from the depths of her soul, Madeleine lifted the rapier and charged.
The siren’s wings twitched. Her head tilted, birdlike and curious, just as Madeleine charged, the rapier arcing in her hand in a wild, desperate attempt to sever the creature’s arm from its shoulder.
But the air exploded before her.
With a sudden, thunderous beat of those great feathered appendages, the siren lifted herself a fraction from the ground, stirring up a whirlpool of dust and small stones, and with a single, sweeping motion of one colossal wing, she struck Madeleine hard across the ribs. The blow threw her through the air, her back colliding with the stones. Pain cracked through her arm like lightning, but Madeleine only gritted her teeth, the taste of blood coppery and thick on her tongue. She rose, trembling, her hand white-knuckled around the rapier’s hilt.
Then a shadow fell.
The air seemed to hush, and the sun was blotted out by the spread of those terrible wings. Yellow—everywhere, yellow—feathers like gold, blazing with sunlight and heat, filled her sight. Madeleine screamed, slashing blindly.
But a hand closed around her wrist.
She gasped. There was no use struggling; the siren’s grip only tightened with every panicked wrench of Madeleine’s arm.
“Let go!” she shrieked, her voice thin, almost lost to the wind. “Let—”
Their eyes met.
And the scream died in her throat.
What was it that struck Madeleine dumb in a single, stunning instant? What invisible hand seized her voice, stilled her limbs, and froze her thoughts in their tracks?
It was recognition.
There, standing before her in all her terrible glory, was a being so inhumanly lovely it bordered on divine blasphemy. The siren’s eyes, glowing pink like opals kissed by flame, were set in a face both youthful and ancient. Her gaze was framed by angular blue markings that swept like paint across her cheekbones and brow.
Though impossible, it was her. The same girl with whom she had played on the wharf one long, sun-drenched afternoon in her youth. Madeleine had never learned her name. The girl had appeared like a dream, barefoot on the splintered dock, with wide eyes full of secrets and a mouth quick to laugh. Her skin then had been warm and golden, her hair long and brown, coiled in soft, wind-blown waves.
But this creature here now—this terrible, beautiful thing—was changed. Her skin was deep, glowing with seawater and starlight. Her hair was darker too and cropped close to her shoulders, tight curls framing around a face that had grown sharper with time. More elegant. More dangerous.
Madeleine could not scream. Her breath caught, her mind swirled, and her limbs turned soft and uncertain. The fear was still there, but beneath it, something else stirred.
The faintest ache of longing.
She looked like no monster at all.
Too beautiful. Sickeningly beautiful. Madeleine could hardly believe this was the creature spoken of in hushed, horrified tones. The creature that tore men apart and stole women from their beds.
The creature that had nearly killed Henrik.
She kicked wildly at the siren’s legs, but the creature only tilted her head again, effortlessly graceful. Madeleine stumbled in her frenzy, and the siren followed with slow, measured steps, her wings folding partially against her back. Desperate, Madeleine dropped the sword with a clatter and clawed at the hand still imprisoning her wrist, trying to tear herself free.
Her back struck the cliff face. Trapped.
She screamed but her voice only echoed off the stone. Her free arm swung, but the siren caught it too, pressing both of Madeleine’s wrists hard against the rock. Her touch burned with unnatural heat.
“Stop,” she growled, and Madeleine froze.
The siren peered at her as though she were a strange and fragile artefact. Those immense eyes studied her with an intensity that made Madeleine’s breath hitch in her throat. Slowly, the wings folded away, diminishing her threatening silhouette. But even stripped of that grandeur, she was not human. The eyes gave her away. Always the eyes.
A bead of sweat traced down Madeleine’s temple, and still the siren stared, her gaze dragging over her as if mapping every inch of her flesh. Her eyes lingered on Madeleine’s throat, the hollow between her collarbones, the curve of her breasts. It was not lust, not exactly, it was hunger. Curiosity. Possession.
Henrik groaned nearby.
Madeleine jerked toward the sound, but the siren’s hand constricted ever so slightly, a warning. The pressure was unbearable. With a single squeeze, Madeleine was sure the creature could shatter every bone in her hand.
Her heart pounded. Her stomach turned.
And then the siren smiled.
A smile that would haunt Madeleine until her dying day—radiant and full of ivory knives. Her canines, inhumanly sharp, glinted in the light.
The siren leaned close and she recoiled, expecting a kiss. But, to Madeleine’s utter horror, the siren licked her.
A long, slow, possessive trail from shoulder to throat, a burning brand of saliva marking her skin. Madeleine shuddered, a sob catching in her throat.
With a snarl, Madeleine tried to catch her ear with her teeth, but the siren reared back just in time to avoid her snapping jaw, laughter flashing across her face. Enraged and humiliated, Madeleine surged forward and slammed her knee into the siren’s unprotected groin.
With a sharp grunt, the siren doubled over.
Madeleine didn’t wait.
She wriggled free, scraping her shoulder against the cliff-face, and staggered to where her rapier lay. She snatched it from the dirt, ignoring the blood dripping from her hand, and turned toward Henrik, who lay groaning in the dust, his face twisted with pain.
She ran to him.
Behind her, the siren screamed, a sound so shrill and alien.
Madeleine did not look back.
She dropped to her knees beside him, heart hammering with such force she thought it might tear itself apart. “Darling? Speak to me, are you…?”
Henrik stirred with a faint groan, his eyes fluttering open. He was conscious, but barely, pale and trembling, the sheen of sweat on his brow making his golden hair cling to his temples. A livid bruise darkened the skin beneath his eye, and a vicious gash marred his chest, the fine ivory shirt beneath his waistcoat soaked through with blood. It spread like ink in water, blooming across the fabric in slow, terrible tendrils.
Tears threatened to spill but Madeleine held them at bay with the iron will her late mother had drilled into her. She ran trembling hands across his body, inspecting for other injuries. Her gaze fell to the dark, shameful patch soaked the front of his trousers.
She heard it before she saw her.
The soft rustle of feathers sent Madeleine leaping to her feet in an instant. She planted herself between the siren and Henrik, raising the rapier with both hands. Her stance was unsteady but defiant.
“Stay back,” she warned, her voice rasping against the tightness in her throat.
The siren stood where Madeleine had left her, near the cliff-face, wreathed in falling dust and fractured sunlight. Her eyes, pink and glittering, swept lazily over the tableau before her; the bleeding man, the trembling woman, the sword shaking in her grasp. She looked amused. Amused and faintly intrigued.
“All that fire,” she said, her voice a lilting mockery, “for someone so…spineless.”
Madeleine swallowed hard, forcing moisture into her throat. She needed her voice. She needed it steady.
“Please…” she began, faltering but sincere. “We didn’t mean any harm. We were only passing through.”
The siren tilted her head, and Madeleine’s breath caught in her chest. The creature's lithe body was etched with scars, a map of past battles traced across her skin. Madeleine’s eyes darted back to her face, refusing to be drawn downward, but the siren caught her wandering gaze and laughed, low and husky.
“My fiancé…” Madeleine tried again, clearing her throat, “he was only searching for our horse. We weren’t hunting. We didn’t even know you were here. Please…we just want to leave.”
The siren regarded her in silence, then hummed softly. “You’re not from here, are you?”
“N-No. We’re travellers. If we’ve trespassed, we’re sorry. We only want to find our horse and go. I promise we won’t speak of this. We won’t—”
“No.”
The single word was like a stone dropped into still water.
The siren began to unfurl her wings until they stretched wide behind her, like a terrible halo.
“You won’t be leaving,” she repeated.
Madeleine felt her stomach drop, the words like ice poured into her veins. “What?”
“You won’t be leaving,” the siren said again, stepping forward. “This is my territory. No one passes farther than this.”
Behind her, Henrik whimpered. Madeleine felt the sound like a knife twisting in her gut.
“Please,” she said, her voice cracking. “At least let me take him back to town. He’s hurt, he needs a physician.”
The siren narrowed her eyes, studying Henrik with something unreadable on her face. For a moment, Madeleine braced herself for violence, for the scream of wings and the flash of talons, but the siren remained still. Madeleine raised the rapier higher, bracing herself to die, if she had to.
Then the siren spoke. “Fine. Get gone.”
A breath escaped her lips like a prayer.
“Thank you,” Madeleine whispered, not daring to say more. She turned to Henrik, slipping her arm around his waist and helping him to his feet. He leaned into her heavily, his teeth clenched against the pain, his breaths shallow and ragged.
She did not take her eyes off the siren.
Slowly, cautiously, she began to guide him away, the rapier held low but ready. The siren did not move, only watched, her head slightly bowed, her wings folding.
Madeleine didn’t relax. Not even when they reached the bend in the road, not even when the wind no longer carried the scent of the sea or the rustle of feathers.
Still, she felt her.
She looked back only once, just before the edge of town came into view, and there she was.
Perched upon the cliff’s rim, her silhouette stark against the sun-bleached sky, the siren watched her. Silent. Unmoving.
She did not blink. She did not leave.
She did not stop watching until Madeleine crossed the edge of town and vanished from her sight.