I’m apprehensive over Dejean’s sudden need for a key, but then he slides it into the lock on the cuff around my wrist, and my heart stops. The metal unclamps with a click, and Dejean pulls it open the rest of the way. A rush of something hot and fierce pounds through me. I yank my hand out of the restraint, knocking my elbow into the tub’s edge in my hurry. Yelping, I pull it toward my chest, but my arm stays locked in its half-bent state, pain shooting up to my shoulder.

No. This can’t be. My arms are strong; not as powerful as my tail, but still sure and capable. I’m built for the water. The air should not hold me back.

But it does. My arm refuses to bend or straighten fully, locked in the same position. I swing it about, slamming it against the side of the tub. Knives of pain spring from the sore on my elbow, and I shriek a raw, hideous noise that grates my throat.

“Easy there! You’ll hurt yourself.”

Dejean’s words sound distant to my ears, hidden in a rush like the crashing of the waves, but the smell of the liver under my nose overpowers my fear. I snatch it between my teeth. He winces this time. I can still taste his blood.

He holds the next piece further out, but within reach of my freed hand. “Careful now,” he says gently. “Go slow.”

“Slow,” I grumble. I try it, though. My arm tingles, tight and painful, and it shakes as I hold it in the air. But I can bend it a little more each time I move. I drop it back onto the edge of the tub, shifting my shoulder to avoid touching my elbow sore to the metal or my fingers to the restraint.

Dejean watches me, his gaze piercing. “You do know our language, don’t you?” He says it slow and precise, as though that will somehow help me understand him better.

“Again, not an animal,” I snap.

At least he has some level of comprehension. However small.

Dejean’s brows pinch, but he nods, his lips turning up. He continues to observe me so intently that I want to pull deeper into the tub just to avoid his gaze. I prefer this to fear, though; more cringing, less quailing.

“Would you let me touch your arm?” he asks.

“No,” I hiss at him.

“All right, I get it.” He holds his hands up, palms facing me. I have no idea what he means by the motion, but his expression is open, submissive. “I just want to look at that sore. I might have something I can bandage it with.”

A bandage. Those are the white skins humans stretch over wounds. I don’t know if their healing techniques work on sirens, but the sores are painful. It might be worth a try. I hold out my arm to him, glaring as I do, narrowing my eyes.

The rough skin of his fingers makes me itch, but he stays clear of my more tender scales. “You should know, I have not the slightest idea what I’m doing.”

“Clearly.”

“This doesn’t look terrible. Sirens must be made of different stuff than humans.” Dejean’s finger brushes the edge of the sore, and I cringe, a growl burning up my throat. He lets go, handing me a chunk of liver. “Here. You did well.”

I move my elbow more this time. The muscles tremble, but it bends easier with each motion, mending itself in long, aching strokes. As Dejean stands, I jerk away, lifting my arm to protect my face. My hand smacks into my face from the force of my motion, and I stiffen in shock.

Smiling weakly, Dejean edges around the tub toward the port side. “You don’t have to go knocking yourself out to get me to slow down.”

“I could eat you, you know!” It rises as a growl at first, but the words become a whine, the air contorting my beautiful noises into something almost as ugly and rough as the human’s tongue. “I will someday, when I’m stronger.”

Dejean’s eyes sparkle. “That didn’t sound very friendly,” he chides, slipping the key into the lock of my other wrist restraint.

“I’m not friendly.”

The metal clicks open, and I draw out my other hand, carefully bending my arm a few times to work out the tightness. I drop them both into the water, but the foul stuff stings my dry scales. Drawing in a breath through my teeth, I yank them back out. I want to murder Kian, each of her crew members, and everyone who ever set foot on this terrible ship. Instead, I hiss at the liquid and cross my arms over my chest.

“I’ll be back soon.” Dejean stands. He heads for the door, taking the rest of the liver with him.

I twist to face him, gripping the tub with my hands, and scream, “Mine!”

He stops. The metal lances my chest as I throw myself against the side of the tub, grabbing for the rest of the liver. I can’t quite reach it.

With a dramatic sigh, he cuts off a large chunk of the meat and tosses it at me. “Go slowly. I don’t want you getting sick in here.” He waves the remaining half. “You can have the rest later.”

Then he vanishes, leaving the door to my room open. Kian’s cabin shuts tight and the lock clicks. Simone must have found the spare key to that too.

I gnaw on the liver, trying my hardest to savor it. Some of the warmth is gone, but it’s still juicy and tangy, and I yearn for more. Out the port window, Dejean’s ship floats a fair number of dinghy lengths away. The nearest wing dangles, tilting the vessel slightly, and the steam stacks flicker with an odd light. They must be broken.

The glimpse of sea to either side of the ship stretches endlessly, tugging at me in a way not even the tastiest morsel can. If not for the weight pinning me to the tub, I could attempt an escape. But at least one door and two flights of stairs stand between me and freedom. With my arms so weak, I doubt my tail will be any better. If I stay where I am, Dejean may keep feeding me, and perhaps bandage my sores.

I huff to myself. What’s he playing at? He can’t be doing this for my sake. Maybe he means to sell me.

A shiver runs down my spine. At least as a captive on a ship, I can see the sea, feel it rock beneath me, smell it in the breeze that comes through Kian’s cabin door. If these humans bring me onto land, I won’t survive.

The door thuds as it’s flung open. Dejean’s arm comes into view, but he turns away, dropping something off to the side as a new set of footsteps approach. Most of the light vanishes as he closes the door on me.

“I thought I said I was not to be disturbed.” His voice shifts away from the playfulness he takes with Simone and the thoughtful, soothing emphasis he uses on me. This new tone holds none of Kian’s harsh cruelty, but it sounds forced, as though he pulls his joy from beneath layers of wet sand, the emotion coming through blunted and coarse. “What do you need, Chauncey?”

“Just a report, Captain.” The crew member makes no mention of Dejean’s stiffness. “We finished the search of the ship.”

“And did you find them?”

“Not yet, but there are locked chests in the hull we’re still opening. We’ve also cataloged enough provisions to last a full crew two weeks. The damages along the port are nearly patched, and we’ve pulled the wings up. What would you have us do with Kian’s crew?”

“I’ll deal with them later,” Dejean says gruffly, even for a human. “You may return to the search.”

“Aye, Captain.” Receding footsteps follow the words, and Kian’s door closes once more.

I try to make sense of the conversation, but a missing piece seems to drift too far out to sea. Dejean has more sides to him than Kian. And he’s searching for something.

He opens my sliding door and enters, carrying a long tube, a stack of buckets, and absolutely no liver, or at least not that I can see. He hands me one end of the tube.

“I can’t eat this.” I glare at him, but he only smiles in reply.

“Put it in the tub. I’ll bring you the liver once we’re finished.”

I lower the end of the tube into the water, slowly, waiting for something terrible to happen. Nothing does.

Scooting closer, Dejean spreads out the buckets in a row. He pauses. “How long can you survive without water?”

“How long can you survive without air!” I shove the tube back at him.

Dejean scrambles to catch it. “Not long, I get it.” He scowls at the tube, but the expression fades when he looks back at me. “I just need to know how quickly I’ll have to refill the tub after the bad water’s been drained.”

Suddenly, I feel very small. Creeping my fingers over the side of the tub, I snatch the tube and shove it into my filthy muck.

“I guess that’s my answer?”

I nod, sinking away from him with a scowl. If I had any dignity left, I would try to maintain it, but Kian bled mine out, every last blistering tear.

Dejean sticks his end of the tube in his mouth, sucking on it until water siphons up. He drops it into the bucket, hacking out a mouthful of revolting liquid. “That is foul stuff.”

Humans are so strange. Though I suppose the way he holds his chest as he coughs and the wrinkles that form around his nose aren’t all that different from a siren. I focus on the water draining instead, listening as he shifts the tube to a new bucket in steady intervals.

Despite the rancidity of the water, it still feels wrong to draw it away. Prickles run across my scales, up to the point where the weight presses down on me and I feel nothing at all. The little translucent fins along the side of my tail droop as the water drops beneath them, matching the state of my largest fanning fin where it slumps over the tub’s edge.

I flinch as Simone sets down two fresh buckets of seawater. The fresh, salty smell floods my senses. I coo at it in adoration.

“Noisy creature,” Simone mutters.

“I’m not opposed to eating you too,” I mutter in return.

A small smile tugs at Dejean’s lips, but he shakes his head. “They’re just talkative.”

“Be glad they can’t serenade you right now.” Simone picks up two of the dirty buckets and carries them out.

The tube gurgles as the last of the old water siphons up, and Dejean sets it to the side. He eyes the fresh buckets.

And I eye him.