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“I know a Syren who wanted legs instead of a tail,” I say carefully. “She wanted to become a human, to walk and live on land. The sea witch was able to do that for her.”

He frowns. “And you saw this happen with your own eyes?”

I shake my head. “No. But it happened all the same.”

A look of disbelief comes over him. He starts to pace slowly in front of me, hands behind his back. “Tell me, then… What is your name, anyway? Or should I just call you little fish?”

I press my lips together. I’m not about to tell him my name, and being called a fish isn’t an insult where I’m from.

“Little fish it is,” he says, and though his face is ever so serious, I catch a look of delight in his eyes. “So tell me: why should I use my magic to give you legs? What would I get out of that? If I were to make you a human, surely you would lose all the special properties in your blood, the very thing I crave.”

“How do you know that would happen?” I ask him. “All you need to give me are legs. I can keep my gills. I can keep my ability to breathe underwater. I can keep my long life. You don’t need to change my blood.”

He studies me for a moment. “Why do you want legs?”

“Would it not be easier for you to manage me? You can’t keep me in this room forever. Eventually, someone will discover me. You said so yourself: my screams would bring attention. Therefore, that means there is an audience to be had. If I had legs, you could pass me off as perhaps some woman who has been shipwrecked.”

“Yes,” he says slowly. “I could do that, though I would need to figure out a way to keep you from escaping, from talking to the villagers. You wouldn’t be any freer than you are now. So I want you to answer the question: why do you want legs? What is in it for you?”

“I suppose I get to experience something new before I die,” I tell him. It’s the partial truth.

“Speaking of death, you don’t seem to fear it,” he says, taking a tentative step forward, his gaze searching my face. I can’t tell if he’s afraid to come closer because of me…or because of himself.

“I fear death,” I admit quietly. If I didn’t confess it, I have no doubt he would try and make me fear it in torturous ways.

“But you haven’t once tried to beg for your life. At least, not really.”

“Perhaps this is me begging.” Perhaps I’ve been through worse before and lived to tell the tale. You don’t get to roam the seas alone as a female Syren without running into trouble.

“No,” he says dismissively. “I know what begging looks like. I know it very well. You aren’t afraid of me, at least not as much as you should be. Tell me, where were you before you showed up in these harbors? Does your kind not live in colonies? Why were you alone?”

“Who says I was alone?” I ask, my voice growing hard.

“You were alone,” he says after a moment. “I can tell when someone is running away from something—or running to something. It’s my calling to take those in, no matter which direction they’re running.”

I can’t help but curl my lip at him. Again with this pious talk. He should know it doesn’t have any weight with me. “You have a strange calling, kidnapping Syrens and bringing them into your church to torture them in secret.”

He gives me a sharp look, black brows knitting together. “I am not torturing you.”

I nearly laugh. This man is terribly delusional.

“Oh, so I suppose tying me to a plank and putting holes in my wrists isn’t torture? Biting me and drinking my blood isn’t torture? Gagging me with a chain isn’t torture?”

The sharpness in his eyes doesn’t dissipate. “It isn’t a plank.”

Now I laugh, the sound acidic. “My sincerest apologies for not knowing your terminology.”

“It’s a cross,” he says, though his voice is softer now. “A crucifix. To symbolize the death of Jesus, who died for our sins.”

“Then he died for your sins, not mine,” I tell him snidely. “So what are you trying to do? Make an example of me?”

“I’m trying to remind myself not to get carried away,” he says, his gaze searching the cross I’m tied to.

“Is that so? And what does getting carried away look like?”

He doesn’t answer at first; he just rubs his lips together in thought. “I need reminders to keep myself in line. I fought so very long and hard to become the human I am today. I can’t afford to slip up and throw it all away just because I…because I lost control. I need a reminder of who I need to keep being.”

“And who is that?”