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“An elf named Seraphine. Polinth holds her captive. She sacrificed her freedom so that I could escape.”

“Brave elf,” commented Jarin. “They aren’t known for being fighters.”

“Which makes it all the more terrible.” Guilt splintered Riella’s heart. “Because sirens are. And I left her there.”

“Knowing Polinth, you didn’t get much choice. He’s a gifted sorcerer. A degenerate, but gifted.” Jarin paused. “Try not to dwell on the bad feelings. That doesn’t do you any good, tempting though it may be.”

“Guilt is a particularly heavy feeling.”

“Aye, that it is. But it also does nothing to help your elven friend.” He pointed at the food stalls lining the side of the cramped street. “You should eat something now. The food here is leagues better than anything you’ll be fed on the ship, believe me.”

“Is there any kelp?” she asked, peering doubtfully at the stalls.

Jarin barked with laughter. “Kelp. Let me get you some real food.”

He carved a line through the throng of people toward a food cart. An elderly man cooked something in a pot of oil, chopped and served in a cup fashioned from parchment.

While she waited, Riella wondered what was so questionable about Jarin’s stock, if his father had been a great warrior. Obviously, it was a sore subject.

The pirate gave a few coins to the elderly man and brought the food to Riella.

“It’s not fish, is it?” she asked, taking the little parcel from him and sniffing it. “I will never eat fish.”

“It’s a vegetable. I promise you’ll like it.”

She picked up a piece and touched the tip of her tongue to it. Her eyebrows flew up in delight. “Ooh! Salty.”

Jarin grinned. She hated how handsome that made him look, and covered her discomfort by cramming the food into her mouth. At first, she wasn’t sure if she liked it. But then she chewed, and a pleasant greasy explosion happened in her mouth.

“It’s potato, salted and fried.” Jarin guided her farther down the street. “And one other thing. I don’t lumber.”

She ate as they walked, demolishing the food in less than a minute and disposing of the parchment cup.

He was right about the lumbering, although she’d never give him the satisfaction of acknowledging it. For his size, he was remarkably agile. A result of residing on a ship, she supposed. Walking on land must’ve seemed far easier when you spent most of your time rocking back and forth on the ocean.

“Need anything else before we set sail?” he asked. “You need to be fit for combat.”

“Well, I might need?—”

Riella stumbled on the cobblestones, forcing her to grab Jarin’s steel-threaded arm to right herself. She removed her hand at once. Against her will, she was reminded of his body’s heat as he’d cradled her head and pressed his groin into hers.

“What do you need?” A smirk danced on his lips, as if reading her thoughts.

Had she really licked those lips? Voluntarily? What had she been thinking?

She didn’t think, that was the problem. She’d given in to her instincts, and those instincts seemed drawn to Jarin.

As a siren, she was taught to trust her instincts implicitly. They kept her safe. Did the same hold true now that she had legs? Could she trust her instincts, even if they put her in a position of feeling vulnerable?

“Shoes,” she said, stepping back from him. “I need shoes more suited to fighting.”

The ornate silk slippers Odeya had given her were beautiful, but highly impractical.

“That I can do,” he said. “Mind if I?—”

He kneeled in the middle of the street, forcing everyone to move around them, and reached for her foot. She bit her bottom lip as he held her ankle and eased off the shoe. Balancing on a single foot made her wobble, and she steadied herself by grasping his broad shoulders.

He stood, tapping the shoe in his hand. “So I know which size to get. Stay here.”