A growl lifted in Zane’s throat; he tore after them, reaching the middle-aged man first. His trained cutlass swished by the man’s ear, but the man whirled and locked his staff against the cutlass before Zane could strike again.

Then, it was Zane’s turn to smile. “You’re making a mistake, old man,” he said.

To that, the man arched a light brow. “Am I?”

Zane’s grin widened. He slashed, chopping a notch into the old man’s cane. “Only half my crew has made land. The other half is marching up the beach as we speak,” he laughed. “I might be young in seasons, but you could learn a thing or three from me.”

Zane expected the man’s face to fall, and for the old brute to holler to his allies to retreat, but he did no such thing. He stared at Zane for a measure, his golden eyes roaming until Zane shifted on his feet.

“Like I said,” Zane cooed. “Move your merry scotchers.” His fingers buzzed against his blade, ready for a fight.

The man’s eyes lifted to the shore where the rest of the Kelidestone crew marched in from the row boats.

“Mikal!” one of the boys in black shouted from the street as he noticed them too. In the same moment, Lother sprang from the shadows like a demon with wings and brought his cutlass across the boy-in-black’s shoulder.

From across the street, the silver-eyed boy’s gaze shot up at his ally’s cry.

But still, the middle-aged man did not move, did not unlock his weapon from Zane’s where they were knotted together—curved staff against arched cutlass. Even as Lother took off to chase down a villager. Even as the silver-eyed boy fired across the street and rammed Tigris into the siding of a house as the young pirate came to finish what Lother had started.

As if they were speaking on a silent thread, the silver-eyed boy looked up to the older man in question as he took the arm of his injured ally and slung it over his own shoulders to carry him away.

The middle-aged man looked back at Zane though, instead of retreating. “Take Posineon home,” he called over the street as it flooded with new pirates.

Without objection, the silver-eyed boy darted between two houses—sliding over the snow on his toes—and disappeared.

Zane glanced to where his weapon interlocked with the aged man’s. The sleepless night put fire in his veins, and he shoved with all his might, forcing the man back a step. From there, Zane raised his cutlass to the man’s throat as ten plus three pirates filed in to surround him, along with the prophetess who drifted around to watch.

The buttery-haired man dropped his staff to the snow in surrender.